Bartenders, Blenders, & Vindictive Grins...
Want another rant about the life of a bartender?
Don't fuck with us. We always win.
There's a man that's been coming into my bar, and he's completely pathetic -- completely. Literally, in the last two weeks, he's been in six times. Now that's not uncommon, but for someone who doesn't seem to be a regular, he sure is becoming one, and no one wants him around.
For a quick description of this guy, he's about 5'9, 250 lbs., in his mid 40's, and has a receding hair line. I get the impression that he's from some tough part of the country, because he's tried to impress everyone, and can't seem to tell the truth.
How do I know he lies? We'll get to that in a bit.
Every time the man comes in, he always orders the same drink: Strawberry Daiquiri's.
Here's a quick piece of information: bartenders don't like to make Strawberry Daiquiri's. As a matter of fact, we don't like to make blender drinks at all, especially when the bar's busy. Plus, the only time we make daiquiri's and Pina Colada's are when the rednecks come to town.
One of my fellow bartender's said to me the other day -- and I paraphrase -- "I'm from Fannett, and when I see someone who looks like they're from Fannett, I get the blender ready."
Blender drinks are bad. Learn to drink something else. And White Zinfandel doesn't count. There's nothing that screams "lack-of-class" in a bar more than White Zin.
Back to my masculine friend who drinks Strawberry Daiquiri's.
He really is a tough-looking guy, but all that goes away when I serve him his first drink. After he orders dinner, he gets on his cell phone and doesn't speak to the person on the other end of the line, but yells! He invite's them out, they apparently turn him down, then he calls someone else and does it again. His voice is loud, and he uses very colorful four-letter metaphors.
It's disturbing to other guests around the bar.
The other day, he saw someone in the restaurant he knows and started talking to them about his buddy coming to meet him for dinner, then their plans to go downtown and party with a few girls afterwards.
Earlier, while he was yelling to his friend on the phone, he mentioned he was trying to find someone to hang out with for the night, specifically didn't want to go downtown, and never said a thing about beautiful women in his plans.
So, back to my earlier point: he lies.
And to top it off, he doesn't tip for shit.
When I say he doesn't tip, I mean his bill is $28.64, and he pays with $29.00, I give him .36 cents in change and he leaves it on the bar.
After a couple times of that, I was fed up. This time, I got my revenge.
Tonight, the man came in, same scenario, and ended up drinking four Strawberry Daiquiri's. I made each one of them, and not a one had alcohol in it.
I wonder if he ever figured it out.
Like I said earlier, we always win.
Don't fuck with us. We always win.
There's a man that's been coming into my bar, and he's completely pathetic -- completely. Literally, in the last two weeks, he's been in six times. Now that's not uncommon, but for someone who doesn't seem to be a regular, he sure is becoming one, and no one wants him around.
For a quick description of this guy, he's about 5'9, 250 lbs., in his mid 40's, and has a receding hair line. I get the impression that he's from some tough part of the country, because he's tried to impress everyone, and can't seem to tell the truth.
How do I know he lies? We'll get to that in a bit.
Every time the man comes in, he always orders the same drink: Strawberry Daiquiri's.
Here's a quick piece of information: bartenders don't like to make Strawberry Daiquiri's. As a matter of fact, we don't like to make blender drinks at all, especially when the bar's busy. Plus, the only time we make daiquiri's and Pina Colada's are when the rednecks come to town.
One of my fellow bartender's said to me the other day -- and I paraphrase -- "I'm from Fannett, and when I see someone who looks like they're from Fannett, I get the blender ready."
Blender drinks are bad. Learn to drink something else. And White Zinfandel doesn't count. There's nothing that screams "lack-of-class" in a bar more than White Zin.
Back to my masculine friend who drinks Strawberry Daiquiri's.
He really is a tough-looking guy, but all that goes away when I serve him his first drink. After he orders dinner, he gets on his cell phone and doesn't speak to the person on the other end of the line, but yells! He invite's them out, they apparently turn him down, then he calls someone else and does it again. His voice is loud, and he uses very colorful four-letter metaphors.
It's disturbing to other guests around the bar.
The other day, he saw someone in the restaurant he knows and started talking to them about his buddy coming to meet him for dinner, then their plans to go downtown and party with a few girls afterwards.
Earlier, while he was yelling to his friend on the phone, he mentioned he was trying to find someone to hang out with for the night, specifically didn't want to go downtown, and never said a thing about beautiful women in his plans.
So, back to my earlier point: he lies.
And to top it off, he doesn't tip for shit.
When I say he doesn't tip, I mean his bill is $28.64, and he pays with $29.00, I give him .36 cents in change and he leaves it on the bar.
After a couple times of that, I was fed up. This time, I got my revenge.
Tonight, the man came in, same scenario, and ended up drinking four Strawberry Daiquiri's. I made each one of them, and not a one had alcohol in it.
I wonder if he ever figured it out.
Like I said earlier, we always win.
Labels: Bartending
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