For those who read last weekend about the occasional drip that amounted to Chinese water torture, it turned into a leak. A drip I can deal with, a leak makes me think that it will only get bigger until the roof caves in on my head. Call me a pessimist, I can take the criticism, but I just don’t like things caving in on my head. I spend so much time talking about douche bags and fucktards in my blog that I rarely come across a genuine hero. Last night, Stevie, who has been there longer than most of the furniture, saved the day by not only stopping the leak but getting our hot water back on.
I will never understand the bar business. I can sit in the bar alone, save for colleagues, on a beautiful day and no one will show up. But on a completely shiteous day like yesterday, people will come from all over. I knew they were from somewhere else, but I was surprised to find out they were from Potwin, Kansas. You can read their newsletter here. I was even more surprised to find out that the population of Potwin is about two-thirds the size of my high school graduating class. They were lovely ladies who told me that they lived thirty miles outside of Wichita. The only story I ever heard about Wichita was from a friend went to go visit Wichita State for graduate school. On his way from the airport to the university on Friday he drove by a dead dog. On his way back to the airport from the university on Sunday he saw the same dead dog. That is all I know about Wichita.
I spoke to one customer who told me he was in the film industry, working on the same film, in the same department as my friend “Eric.” I asked if he knew Eric and he said,”Yes. Eric is a wild man.” I texted Eric. Eric wasn’t sure who I was referring to so I got more specific. Eric texted back, “Oh, yeah. Kind of cool, kind of not.” I told the customer, “Eric says, ‘Hi.’” The customer responded, “What did he really say?” Signs that you’re probably a douche bag: number one, when a person says that a friend says, “Hi,” you doubt the sincerity and esteem that came out of said person’s mouth and presume only bad things were said about you. Perhaps I’m a bad liar or perhaps somewhere deep down inside you know you’re a douche bag. I understood more of the “kind of not” when I heard the customer say to the woman he eventually left with, “L.A. is the meanest city in the U.S.” Now I haven’t been to some of the projects in the South side of Chicago or some of the bombed out city blocks of the Bronx, but from my bubble in Santa Monica people seem pretty nice. In fact, just by bad mouthing my beloved city puts you on the short list for douche bag of the night.
It was said in passing, in almost a whisper. I may be deaf but I heard, “We have no hot water.” This has happened twice on my watch. The first time I called a plumber who said it was an electrical problem, so I called an electrician who told me it was a plumbing problem. No, I’m not paranoid but sometimes I believe that members of the repair arts fuck with me because I firmly believe that my people built the pyramids and any sort of construction or repair should be done by gentiles. In any case, Stevie got our hot water going again. He explained that he unplugged something, then reset something, then lit something. I couldn’t have been more impressed if I saw Middle Paleolithic man first boil water. Also, I don’t know what he did, because I forgot to ask, but he stopped the leak. I don’t know if he always carries around a putty or just jammed some Shepherd’s pie into that hole but it did the trick. Last night Stevie was a life saver.
Even though customers can be douche bags they sure can entertain. Kimi was asked by a customer about a group of four, three guys and a girl, who she served on Monday night. Kimi explained that she only exchanged goods and services for currency and/or credit so she couldn’t vouch for their moral turpitude. This guy tells her that he made out with the woman in the group while the dudes roofied his friend, a guy nonetheless. Kimi asked the obvious, “Why would they roofie your friend?” He looked at her like she just asked if the sky was blue, and yelled, “Because they’re BI!” I didn’t spend time with these dudes but the most bi thing they did at the bar Monday night was fist bump. Now somehow this wizard deduced that because his friend was “puking” that he was indeed roofied by the bisexual bandits. Kimi did the right thing. She went to the roofie section of the filing cabinet, got out a roofie report and filled it out.
I don’t presume anyone to be stupid by the way they sound, but some Australians have that just fucked a Koala bear accent that makes me wonder. He ordered, “A Jack Daniels and coke and two yellow tequila shots with lime.” Now I’m no tequila expert but the only colors I’ve heard of are white, silver, and gold, while Anejo has a brown tinge, but no one says, “Gimme a shot of Cuervo Brown.” I poured him two shots of gold tequila to which he asked, “Is that yellow tequila?” I said, “Listen, Homes, I have no idea what the fuck yellow tequila is, and I’m no colorist, nor do I have any color swatches on me, so this is as close as we’re getting.” He accepted it. Today I googled “Yellow Tequila,” and this is what came up. Turns out the top link discusses yellow tequila. Of course, the top link is also an Aussie blog. You learn something new every day.