J's Days - My Life As A Bartender

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-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:

 

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.

I know it's been forever since I've posted any stories.  Truth be told, I'm really not bartending all that much. Sad, I know.  I've "moved up" in the world into training bartenders (which is quite a bit more scary than actually being one).  So I guess for now, I'm signing off.  Give all my love to your bartenders out there for me.  They are worth more than gold.

 

See ya in a bar soon,

J

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:

 

Sorry for the absence of up entries lately, been working more hours as an intern and less hours as a bartender (a lot less).  Anyway, a husband and wife came in to the bar tonight, seeming to be in jolly good humor.  They ordered their drinks and went to a table sort-of in the back corner.  They were an older couple, not elderly, but probably in their late 40's-early 50's.  They seemed to be in a great discussion and whenever I glanced over, they were smiling at each other.  About an hour and a half and three drinks later, their moods started to change.  You could tell they were in a heated discussion, but it didn't sound angry or like a fight - just a deep conversation (all conversations become deep when you're drinking, I believe).  Anyway, when I came over to serve them their fourth set, I overheard them talking about one of their daughter's (I'm assuming she was a daughter, might have been an in-law) parenting styles.  I just smiled and walked back to my bar.  About a half-hour after that, I noticed the gentleman's glass was empty, so I walked over to the table to see if he wanted a refill.  I glanced at his wife, who shook her head "no" very vehmently.  He smiled up at me and said, "yes, ma'am, that would be lovely."  His wife spoke up, "George, I don't think you should have any more."  George (no, that's not his real name) looked over at his wife, down at his empty glass, and back up at me, "no thanks ma'am, water will be just fine."  I smiled, silently applauding his calm reply.  As I walked away, I overheard his wife saying, "George, I think you're an alcoholic."  To which George replied, "Ellie, I've been drinking every day since I was 15, if I were an alcoholic, I think I'd know it."

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Ok, folks, I'm ticked.  Not just sorta-ticked, or kinda-ticked, but real-ticked.  When I say, "you CANNOT take your glass onto the dance floor," I mean you CANNOT.  I know that some of you have some weird problem with authority and directions, as well as I know some of you can't deal with women in authority figures (obviously this is not directed towards my readers, but the offenders of the command), but you MUST understand, you CANNOT take drinks onto the dance floor.  Do not be schocked when I come up, wrest the drink out of your hand, and then ask me what the hell I am doing.  I am enforcing the rules.  I  know this sounds like a stupid rule, it seems like a silly rule, and the more alcohol you imbibe, the more you want to argue about this rule.  I realize that you paid good money for that drink (hell, most of us earn our money) and I also realize that you're supporting my income.  That does not mean you can disobey the rules.  Just because your taxes go to support an officer's income does not mean he won't write up that ticket for you as fast as he can switch on those lights (trust me on this, folks out there, just a piece of advice - if you wanna get out of a ticket, don't tell the cop you pay his salary, just pisses them off.  Anyway, back to my tirade...).  And do not get upset and throw a temper tantrum when I tell you that you cannot have any more alcohol because I've caught you for the fourth time trying to 'sneak' a drink onto the dance floor.  Dance floor is for dancing, tables/counters/bar is for drinking, they do not mix.  Trust me on this.  And lastly, if you feel you have been seriously picked on because I have refused you service in light of your disregard for our meager rules, then you can write up your statement and I'll deposit it in the nearest circular (or, in our case, rectangle-ish) filing device.

 

Thank you, that is all. 

 

Just FYI - the reason that we have this rule, in case you are curious, is because of previous instances of broken glass upon our dance floor from someone accidentally dropping their drink in the 'heat of the musical moment.'  This not only causes a clearance of the floor and/or long hours of scrubbing up sticky alcohol residue, but has also caused some cut feet in the past.

 

Oh, and stop flashing the damn bus-boy, neither of us want to see your melons.  Grr...

