Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Well, actually this is from Wednesday, but I've been sadly without access to the internet for the last few days. You know how it is. Anyway, most of the time at our place, we have a DJ who plays music (mostly techno-type); but on the slow nights we'll have karaoke. It's usually scheduled for Mondays (which are generally the slowest of nights), but will vary depending on the crowd. Wednesday, being the biggest travelling day of the year, was it's usually boring night. However, we did get a visit from a 50's superstar. You see, although we all thought he died in a fiery plane crash with Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens, the Big Bopper is actually still alive. I know this because I met him on Wednesday night. Of course, when I asked him about the famous crash, he informed me that he faked his own death because he was sick of fame and wanted to spend more time with his family. Mr. Bopper, of course, sang several of his well-known songs (and I could almost believe him from his excellent singing), and then went on to sign autographs for the handful of customers we had. I was very entertained by one of the comments from a regular, when Mr. Bopper asked if our regular had heard of him, "oh yeah, I think I heard something on the radio about you having a concert at the casino last summer." The look of vulgar disgust on our post-superstar's face was the highlight, with a mumbled, "I've never played a casino in my life." I'm not sure we'll be seeing much of him in the near future.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Normally, we're not known for the type of place that one would consider a 'sports bar.' However, lately we've had a group of guys come in, about 6-7 or so, that will stay and watch whatever game is on (or rerun of a game). I assume it's because we have cable and perhaps none of them do. Anyway, as regularly scheduled, our DJ comes in at 8pm and starts up the karaoke or the music (depending on the night). Since all of our televisions are connected to the DJ's videobox (I'm sure there is a more technically-correct way to put this, but I'm not in 'the know'), all of tht TVs automatically start showing whatever the DJ wants (either the words to the songs for karaoke or music videos). A few nights ago, one of the new 'sports group' came up and complained about the fact that they wanted to continue to watch their sports show after 8pm. I politely informed him that I had no idea how the TV system worked and that he'd have to bring it up with the DJ. I'm assuming he did this, but with no avail, because the TVs still automatically changed at 8 and the guys would leave (probably to go to a 'real' sports bar). ..That is, until tonight...

Tonight, while the DJ began his standard routine, I noticed that the TV in the back corner (the farthest from the DJ booth and the most obscure) never changed. And all my new 'sports guys' slowly migrated from their various tables to that back corner. I decided that I'm not going to mention anything to the DJ, and act clueless if he asks anything about it.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

As most bars do, our bar has a vending machine that has those 'erotic toys and novelty condoms' in the bathrooms.  Most of the time, it's groups (or gaggles, as I call them) of women who attack this machine and come out of the restrooms with handfulls of odd little snarky items that have to do with nookie.  Most of the things are quite entertaining, and for the 50 cents, it brings a large amount of drunken hilarity.  There was one time when a woman put her quarters in and it spit out those 'press on' tattoos, but these went about where Janet Jackson's star was placed during her 'unveiling.'  This woman came out, with her shirt pulled up to her chin, asking everyone what they thought.  Hehehe.  Anyway, back to tonight.  So tonight a group of my regulars came in, and after a few rounds, decided that it was time to insert their quarters into the fun machine and see what comes out.  The standard version of weird stuff came, of which they showed off every time I came to refill their drinks.  When it came time for the bill, one lady asked me if she could write a check.  Now, usually, we don't accept checks (for obvious reasons), but I figured that they didn't have enough cash and they were regulars, so I'd let it fly.  I noticed a pile of cash on the table, along with something odd (but I couldn't tell what it was, from where I was standing), as they left.  I walked over to the table, and there it was.  A rubber check (literally - an oversized condom with a check design stamped on it), filled out with my name and the amount of her bill.  Inside my 'rubber check' was a note from the patron, "gotcha," which was wrapped around a wad of money. 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

While delivering a tray of drinks towards some tables near the dance floor, I picked up this weird squishy oval shaped plastic thing that looked similar to one of those kippahs (Jewish hats) that you see in movies.  After turning it over a few times, trying to figure out what on earth it was, I took it back behind the bar.  After several tosses between one of the bar-backs and the bouncer, the bar-back ended up with is on his head (which was extremely comical looking).  It was at this point when I realized what indeed it was.  Now, you all my think that we're a bit slow on the uptake, but when you're busy working and only half paying attention to what things really are, it's not as important to figure it out than it is to get that next drink into that customer's hot little hand.  So, after letting him parade about a bit with this chunk of plastic upon his brow, I informed him of it's origination.  Let's just say that it's supposed to enhance the mammaries of an ill-gifted female.  Newly enlightened, the chap gave us great guffaws by inserting it into his shirt and declaring himself the sad reciever of a botched sex-change.  To avoid any worse cheesy charades, I took the enchancer from him and tossed it in the box of other miscellaneous 'lost and found' items that we have in the offices.  Not to be outdone, for the rest of the night the bouncer called my dear little bar-back, "b--b head," to which he would respond by a blush and a giggle.  It was quite amusing. 

