Today's event-a-the-bar:

 

Here in WA we have a Liquor Control Board (I'm not sure if all states have this, but we do). Anyway, bars get inspected all the time and ours is no exception. The sad part is that one of our girls got caught. I was lucky, I guess, because it didn't happen to me - but I guess it could have. There was an older gentleman and a younger-looking lady that came in tonight. I saw them come in, but since they sat down at a table and not at the bar, they weren't in 'my territory.' I guess my coworker just wasn't having a good night or something, but she didn't card the woman. Honestly, I don't know if I would have carded her - she looked over 21, probably more like 25 or 26. Guess it was just a nice make-up job, because she was 19. They both ordered wine (which, I guess, is a 'tip off' all on it's own, because most people don't order wine at a bar like ours...some do, but not most). Anyway, turns out that the man works for the LCB. He pulled my coworker aside and gave her a long talking to, and also asked for our manager and spoke with her for a long period of time. It was a big mess. We're not sure what's going to happen (my coworker could end up going to jail, according to the LCB guy) and he told us that he'd be back after Thanksgiving and upping inspections at our place. I understand all sides of the situation (we can't be selling to minors, now can we?!), but it just sucks that it happened to a nice girl like my coworker.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

I'm hip...I'm hot...I'm sexy...I swagger...I'm the center of attention...I'm a bartender...I'm...soaked?  Huh?  Talk about your wilting flower!  Well, today was a bad day for the little Miss J.  First, I was stuck in traffic because of the intense fog that Seattle has right now, so I was late for work (only about 5 min, but still - I like being there at least 10 min early).  So, I ran inside and counted my tills and got ready to take over for the girl I was relieving.  Of course, as soon as she left, for some unknown reason, the bar gets super-busy with early evening beer drinkers who are watching some sports game.  And the one thing I hate happening the most while I'm on-shift happens: I blew a keg.  Now, this doesn't mean one of our kegs blew up - it means that it's empty and the tap hoses are sucking up foam and air.  So, I signal my waitress to watch my bar while I go change it.  Just to make my day all the better, the one keg that blew has a faulty tap - it gets stuck every time you go to try and put it on a new keg and the 'release' arm is broken.  So,changing this tap takes a certain sort-of finesse.  Sadly, in my rush to get it changed so that the next guy could get his brew for his ball game, I yanked on the tap as hard as I could and jammed it even worse.  At this point, it starts spraying the foam an cold beer from the new keg all over the cooler.  Frustrated and getting wet, I start yanking on the tap harder and finally manage to get it unwedged from he keg top.  Slowly I put the tap back on the keg, wiggled it, and it seated like it was supposed to.  But - at this point, I've just taken a very cold 'beer bath' inside our cooler and what could make it any better?  I was wearing a white  button-up shirt and khaki pants.  So, not only am I looking like I should be in a wet t-shirt contest, I also looked like I had peed my pants (from bending down to the keg to wrestle with the tap).  Pulling my sopping hair back into a ponytail, I emerged from the cooler quite frozen and sopping wet.  I went straight to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup and grumpily endured the ribs from my patrons.

Howdy faithful readers, I wanted to put a note in before my day's tale.  Thank you for all the congratulations (for getting on The Best of MSN Spaces) and to say thanks for all the comments.  I *do* read each-and-every one, and often check out commenter's Spaces (although I have to admit, I'm a bit of a lurker). 

 

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

We have this shot that we give out for special occasions, such as birthdays and bachelor(ette) parties, that is topped with a mound of whipped cream (the "codename" for this shot is a BJ).  Usually the DJ is "forced" to endure the "production" of serving this shot.  I'll try to be as PC as possible in describing the situation.  Most of you out there know what the BJ drink stands for - and what we do is pull a chair up on the dance floor (along with lots of announcing and "play" over the mic so as to get the crowd's attention) and the server (usually the DJ) sits on this chair with the shotglass in between his/her legs.  Then, the patron tries to take the shot without using his/her hands (i.e. tries to wrap mouth around top of shot and drink).  Well, one of my good friends came in last night for his birthday and I told the DJ that I'd be the "server" of this drink for my good buddy.  Very rarely am I called up there, so this was a "big deal" to all the regulars, and they hooped it all up, cheering on my friend and tossing good-natured jokes our way.  This was all fun and good and well until I realized that whipped cream does not dry clear - in fact, the whipped cream we have (which is actually 'whipped topping') not only dries *white* but it's also oily (I have no idea why).  Sadly for me, I was wearing black slacks.  So...you can picture it, I"m sure.  I seemed to have white, oily spots all over the area of a certain anatomy all night.  Patrons started calling me "Monica" and giving me general heck.  I just laughed it off and now I know to never be the "server" for one of those drinks again.  ;-)

