Significant Bother

Posted on February 28, 2013 by Caveman

I am a single forty plus year old bartender. I have never been married, have no kids, and all of my serious relationships have ended in a catastrophic climax after a year or so. Finally…having learned my lesson…I happily abandoned the pursuit of a significant bother over two years ago…trading the quest for love in for the love of the one night stand. Women are incredibly observant creatures. Young and single girls come into the bar, immediately see me as the pig I have become, and run to the hills…older and married ones come in…witness me proudly swilling in my swine status…and smell a ripe opportunity to have some fun on the side. Yes…I have slept with a few married women. However, my conscience is clear because I don’t believe in the laws and rules associated with wedlock. Along with religion and politics…marriage is just another illusion created by our thriving society of fucking lemmings…another foolish fallacy of how and why we are expected to live our lives. I wouldn’t take it too seriously. If a loser bartender can break through the sacred institutions walls with relative ease and gorge on the forbidden fruits inside…the structure must be pretty weak. So tonight…as we approached last call…a stunning blonde lady I had served all evening along with her owner…broke away from the husband and approached me at the bar. After a bit of small talk, she bluntly asked for my number. I replied dryly with a…why?…as I glanced at the rock displayed on her ring finger. Without missing a beat, she said, “You know why.” Game on! I quickly scribbled my number on a cocktail napkin and slyly handed it across the bar to her. I hope she calls. Sometimes it’s fun to bring your work home with you.

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Cavelife

Posted on February 22, 2013 by Caveman

I apologize for the recent stagnancy in bar stories. My old computer died at the beginning of this month and I had unfortunately been left without the luxuries of the internet. It was rough. No checking e-mails, stocks, news, weather, bank accounts…no You Tube videos, Facebook, Pandora Radio, Netflix, random Google searches, goofing around in the blogoshpere…and a complete lack of internet porn. Like I said…it was rough. I caved in a couple of days ago and charged a kick ass spanking brand new iMac on my already heavily laden credit card. I am extremely happy with my purchase. I can keep Tales From A Bar up to date and now my internet porn is much more visually spectacular than ever before.

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Intellectually Lazy

Posted on January 30, 2013 by Caveman

People who ask the bartender stupid questions aren’t necessarily stupid…or even ignorant…they are intellectually lazy. Some customers would rather proudly ask imbecilic questions than put forth the slightest effort of a thought process. Here are just five I hear on a nightly basis:

  1. Can I ask you a question? You just did jackass. Clearly you have the ability to ask me a question. Of course, I will humor you and say, “Yes.” Now I am really looking forward to finding out if your second question is dumber than your first.
  2. Do you live around here? No. I live in Taiwan, but since the tips are so extravagant here…including the one you are about to leave me…I fly in five times a week to provide you with answers.
  3. What is your name? Justifiably, this is not really a stupid question…unless you have been sitting at the bar for more than a minute. It’s pretty fucking obvious I have not just one name, but many…Bartender, Hey, Hey Hey, Hey Pal, Yo, Yo Yo, Yo Yo Yo, Barkeep, Dude, Buddy, My Friend, Hey My Friend, Bro, etc. I even have secret Native American Indian names…Various Whistles, Frantic Hand Gestures, and Snapping Fingers.
  4.  What’s good? How about a wonderfully refreshing cocktail of Well…What The Fuck Do You Like To Drink? I Forgot My Psychic Abilities At Home That Help Me Determine What A Complete Stranger Deems As…Good? You really should try it. It’s my specialty.
  5. Is the bathroom close? No. In an effort to better serve our customers…we placed it a few miles away…we believe the exercise will be beneficial for you. Here is a map. Last call is in twenty minutes…so if you want another drink…you had better hurry. 

 

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Half Cooked

Posted on January 25, 2013 by Caveman

I believe engaging in practical jokes…or simply just fucking with fellow employees…is an essential aspect of bartending. Pranks…no matter how silly and immature…act as fleeting oases of comic relief while we attempt to emotionally survive another evening in the service industry. The last couple of nights have been abundant with watering holes. I flipped up the windshield wipers on several of my co-workers cars on my way in. I successfully emptied a salt shaker in an unsuspecting busboys beverage during a pre-shift meeting. I secretly filled the side pockets of a cocktail waitresses purse with various garnishes, stir sticks, and slightly ripped sugar packets. So tonight…as I was carefully navigating through another eight-hour human safari…a joyous opportunity crossed my path. I walked back into the kitchen to find one of the chefs with his back turned to me…and for some reason…one of his shoes was off…with his foot hovering just above it. I stole it, and quietly retreated with the stinky prisoner in hand. His screams were just audible from the bar, “Where is my shoe? Who fucking took my shoe? This isn’t fucking funny! God-fucking-dammit! I need my shoe! Someone is going to die!” Since he couldn’t exactly hobble out and create a scene in front of the guests…I kept it hostage for several minutes…and then tossed it back into the kitchen when he wasn’t looking. With my inner grin growing…I grabbed some rubber gloves and a habanero out of the walk-in …cut the habanero in half…and covertely rubbed it generously over the receiver end of the culinary phone. I told another chef he had an important call…set the phone down…and smirked my way back to the bar. His ear swelled up like a cantaloupe and the pepper oil cooked the receiving half of his face to a bright red.  http://talesfromabar.com/2012/06/the-habanero-cocktail/ Paybacks a bitch.