Today's event-at-the bar:

 

You know that couple?  The ones who come to the bar, they 'find' the bar as that couple and become one of the 'regular couples'?  And then, inevitably they break up.  Drama ensues.

She, as in the she half of the couple, came in tonight.  She was newly single, feeling like a rebound, angry and upset and alone and drinkin', dancin' and smokin' like there was no tomorrow.  People kept asking her where he was.  Being around long enough to recognize this pattern, I didn't open my mouth but it was tempting.  After a few times of exclaiming he and she are not together anymore (along with a few drinks to help), she began to denounce him and tell anyone who would listen how awful he was.  Then the most horrible thing happened...

He walked in the door.  He had a girl on his arm, some cutesy chick who was probably a regular at another bar down the road.  She came unglued.  Stomping up to him, full of liquid courage, she screams, "how dare you come into MY bar?!  How dare you bring HER into MY bar?!"  As if she owned the place.  The invisible sparks started to fly around them and cutesy girl slowly walked away towards me and the bar, probably knowing all-to-well what was going to happen next.  What did happen next was a screaming match about whose bar it really was and who was entitled to enter said bar.  I sauntered over there and asked them very kindly to take their arguement outside (as not to disturb the other patrons).  A bit more calm and less intoxicated, he nodded to me and tried to pull her outside.  She proceeded to scream and rant and rave about how his new girl was still in her bar and how she wasn't going to leave if his new girl didn't have to.  She tried to get me in on  her side of the situation, but I politely declined the offer in a blantant  pronouncement of "if you don't leave in 30 seconds, I'm going to kick you both out for the night."  Happily for me, they went outside.  During the time the unhappy uncouple were outside, the new miss (his new girl) started chatting it up with another guy and they went out onto the dance floor.  I 'lost' them as the night went by (meaning I stopped paying a lot of attention to them, except when they came to the bar), but they seemed to be having a good time.  Probably about an hour (maybe more, maybe less - it was a busy night) after the uncouple left the bar, they came walking back in.  She had mascara down her cheeks and made a beeline towards the restroom.  He walked up and quietly ordered a beer and her regular drinks (or, their regular round).  After a quick fix in the restroom, she came and sat next to him up at the bar.  I don't know what was said, and I don't really care, but they left the bar together tonight.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

I saw something tonight that I have never seen before, not even on Halloween.  I've seen a real-life smurf.  No, really.  Well, maybe it was a bit taller than I would have thought, but it was definitely blue.  Also, I'm pretty sure it was a male, but it could have been a female.  I'm really not quite sure.  This guy came in tonight, in all blue.  And he was *all* blue - face, hands, arms, everything.  Blue.  The only thing that wasn't blue were his teeth.  When I asked why he was painted from head-to-toe, he replied, "I felt blue tonight, so I figured I'd show it."  And show it he did.  I wasn't quite sure what to make of this guy...I mean, he was nice and all...but it kinda freaked me out when he would smile, and his teeth were such a stark contrast against the blueness of his skin that they looked shockingly white.  And his eyes - they were sorta like that too.  He had even painted his eyelids. 

 

And no, he wasn't wearing the funny little white hat, although I pictured him in it all night...(still laughing to myself).

