We Lost
It’s not a competition, but it appears we did lose. We have a sister club next door called Main. We share the same liquor license, health permit, and any one who calls them the phone rings here. They had a massive night and appear to have outsold us. If you include the cover charge, it wasn’t even close. It’s all the more impressive a feat considering we open at eleven-thirty ayem and they opened at eight p.m. I like everyone who works there. I even filled in once when one guy had a sore vagina (back), but I don’t want to work there again.
It was overcast in Santa Monica all day. Usually it burns off, but that wasn’t the case yesterday. I feared the marine layer would mess up my happy hour. I had no idea how right I would be. Driving to work, there was a small festival on Main Street. There was a band playing and people on the street. I had some hope for my shift, but, alas, when I arrived, it was dead. There was a time when I could accept a slow happy hour in the fall. I figured I could at least watch college football. It was hardly a consolation for the money I wasn’t making. Luckily, Phil and Dara came in. She’s a bartender and he’s a chef from Silverlake. I bought them a drink and they took care of me. During a slow shift, it’s nice to get industry people who know how to play the game. As a bartender, I like playing the “game,” but it can get costly. For those who don’t know, the way to play the “game” is, a bartender buys you a drink or many and you throw them some extra money. The “game” can get costly. I over tip my fellow service industry friends any way. If they scratch my back, I give them a full body rub down. For instance, I ate at The Counter a few weeks ago with a friend. We had a couple of burgers and fries and the total couldn’t have been more than twenty-five dollars. I asked for the check and she said, “You win the cool customer award. Your food is on me.” I threw her forty bucks. Why? Cause I’m a shmuck. But as someone who works for tips, I figure it’ll come back to me.
Thank God happy hour ended. In honor of my meager earnings, I took an extra long break. I didn’t mean to, but my boss made me. Great work if you can find it. The night picked up nicely. We had a great band, Paul Chesney. He always brings a good crowd. My manager, Gator came over and told it was crazy next door. Some guy threw up on the bar. Another girl decided to kick off her shoes and hit the dance floor where she proceeded to trip the light fantastic on some glass. Needless to say, she cut her foot. I understand there was a trail of blood from the dance floor to the sidewalk. An ambulance was called but she left before it arrived. Something about not having insurance. (I hope that octogenarian and the pit bull with the lipstick win, then we’ll all have health insurance.) Luckily, we do. Clubs tend to attract a higher number of douche bags, but on our side we had some great customers. This guy Kevin from New York would include me in every round he bought and was a great tipper, too. At one point he bought a round of Jaeger bombs. I don’t get these kids and their Jaeger bombs. You might as well drop a turd in a glass of syrup and caffeine and drink it. We have a Jaegermester machine in our bar. It holds, dispenses, and chills three bottles. Guys see the machine, buy a bunch of shots, then start punching each other in the throat. It’s good times.
We didn’t finish work until close to three. After work, one of my favorite customers Mark the chef/owner of La Vecchia brought us ice cream samples. Dawn, Kimi, Mary-Kate and I mowed down all of them, giggled, then did each other’s hair. I swear I’m not gay. I got up and ran the reports for both my bar and Main. The numbers don’t lie. They outsold us. It was a great night, but we lost.
