Recently, I've run into a moral dilemma that has manifested itself into several conversations as of late.  Maybe 'moral' is a bit much, but I'm still at a crossroad.

Is it our job, as people of a civilized society, to destupidify the world?

Here's the story:

While bartending at work, a server orders a cappuccino.  I make it and place it on the bartop, waiting for her to retrieve it.  As she comes to the bar, she looks over at our storage container for cappuccino spoons (which is empty) and asks, "no spoons?"

I've got several roads to take -- I didn't take the high road.

My reply was sarcastic and condescending, "Is it empty?  Clearly we're out!  Go look in the back!  Why would you ask that question when there's an obvious answer in front of your face?  Quit being lazy and go find one!"

Two guys overheard my comments and politely let me know that was not the most appropriate way to talk to a person.  They're right.  I later apologized -- and I meant it. 

Even though I understand I was wrong for speaking to her in such a manner, the point is still clearly there:  if there's an obvious answer in front of your face, why is a question necessary?

Is society doing itself a favor by not telling the mother of an out-of-control child to discipline that heathen?

What about the two women at the grocery store who are holding up traffic by their shopping carts because they haven't seen one another since high school? 

What about the person who has the drug problem?  Or the drinking problem?  What about domestic abuse? 

Are we supposed to step in? 

I know I'm extending this from simply asking a dumb question to beating your wife, but maybe dumb questions offend me more than most people. 

I should have been more polite -- I know that.  It goes back to the golden rule of treating people the way you want to be treated; but then again, if I ask a dumb question, I expect a dumb answer. 

The world would be so much better if stupid people didn't breed.  I guess they're too dumb to wear condoms.

Labels: Bartending, White Trash Circular

Posted by M. Derrick Davis at 11:27 PM | Permalink | Comments

I'm so jealous of some of you.  Tomorrow is July 4th, and I'd like nothing more than to barbeque some burgers, drink Lone Star Beer, listen to Lynard Skynard, and shoot bottle rockets at hippies all day, but instead, I work in the restaurant business.

I'll be slingin' drinks for a bunch of people who don't want to be downtown for the fireworks extravaganza that Beaumont does so well.  It really is kinda cool.  But after working for Disney, and seeing the 4th of July firework dispay over Lake Buena Vista, it's still a nice showing, although no one puts on a fireworks show like the Walt Disney Company.

Tomorrow, don't forget why we love this nation.  Rather you're against the war, pro-Bush, anti-death penatly, liberal, moderate, yadi-yada -- don't forget the sacrifices made to give you the opportunity to celebrate. 

Do you think we can go a single day without Bush-bashing?

Just remember to aim at a hippie for me -- especially if you've got a 300-shot box of Saturn Missiles.

Labels: 4th Of July, Bartending

Posted by M. Derrick Davis at 11:19 PM | Permalink | Comments

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.

Labels: Bartending

Posted by M. Derrick Davis at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments

Ah, so the saga continues.

Once again, women have made me shake my head in amazement.  Here comes another bartending story.

So tonight, about ten women come in to celebrate a friends birthday and they decide to sit at the bar.  For the most part, about four or five of them are regulars, two in particular I wish weren't.

One of the bartenders I was working with took care of them most of the night, since they were in the area he works, and had them divided into two seperate tickets, as were the orders from one of the ladies.  After three hours, it was time for that fellow bartender to head home.  After another hour, they were ready for their checks. 

As I handed them their tickets, they wanted them separated (of coarse).  Fine, but the problem is, I didn't give them a single drink, their bill was almost $300, there were LOTS of different drinks, and they weren't sober enough to tell me who had what. 

So, to solve the problem, one overachieving woman decided she'd split the tab up herself, and would tell me exactly how much to put on each credit card.  15 minutes later, that's exactly what she did.  Pen and paper in hand, she divided the tickets up herself, perfectly.

This little incident went on to prove my point of how petty women are.  These women weren't secretarys making $22K a year, and their husbands provide them a very nice lifestyle, at least that's my feeling of it by their diamond earings and the cars they drive.  I've even been to two of the ladies houses.  They aren't shopping at Dollar General.

If one of them wanted a new pair of $120 shoes, she'd have them, but god forbid she by another woman a drink!

Often times, men argue over who's going to pay, and they fight over who gave me the credit card first.  Women get irritated if they think they're being charged too much for a glass of wine.

It's nice to be a man.  It's much simpler. 

Labels: Bartending

Posted by M. Derrick Davis at 10:22 PM | Permalink | Comments

Have you ever worked in a restaurant? Waited tables? Bartended? If so, believe me, you'll be able to relate to many things I say on this page from time to time. This is the first of what I believe will be many rants about how I believe people should act in a restaurant... or at least where I work.

If you know me, then you know the name of my restaurant. Well, not really my restaurant, but for the sake of our blog discussions, in order to keep it simple, we'll all just have to understand that when I say 'my' restaurant, I simply mean my place of employment. Anyway... point being, if you don't know me, then the name of my restaurant is not important. So, for the sake of privacy, we'll keep that 'off the books.'

Tonight, an elderly couple came in a bit before 7:30. They promply ordered their dinner, and made a point to tell me they were in a hurry, but included no specifics or further details. Keep in mind, it's 7:30!! The middle of our dinner rush. Their order was promptly placed and turned in. I asked the cooks & managers to please help me comply. Now for those of you who aren't familiar with the restaurant industry, once a dinner order is turned in, it is out of the hands of the servers. We no longer have ANY control over the timing of the food.

7:42, I drop off their dinner. At this time, the couple once again lets me know they are in a hurry, and they'd like to pay for their check. This is not an uncommon scenario; people often pay their bills before they've finished their meal. But, they didn't ask for boxes to carry home their dinner. While all of this is going on, I was sat with a 6-top (table of 6) and a 3-top (and for the slow learners, table of 3). So I'm trying to greet 9 people, while the elderly couple is trying to flag me down at 7:49! Now they need boxes, and it's this time when they inform me they have to meet someone at their house at 8:00 IN VIDOR!! From my restaurant, that's a 12-15 minute ride, depending on traffic, and that's just to the town exit! It's even longer if they're slithering into the dirty slums of the white trash capital of all the racist bigots from Texas. They want to get pissed off about it, and it's my fault? Kiss my ass!

They left at 7:51. I have a feeling they were late.

Point being... if you're going to dinner at a restaurant, don't expect to be in and out! At least, not in 20 minutes at a sit-down restaurant, during they busy time of night!

What about the tip, you ask? (I know you're wondering.) $5 on $32. Fucking Casa Ole tip. No queso in my house, bitches!

Casa Ole is a Mexican restaurant franchise (I call them Mexican inspired, cause the food sure as hell ain't Mexican) with cheap food, shitty service, and terrible tippers. It's truly fast food, without the drive through. I tell you what, though, I love the place. Still haven't been able to figure out why.

Labels: Bartending, Career

Posted by M. Derrick Davis at 11:55 PM | Permalink | Comments