Today’s event-at-the-bar:

 

I just don’t understand the largesse of inhibitions that a human person can lose with just a small amount of alcohol.  Makes you wonder if they really needed the alcohol at all, or if it’s just an excuse?  We had this chick come in tonight – normal girlie with a group of friends – that seemed like the average “group girl.”  Y’know, the ones who look fairly pretty (not model quality, but nice), seemed as if she worked in the corporate world, dressed modestly and giggle a lot.  These girls tend to come in and conglomerate around a table, usually intimidating the single guys, but also protecting each other with the “pack” mentality.  These are the same ones who gather in the bathrooms (y’know the ones, I’m sure).  Well, anyway, just add a few drops of alcohol, and they magically turn into strange and sometimes obscene creatures.  This is exactly the case of said chickie.  She was wearing one of those shiny, stretchy, blousy shirts underneath a blazer and slacks – nothing too unusual.  After a few drinks, her pack did a bathroom run (also trying to con one of our servers into watching their purses, which I replied, “not her job”), and Shiny girl had shucked her blazer (and later I discovered she had shucked her undergarments as well).  Suddenly “the pack” started to ‘get into the music’ and they all piled out onto the dance floor.  I watched them for a bit; but seeing nothing too outlandish going on’ I went back to focusing on my bar.  Suddenly, my attention was called to the stage, where Ms. Shimmery had decided to pull down her shirt by the collar and expose the entire dance floor, while also shaking her peaches for all-the-world to see.  Then, just as suddenly, she’d pull herself up and then repeat the process.  Signaling the DJ for assistance, we removed our “flasher” from the stage, but not fast enough for her to get in one last parting…ehem…shot.

 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

I had a total 'Revenge of the Nerds' moment tonight! This guy came in, with glasses on that were larger than his face, and sat down. He ordered a rum & coke, but you could tell he didn't drink often and he kept grimacing with every sip. His eyes followed me around all night, and I was getting a bit creeped-out, but not enough to do anything about it. I was making jokes with another patron (and I must say, I'm a bit on the 'overly-cheesy' side, so they were pretty corny), when Mr. 80's Glasses leaned over and nasally exclaimed, "you're weird" and then started chortling in that scary-dorky way. He was so very...geeky, that everyone around him got very quiet in astonishment that there were still these 'guys' out there! Don't misunderstand me (or misunderestimate, as Bush says...hehehe - see, cheesy humor), he was a very nice guy. It was just a bit of a flashback shock. ;)

Today's event-at-the-bar:

A guy walked in tonight all cocky and full of himself and sat down with great gusto. He ordered a beer, and you could just tell there was something about him that screamed "notice me!" He sat next to a girl that I know quite well, and immediately started chatting with her. There was something a bit...off about him, so I kept my eye on him throughout the night. After a few hours chatting it up and gettin' down on the dance floor, the chickie starts getting a bit tipsy and the odd mister starts talking a bit louder than before (that 'obvious' loud that you know it's so other people definitely hear). Absently 'evesdropping' and working at the same time, I overhear him say (again, in his way-too-loud-for-normal voice) that he's an officer of the law. It made me nervous for a second, but I brushed it off pretty quickly, because if he were going to cite me or anything, he'd have already done it by now. Figuring that he was just out to have a good time like the rest of us, I shrugged it off and continued pouring. About half an hour later, I watched him rush out the door in a beeline from the mens' room. My chicky friend pulls me to the side in a panic. Supposedly when she went to use the ladies' room, he took her keys out of her purse and was gone. I signalled to another patron-friend of mine (a very large manly thing) and asked him to go out and see what was up. He follow d her outside, and not two minutes later, Mr. "Officer" comes back in, quite frazzled. Behind him, in comes my friend and shows me her keys in her upraised hand (Mr. Bodyguard strolled in last). Looking none-too-happy, Mr. Key Thief comes up to the bar and exclaims that there is a lady who won't leave him alone and keeps following him out to his car. He tells me that he's a Cop and that he's going to call "more authorities" in if I don't fix the situation. Knowing that the majority of my patrons will leave if police show up (standard bar dynamics), I calm him down, assuring him that I'll take care of the problem. I ask him to point o ut who the offending lady is and he points directly to my friend, who is now happily chatting the ear off Mr. Bodyguard at a far-off table. Obviously it hadn't dawned on Mr. "Officer" that I knew her. When I looked at him and said, "oh, I'm sure she'll leave you alone for the rest of the night," he balked at me with an open-mouthed fish-face for a minute and then replied, "w-well, she'd better." He then went off to an empty stool. Laughing to myself, I shook my head and went back to work. A bit later, the DJ walked up to me, during his break, and told me to watch-out for the guy at the end of the bar, "he pretends to be a cop and causes all kinds of problems." I just laughed and told the DJ that I already knew.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Is not really a story of my bar at all.  I've gotten criticism lately from friends who read this that say that I'm *too* critical of my patrons (in truth, I like them all - good or bad - because they break the monotony of my job).  Believe it or not, my job becomes monotonous just like every other job.  So, in the traditions of the season, I'll give you a story of what happens when Miss J gets on the other side of the bar (so to speak).  There is a reason why I am a bartender, and not a bar patron, and that is because I tend to make a fool of myself when I'm under the influence of alcohol (and am better at serving it than indulging in it).  Last year I went on vacation to New Orleans and in the spirit of Bourbon Street, I plied myself with copious amounts of liquor in the form of their 'world famous' hurricane drinks (which amounts to rum, rum, some rum and a little more rum - with a bit of rum on the top, for good measure).  I was so intoxicated that I believed myself invincible and proceeded to try to talk a police officer off of his horse because, in my inebriated state, I believed that I could ride his horse.  Thank god he was a nice guy and used to drunken, silly college girls like myself.  He good naturedly informed me that a civilian (non-officer) could not ride the official police horses, but he would be more than happy to give me a list of places that offered horseback riding in the area, for tourists.  I have no idea what ever happened to this list, or if I even got it.  I meandered off with my plastic cups over to another bar on the Street because I was facinated by this guy who had a red-and-white feather boa (or, rather, I was fascinated by the boa, and not the guy).  My mission at this point was to abscond with the boa.  Sadly, I was not successful with this mission, because I completely forgot about it once I entered the bar and started dancing.  I was under the protective wing of my sister (thank god), who was keeping me on track.  Once we enetered the bar, the bartender did fire tricks (blowing flames out of his mouth and juggling sticks that were on fire) and that kept me entertained for probably a good half-hour.  I'm glad to report that the next day, I awoke with quite a few sets of beads and the assurance of my sister that I hadn't earned any of them in the proper fashion (i.e. I kept my shirt on).  I vaguely remember that alcohol-loaded night, except for the killer hangover I had the next day and the myriad of bruises that blossomed on my limbs overnight.  I've been told I had a lot of fun though, and barely managed to keep my camera in one piece.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