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The Trash Collector

Posted on January 19, 2013 by Caveman

Cocktail (1988) is undoubtably the best movie ever created based around life as a bartender. It’s a cult classic and a must watch if you work behind a bar. I have probably seen it over 25 times and have half of the script memorized. Cocktails and dreams…that is what our profession is about…and in young Mr. Flanagan fashion…I too have my hopes of making a quick buck outside of tending bar. I attempted to become an independent travel agent, swing trade on the stock market, start a clothing company, etc. Honestly…nothing has panned out and I am currently completely unsuccessful with any of my ventures. To add insult to injury…I have been consistently making more money by recycling trash from the bar…than any of my…great ideas. Fucking garbage. I take a box or two of empty beer bottles and cans home with me every night. At the end of the week…I go through the wonderfully enjoyable process of journeying to the trash depot…where I trade my collectables for 10-20 dollars. At first, I squandered the funds from my second career on beer and frozen burritos…but as time went on…I decided that I had to figure out how to change the final result of my efforts into something more substantial than piss and shit. The only one making money was the sewage company. So several months ago…I began parlaying my tiny paychecks into 1 ounce silver bars…and now have a small stack sitting on my coffee table. As funny as all of this sounds…there is something uniquely satisfying about transforming trash into a precious metal. Who knows? The cost of silver may soar through the roof one day…leaving me with a tidy chunk of change…for essentially investing nothing outside of a little time and energy. But for now…I will keep making cocktails…and continue with my dreams. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqVGKpI1aHA

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Some People Are Not Awesome

Posted on January 9, 2013 by Caveman

People never cease to amaze me. If you work in any kind of environment where you are exposed to the public…such as bartending…you better be mentally prepared to come across some unbelievably huge pieces of shit on your path to a paycheck. Three nights ago a woman came in…a representative for a Japanese car company…and asked for our house chardonnay…I double checked with her to make sure she liked it…she did…and someone else picked up her tab. Two nights ago…she came in and sat next to one of the owners and again requested a chardonnay….I poured her the house since she had enjoyed it last evening. She practically spat it out in disgust and demanded I tell her what I had served. I informed her that I poured our house…the same one she had liked last night. She replied sarcastically, “No. That definitely wasn’t me.”…while rolling her eyes…as if I was the idiot…making me look pretty stupid in front of one of the big bosses. The owner…who was observing the situation…immediately demanded that I pour her our most expensive chardonnay and put it on his tab. So tonight…the chardonnay psychopath returned…and requested…you guessed it…a glass of chardonnay. This time…I bluntly asked, “What kind?” She asked for the expensive glass she had the night before and handed me a credit card. I presented the wine and quickly handed her the check. When she saw the cost of the glass…she erupted into a Jew fit about the price…exclaiming, “This is outrageous! I can’t believe you charge this much! I am just going to have to leave you zero as a tip.” The wine weirdo immediately scratched a line through the gratuity section of the credit card slip and walked away shaking her head at me in disgust. I don’t decide the prices you cheap bitch. The owner you conned into buying your glass last night does. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vo0Cazxj_yc Some people are not awesome.

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Twelve Hours

Posted on December 29, 2012 by Caveman

New Years Eve is by far the busiest shift of the year at my bar. I have worked this night for the last ten years in a row and have a very good understanding of the mayhem that is going to be unleashed during my eleventh tour of duty. The first three hours are relatively harmless…around 9:00 the pressure starts to build…by 10:00 we are starting to sink…around 10:15 we are getting absolutely crushed…at which point I conveniently take off my name tag as not to hear my name being screamed by a hundred thirsty people simultaneously…from that moment on it’s absolute insanity…chaos is an understatement. The rock band stops playing at 2:00 and we do last call at 3:00. Another three hours to clean, re-stock, do the inventory and paperwork, balance the tips, and we will be walking out around 6:00…with newly formed webbed toes, aching backs, ringing ears, palpitating hearts due to Red Bull abuse, and a substantial payoff for half a days work. It’s my favorite shift of the year. I love the blasting music, the heightened energy of the bar, and the anything goes attitude necessary to survive the evening. Some of the staff are understandably pre-stressing in anticipation of the stampeding drunken onslaught headed our way. My philosophy is that if you are going to get hit by an unavoidable shitstorm…there is no point in worrying until it actually arrives at your doorstep…9:59…that’s when I am going to acknowledge the ensuing madness. So in a couple of nights…when we are all neck-deep in the shit…Tales From A Bar wishes every busboy, bar back, dishwasher, food-runner, cook, chef, server, cocktail waitress, bouncer, support staff, and bartender…the best of luck on keeping your heads above it…and…Happy Fucking New Year!

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