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Anyone who works in the hospitality business will tell you that sex sells.  And, in the case of your favorite local bartender, it really does.  Most bartenders that aren't forced into a dress code will have one section of their closet dedicated to the most risque, most shocking, most sexy clothing they can find.  Mind you, I don't dress for work like I do for daily life.  So, tonight I dressed to kill.  One thing I totally forgot to think about though, was the color in which I "dressed to kill" in: White.  I'm sure this has happened to every single one of you out in the hospitality industry.  My mistake: I wore white jeans.  Sadly to say, during a slow moment of the night, I took a seat right on the edge of the well.  I sit there quite a bit, but usually I check it (and clean it) before I do this.  This time, being in a intense gossip conversation with one of my regulars, I sat right down without looking.  You can see this coming, can't you?  Yes, as soon as I plopped down, I felt it - that sticky wetness that is melted ice and liquor.  Jumping up as if I sat on a tack, I jerked around to see...a nice mark across the seat of my pants.  So, instead of being the night's hottie, I ended up being the butt (pun very intended) of most jokes ~ with a nice blue streak (from the Blue Curaco ~ the stuff we put in Blue Hawaiians) across my backside.  At least it wasn't Chambord (purple) or Cherry Cordial Liqueur (red).    

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

It just goes to show that you should never speak ill about people...I think I've learned this lesson once or twice.  Today's lesson, boys and girls, is that when you think the worst thing will never happen, it usually does.  Our DJ has a fondness for Jeager-Bombs.  For those who aren't in the bar "scene", this fancy concoction is made with Jeagermeister and Red Bull.  I guess you get wired along with your drunk.  So, anyway, this is the drink of choice of our dear record spinner.  Being so, he's often purchased drinks by the regulars, in hopes that he'll 1) put their song up next, ahead of the rest or 2) just being friendly and appreciative.  Well, a particular regular of ours came in and decided that he wanted to have a bit of fun, so he challenged the DJ to a "drink-off".  As I watched the other bartender line up the drinks, I shook my head to myself and thought some smarmy comment about boys and their egos, and proceeded to go fix up some appetizers that another customer had ordered.  Unfortunately, our challenger is about twice as old and half the size of our music spieler, so after the sixth set of drinks, he was well on his way to losing the match.  At the point of watching the other bartender dole out the seventh set of double drinks (I was happy at this point that I hadn't served either of them, and therefore wasn't a culprit in this hair-brained game), I mumbled to her, "if they don't watch out, they're each gonna end up with alcohol poisoning."  Sadly, I may have created a self-made prophecy.  About ten minutes later, our elderly challenger passed out cold.  It scared the livin' daylights out of us all (employees and clientele both), and we called emergency.  I later found out that our golden-ager, in his desire to relive his youth, had an aneurysm.  I've felt terrible all day, and our DJ's desire to drink the beloved concoctions has waned.

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

No, I don't work at Red Robin, but I like their pins...always makes me smile.  In Washington State, you can recieve a HUGE fine (around $5K or so), plus time in jail for serving a minor, so I'm pretty strict and ID anyone I even think might be close to under 21.  Well, y'know, bars are dark and we were busy, and this gentleman came walking through the door.  He looked like he'd be somewhat around 21, so I asked to see his ID.  He completely ignored me and passed right by the bar and to a table near the dancefloor.  So, I chased him down.  He had his back to me at this point, and it was pretty loud near the dancefloor, so I tapped him on the shoulder and screamed, "Sir, I need to see your ID!  You can't be in here unless you're over 21!"  He turned around with a big smile on his face and replied, "Sure."  It was at this moment when I realized that he was probably old enough to be my father and (I am told) got a very shocked look on my face.  He was, in actuality, old enough to be my grandfather (he was 67).  Needless to say, the joke of the night was whether or not I had carded [insert name here]'s parents or not.  Or, "do you think [Mr./Mrs. X] is legal, J?!"