We have a structural pole that sort-of 'separates' our dance floor from our bar area.  Neither of these areas have definite boundaries, but this pole has always been the 'marker.'  This particular pole is also commonly used as a prop for women to dance around, especially those that are tipsy enough to lose a bit of their inhibitions and attempt to attract the attention of the opposite sex.  We usually let this go on until the girl either gets out of hand (i.e. she starts removing clothing) or she becomes a danger to those around her.  Normally, we get at least one girl a night who does what we good-naturedly call "the bar dance."  Tonight was no exception.  A rather hesitant, giggly woman walks up and starts 'dancing' around this pole.  Her attention is directed at a table full of other giggly women and I come to the conclusion that it was probably a dare.  She flutters around the pole a few more minutes, and then giggles herself back to the table.  Now, the bartenders always make a note of who dances on this pole, in order to rate these chicks (and sometimes guys) on the 'how drunk are you?' scale.  So, I kept watch on her a few more minutes after her pole dancing debut.  I noticed that her actions did grant her the attention of some very interested men, who began to flock her table and commend her on her performance.  This must also have gained the attention of a rather volumptuous lady that was feeling a bit lonely.  The next time I looked over at the pole, a rather too-scantily-clad-for-her-frame woman walked over to it and started gyrating on it as if she 'was so into the music that she couldn't help herself.'  She had a look of fierce determination on her face and almost seemed angry.  Most of her attention was focused on the group of men that were somewhat scattered around the earlier dancing queen, and she was trying her best to give that 'come hither' stare (if there is such a thing).  Unfortunately for her (and for us I suppose), she was a bit too tipsy to pull it off.  She slipped in her 5-inch "killer" heels and with a resounding crash, plopped right to the floor - backside first.  Hey, at least it wasn't her head.  I came out of behind my bar and helped her up, patting her off with a dry bar towel and making sure she wasn't hurt.  The only thing that seemed damaged a bit was her pride, and she slinked off to her far-away table, after I made sure to inform her of her now non-alcohol-consuming status.  The next time I looked over, she was gone.  I felt bad for her, she seemed like a nice girl.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Sorry for the delays folks, but midterms came around and I used every minute of every hour I had to study.  Anyway...