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Dear Barfly Girls,

 

I understand your infatuation with my bus-boy, I really do.  Yes, he is very nice to look at.  Yes, he is a pretty boy with pretty-boy looks.  And yes, he look's even better in his tight-fitting shirts and his pulled-back long hair.  I also understand your fantasies of running your fingers through his hair and someday catching his eye.  But, I must ask, beg and/or plead that you leave the poor boy alone.  Not only do your wiley ways interfere with my work, I have to tell you a secret: you're never going to attract him.  True, you're very attractive in your killer heels and short skirt and yes, you've got a nice rack (and your little skimpy shirt shows it off great!).  But, again, I'm sorry - you're just not his type.  I don't mean to break your heart nor crush your dreams of being the "hot guy's girl," just trust me, it's not meant to be.  I have heard rumors that he's great in bed, and I've heard rumors that he's somewhat of a wild thing, but he's not your wild thing honey.  Just trust me here.  Go find a nice, young, hot thing either behind the DJ booth or maybe one of the patrons is more your style.  My apologies on shattering your glass-dreams. 

 

Yours truly,

J

 

PS ~ However, you hot young guys - you have a *high* chance of catching the bus-boy's eyes.  If you're available, see comments above regarding rumors.  :)

Today's event-at-the-bar:

 

Tonight one of our waitresses "forgot" to come to work, while another called-in sick (we're not sure what's going on there), so we were a bit short-handed.  One of our bar-backs offered to do some part-time waiter-ing when we got busy, if needed.  Glad for the help, I occasionally called him out from behind the bar to deliver some drinks for me.  He's a young, pretty thing and tends to get a ton of attention from the ladies.  Tonight was no exception.  One chicky in particular was so very smitten by him, it became annoying.  At first, she'd just call him over, and then convieniently forget what she wanted to order, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes at him.  As she became a bit more emboldened by her liquid courage, she would accidentally bump into our dear waiter-in-training (always while on his way back to the bar with an empty tray).  Although she was determined to catch his attention in a more-than-friendly type manner, he seemed to be a bit oblivious to her games.  I'm assuming it was the proverbial "last straw" that made her stick her foot out and trip him on his way to deliver a tray of drinks to another table.  Unfortunately, I was too busy to pay attention to what was going on, and caught it too late.  My reaction was to the *crash* of glass breaking on the cement floor and large amounts of indrawn breath and cursing.  Sadly for our desperate chicky, her intentions were for naught as our pretty bar-back boy was taken to an emergency room for stitches in his hand from the glass, and was only left to watch me and my other co-workers pick up the pieces.  Later in the evening, our 'gallant hero' returned with a bandaged hand and relayed the story of her attentions, but by that time she was gone. 

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. 

I read all of the comments left by my readers and I usually get a question or two.  I try to answer the questions in each comment section so that other readers know what the heck I'm talking about.  But, one comment was about pool balls and shot glasses and it reminded me of a something that happened to me when I first started bartending.

 

You know the drink, the flaming Dr. Pepper?  Well, *way back when* (i.e. before I was an actual bartender, and only played one on TV), I used to love those drinks.  I'd make them at parties all the time.  The 'flaming' part of the drink is lighting the shotglass on fire (the alcohol will burn and it's very dangerous - so please don't try it at home folks!) and dropping it into the beer.  I'm not going to go into what the drink is right now, that's what google is for.  ;)  Anyway, so the first time someone orders this drink from me at the bar, I go in search of a lighter or matches to 'light' it.  Since I don't smoke, I don't keep track of the lighting devices.  After finding one and successfully getting the shotglass to light, my 'trainer' (who has been a bartender for many years) sees what I'm doing and runs over, grabs the shotglass out of my hand, dumps it out, and exclaims, "what the hell are you doing?!"  When I try to explain that I'm making a Flaming Dr. Pepper, she screams, "you can't light shots on fire!  That's illegal!  Think of what would happen if the shot fell over or the customer got hurt!"  I had never thought of how dangerous a flaming shotglass could really be.  I felt awful...but what was worse was that the customer was all excited that a shotglass of alcohol could be lit with fire.  For the rest of the night we were battling drunk customers who kept attempting to light their shotglasses on fire (some alcohols won't light).  ~sigh~ That was a long night.  ;) 