 

So, it's that time of year: no, not the holidays (but they're close), it's inspection time.  And what does this mean?  This means that the big, bad guys in uniforms (and sometimes without) come in and make sure I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  For those of you out there who didn't know - it's a $5000 fine in WA state plus 90 days minimum in jail if you serve a minor.  That's a lot of pressure for this college chick.  So, I've been overly cautious, knowing that undercover brothers are out there.  Well tonight I passed with flying colors.  This cute little blonde guy comes in with two of his buddies and they all sit down.  They look like your normal construction workers after a hard day, and they're engrossed in some discussion over someone that they work with.  Mr. Cutiepie orders three beers almost absentmindedly and starts arguing with one of his buddies.  I pull three bottles out of the cooler and walk over towards him, but before I hand them over, I ask for their ID's.  For some reason something just didn't seem right.  The guy grabs his wallet and pulls out an ID, still looking away from me and arguing with the other guy.  But...there's nothing there - an empty ID slot (one of those ones with plastic over it) without the ID.  I mention the missing piece of plastic and he looks at me incredulously and then looks down at his wallet.  Sure enough, there wasn't anything there.  He looks at his buddies and says, "damn, I must have left it in my other jeans."  I politely tell him that without an ID he can't be in our establishment and he throws me a half-smile while telling his buddies, "maybe it's out in my truck?"  One of his buddies follows him out, to "go help him look", while the other stays in.  As soon as they leave, the guy that stayed behind starts ribbing me with, "c'mon ma'am, I'll vouch for him" and "can't ya just over-look it once this time?"  After repeat refusals, he sits quietly waiting for the other two.  A few minutes later, his phone rings and I hear him say, "I'm sitting here having a drink, what are you doing? [pause]  All right, fine, I'll come out."  Then he hails me down to the end of the bar and pulls me aside.  Grabbing a chain around his neck he pulls out a badge from under his shirt and low and behold, he's the fuzz.  After asking me for my bartending license and giving me a business card, he shook my hand and thanked me for "doing such a great job and holding my ground," and then he walked out the door.  I stood there staring blankly after him, feeling a bit stunned.   

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

We love our regulars, and what we love even more is that our regulars have children.  When their kids turn 21, they come to see me.  So last night, a recent coming-of-age gent, who is the merry son of such patron, came to visit us.  He works for a company that requires him to dress in what I call "suit without the jacket" style.  So, he came in dressed to-the-nines.  In a place where most guys are dressed to mimic rap stars or beach bums, he stood out like a sore thumb.  It was alright though, because he enjoyed the attention from the ladies.  However, it was obvious that Mr. Hotstuff hadn't been in the legal scene all that long, because after two drinks he was a bit tipsy.  He was a pretty happy drunk, so I didn't mind much, and he seemed to know that he was getting inebrieated, which made me all the happier (because he didn't get to the point to where I had to cut him off).  His friendliness towards the ladies, though, made me laugh.  He seemed to loose all inhibition and had the idea that all the women around him were madly in love with him.  So, he'd start to talk to the girl next to him, buying her drinks and chatting it up, and after awhile he'd take off his tie and wrap it around her neck.  This either flattered them, or offended them, and for some reason he wasn't batting very well tonight.  After about four or five chickies, it was my turn.  As I rounded the bar to deliver drinks out near the dance floor, it reminded me of that game where you throw the rings on the ducks.  I see this tie go flying through the air with an attempt to land around my neck.  Sadly, he doesn't have very good aim.  Goodnaturedly (is that a word?), I put my tray down, picked the tie up, and put it on where he intended it to go.  As I was walking back to the bar with my empty tray, he pulled me to a stop, looked at the girl sitting next to him, and asked her, "ishn't she jusht the shexiesht thing?"  The girl nodded and I reminded him that "that was no way to get this pretty girl's phone number", pointing to the girl on the stool.  She blushed and giggled and he sat back down next to her.  After a few tries of returning the tie, throughout the night, I became the proud owner of one purple and blue striped accessory.  I stuck it in the office until the next time he comes by, a little more sober.   

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Well folks, I knew that it would happen someday, and tonight was the night.  Your favorite bartender often "sneaks" her hubby in the bar (i.e. he comes to hang out, but I don't tell anyone who he is).  A handful of the regulars know him by now, and they make it their absolute mission-of-the-night to get him as plowed as possible.  It's against WA state law to be intoxicated while you're working, and we get inspected quite frequently, so I'm always the DD when my hubby "comes out to play."  Well, tonight he came to play and play he did!  In the process of trying to consume all of the alcohol that was purchased for him by the regulars (remember their mission), he neglected to inform me that he hadn't eaten dinner tonight.  So, after four or five rounds and another few miscellaneous shots that the other bartender got for him, he was so rip-roaring drunk that I actually had to escort him out to my car.  Not only was he swerving, weaving, and slurring, he was practically drooling-drunk.  Now, I know firsthand the amount of alcohol that it takes for him to show such signs of intoxication, and it's usually much higher than the amount he had, so I was quite concerned about his reactions.  After many declarations of love to me and some attempts at trying to hug me while I'm working, I knew it was time to lead him out the door to "wait in the car" .  Laughing, I opened the passenger-side door and poured him into the seat, covered him with a blanket from the back seat, and he obligingly passed out.  And the best part?  I was parked directly in-front of the main window for the bar (and my car is a slightly obscene orange color, so it's hard to miss).  Therefore, any and all of the bar patrons could look directly out the window into my car and see my dear hubby snoozing as snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug.  Alas, there was many roars of laughter throughout the night as a regular would walk in the door and ask, "Hey J, isn't that your husband passed out in that car?" 

I heard this yesterday:

 

A business man walks into a bar, sits down and orders a drink.  After a few minutes, he hears someone say, "nice suit."  He looks around and doesn't see anyone but the bartender, who's washing dishes.  A few minutes later, he hears, "nice tie."  He looks around again, seeing no one, and asks the bartender, "did you say something?"  "No," the bartender says, "I didn't say anything."  The business  man looks at him and says, "I could have sworn someone just said 'nice tie', I must be losing my mind."  The bartender laughs and says, "No, you're perfectly sane, that's just the peanuts.  They're complimentary."

 

Groan.  :)

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

There's a lady that comes in regularly because she lives near the bar.  She's cute, petite, pretty, blonde, loves to have a good time and attracts the men in droves.  The one drawback to our "hot chick"?  She's married.  Now, little Miss (or should I say Mrs?) Cutiepie doesn't wear her wedding ring, and often complains of guys trying to take her home.  I once pointed out that if she wore her ring, they'd be less inclined to persude her to their pads (or so I've heard) and her reply was that she was afraid that it would get stolen.  My thoughts: she was afraid she wouldn't get hit on as much (but we'll accept her answer).  So, she just didn't quite understand, tonight, why a guy "just wouldn't leave her alone."  According to her, she repeatedly refused his offers to dinner (we all know what "dinner" actually means) and supposedly informed him of her matrimonial state.  Yet, she continually drank the drinks he bought for her and pulled him out onto the dance floor.  Well, Mr. Clueless continued to try to convince her to go to his place and when that didn't work, kept trying to kiss her.  I could tell that our little Miss was starting to get a bit uncomfortable and began to avoid him and talk to other patrons.  So, I pulled the Mister aside and made sure that he knew that she was married and that she was a "good bar friend."  He nodded and smiled at me and then left her alone.  About a half-hour later, my attention is caught by a squeak coming from the doorway to the beer garden (for those of you non-bar-regulars, a beer garden is pretty much an outside area, still part of the bar).  The scene was sadly comical.  Here was the little Miss, arms and legs straight out, hands firmly attached to the moulding along the doorway, feet entwined in a chair, lifted off the ground, with the Mr. Clueless's arm wrapped around her - trying to pull her outside (obviously she *did not* want to go).  So, as he continues to tug, and her knuckles begin to turn white, I walk to the beer garden doorway and disconnect his hand from her waist.  Wide-eyed, she thanked me and ran out the front door (supposedly to home).  I informed Mr. Stronghold of his inappropriate behavior and recommended that he change his ways if he wants to frequent our place again.   

Sorry for the delay in entries, folks, but the fabulous Miss J (hehehe) relocated and her internet access hasn't been hooked up yet (ugh!).  Back to our regularly scheduled program...