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:

 

There was a girl who came in tonight, whom I choose to call a *girl* because she was acting so childish.  I believe that she was a drama queen of the highest sort.  She was wearing an outfit that was a bit too tight, talking a bit too loud, and being a bit too obvious.  Women like this frequently come into bars, so I tend to just ignore them (drives them batty) and treat them as if they were just another patron.  In this case, I guess it would have been a better idea if I'd just never come out from behind my bar.  After a few drinks, she started to complain to a friend sitting next to her that she wasn't feeling well.  I was clearing off the table next to her when she made this announcement, so I leaned over and told her that maybe she should slow it down a bit on the alcohol.  "Don't want you to get sick or anything."  She practically reared-around (like a horse) and glared at me.  "I'm NOT drunk," she slurred (as in fact, she was very drunk).  I just shrugged and went on my way.  A few minutes later another person in her party came up and asked why I'd cut [this girl] off.  I explained to him that I hadn't cut her off, but had just overheard her saying that she wasn't feeling well and told her that she might wanna 'slow it down' a bit.  He smiled and thanked me, ordered another round for their table, and walked back.  I watched them out of the corner of my eye for the next few minutes, pulling the taps and seeing this guy go back and relay what I had told him to the rest of the table.  It was too loud to hear what they were saying, but from their facial expressions, I could see that this girl was arguing with the guy.  She then throws herself out of the chair (knocking it over in the process) and comes stomping up my way, with her group in tow.  I rolled my eyes at the taps and finished filling the pitchers before I resigned myself to see what they wanted.  In an overly-loud, accusatory voice, she screamed at me, "did you or did you not tell me I couldn't have any more to drink?"  I replied just as nastily, "NO, I did not say that, but I'm saying that now.  You're cut off.  If you have a problem with this, you can go to another bar."  She glared at me and huffed and I could see the "drama" seething out of her pores.  I knew at that moment, she was going to be a problem.  Her friends rallied for her to me, telling me that she was fine and that they would take care of her, but I just raised my hand to tell them to stop, and went on my way.  It was a busy night, and I just didn't have the time or energy to deal with this.  A bit later, after some bickering at their table (it sounded like she was trying to get her friends to leave and they didn't want her to), she does the most gawd-awful thing I have ever seen in a bar.  She pretends to faint.  It was so obviously a fake that I snickered to myself.  Of course, all her friends and the people around her surrounded her in a big circle.  A few ran up to me and screamed at me to call 911.  I sighed and went over to see her act.  I walked to her, checked her pulse (which was rapidly beating), listened to her breathing (I swear she opened her eyes at this point), and proclaimed that she was not dead.  I told everyone around her that she was okay, and told her friends that they needed to take her to the hospital.  A few demanded that I call for an ambulance.  I told them that she could stay lying there until she woke up, and that they could take her later, if they wanted.  A female friend of hers called me awful names and yelled at how cruel I was, and it seemed as if I were the "bad guy" of the night.  Frustrated and irritated, I told them that I'd check her over one-more-time, and I deliberately ran my fingers up her shirt and tickled her lightly across the stomach (that's a very sensitive area and most people will twitch if you do this).  It worked and she started snorting.  She opened her eyes and acted as if she didn't know what was going on around her, and I just rolled mine and told her friends to get her out of the bar. 

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.

Hello friends,

 

I'm sorry I've been MIA, and it may be that way for awhile.  I had emergency surgery and am still recovering, and luckily I'm recovering well.  Christmas was good and I hope you all had a great holiday.  How 'bout this: leave a comment with YOUR best bar-story.  I'd love to hear them!  ;)

 

I'll try to be back soon!

 

J 

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:

 

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.