 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

A couple came in tonight that are regulars, along with a big group of friends.  It was the wife's birthday and she meant to have a blast at it.  So, I made sure she had the best time that she could.  Her husband kept coming up and ordering drinks for her, so she didn't have to get off the dance floor, and he was the designated driver (*always have a DD!!*), so I was giving him free soda and coffee (always a nice policy and a good way to get a big tip!).  Well, about his fourth or fifth trip up, he ordered her a drink and I paid for it, since they were regulars and all, and it was her birthday.  He gave me a big smile and a wink and thanked me, and she came up and drunkenly thanked me too.  Afterwards, her hubby walked up and took a seat at the bar, claiming that he would rather sit at the bar than at a table near the smoke machine (from the DJ booth).  After about 10 minutes of sitting there, I refilled his soda and chatted with him about the birthday party and how happy he was that she was having a good time.  Out of nowhere, he looked at me and said, "y'know, if I wasn't already married, I'd try to hook up with you."  I smiled politely, thinking um...but *I'm* married as well, don't I get a choice in this?  And sort-of blew off his comment as politely as possible and went to get another customer a drink.  Walking back to Mr. Bdaygirl's hubby's side of the bar, he continued down the path he had been going, sort-of whispering (you can't really truly whisper in a loud bar), "You knew that, didn't you?  You've got those eyes; you see through everything.  You see it, don't you?  You see that I want you."  Realizing that there was no way to answer this question honestly without hurting his feelings (because I'm really not attracted to him), I just smiled noncommitally and answered "sure."  I was beginning to think this was going to be a bad situtation, when, luckily for me, his bride decided it was a good time to grab him for a dance, and I was saved for the night. 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Tonight was a pretty slow night, so we didn't have all that many patrons in our bar.  One patron we did have though was a pretty little brunette whom I found out later was some famous Country Music singer that wanted to spend the night out with her local friends without the fear of getting "noticed".  One of the chicks with her was this tiny blonde woman who didn't, ehem, know how to handle her alcohol.  After about three glasses of beer, Blondie started hitting on all the guys in the bar.  Truly, *every* single one.  She would walk up to one, start talking, and then start rubbing his arm or running her hands in his hair.  Some guys seemed to like her attention, and many did not.  Unfortunately, the longer the night went on, the more uninhibited she got.  At one point I had to rush over to the dance floor to make her put her shirt back on (during a karaoke version of "I'm Too Sexy", she truly believed she was too sexy for her shirt).  Another time I had to go save the DJ, pretending I was his girlfriend, because she was trying to get her hands in his pants.  It was quite a funny night all around (for those of you who work in bars, yes, I *did* cut her off - early!).  Ms. Handsaroamin' closed down the bar and I practically had to force her to leave, repeatedly reminding her that we were closed and she had to go.  After a few drunken phone calls, her and the Songbird's entourage departed our establishment and after listening to the multiple complaints of her inappropriate touching, I can't say I wasn't glad to see her go. 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Well, it's been slow around everyone's favorite watering hole lately.  But, that's to be expected, August & Sept are usually the slowest months of the year.  Needless to say, I'm out of good dirt to dish, but I do have a cute little humorous story.  We have a guy who comes in, who I'll call Speedy, that just recently got a divorce.  Being a divorcee myself (although I'm no longer in that catagory), I know what the loneliness of divorce is like.  I talk to Speedy quite a bit, and he visits me on an almost daily basis.  Now, Speedy came upon our establishment during an outing with the ex-Mrs. Speedy, where they were stopping at the "little bar down the street", to get away from the kids.  The ex-Mrs. Speedy took a shine to our little hole-in-the-wall and considers it "their place".  Hence, Mr. Speedy isn't "supposed" to visit "their place" without her.  However, Speedy also took a shine to our "home-away-from-home" and comes in quite often, unbeknownst to the dear ex-Mrs.  All of the bartenders know this, and we all keep his little secret.  When he comes in and announces, "Long time, no see Ladies" or "Hello Stranger", we all play along and chit-chat with the two about things that we've chit-chatted about with Speedy many days before (or, sometimes weeks, being such that the ex has the kids and has difficulty scheduling babysitters).  Well, poor Speedy - he talked us into playing along, but he forgot to mention this little charade to the other regulars that frequent our bar.  And, being an almost daily patron, Speedy has become "familiar" to the other regulars.  Sadly, yesterday, Speedy was having car trouble, and mentioned that he ended up calling the ex to pick him up where he was stranded, and then he called a tow-truck.  Afterwards, unknown to the ex, he came in to our bar to lament his bad luck.  So upon his entrance today, another patron yelled, "Hey Speedy, did you get your car fixed?  If not, I know a guy..."  Realization dawned on the ex-Mrs. Speedy, as Mr. Speedy sheepishly blushed a deep red.  She shockingly cried, "you come here without me?!  I thought this was "our" place?!"  Needless to say, Speedy got "the look" for most of the night, and he also purchased all of the ex-Mrs.' drinks - which ended up being quite expensive.  Poor Speedy.