Bar,Bartender 9 April 2011 | 1 Comment

First the holocaust, now this. I was tempted to title this post, “Worst Night Ever.” I didn’t change it because the night wasn’t that bad, it was. I just want to save that title for when something really bad happens, like the bar gets hit by an asteroid (hopefully on my night off.) Kimi saw it coming first. I thought there was a good crowd when she started singing (to “I Gotta Feeling”) “Tonight’s gonna be a long night.” Long doesn’t describe how eternal the night was.

There are little things that can happen in the beginning of a shift that tell you that you’re not in your groove. A woman at my first table ordered coffee and was given some cream in a rocks glass. She wasn’t into it so I removed the glass and hid it behind my back while taking their food order. You ever forget that there’s a hole in the top of a glass? I did and proceeded to pour cream on the back of my shirt. It’s really hard to look cool whilst bathing in day old dairy.

Happy hour was busy early then it slowed down then it picked up. I had high hopes judging by crowd that was in. They all seemed to be adults spending money. My first hint that trouble was on the horizon was when a customer came to the bar and asked, “How much is a pint?” I replied, “Seven dollars.” He said, “I’ll start off with a glass of water.” I gave him that glass of water and you know what? I believe he ended with it, too, because I never saw him come to the bar again. You’re in a precarious position. You don’t want to open your doors to mooches who only order water and enjoy the band, in this case, The Ruse, one of the nicest bands we have, and who let me sing “Night Moves” with them last October, but you don’t want to alienate someone who just wants to whet their whistle prior to ordering a dozen car bombs, which is never the case. I just want to brain all the water drinkers with a pint glass.

Speaking of glasses, I had an odd comment from a woman with a European accent. She ordered a rum and ginger ale which I served to her. She stated, “That’s a small glass.” First of all, our rocks glasses are nine ounces, which usually leads to ┬áhealthy pours. Second of all, I’ve been to Europe, multiple times, and I’ve taken shits in toilets smaller than our rocks glasses. No offense to my European friends who read this (present count: zero) but I’ve never heard the term “Super Size it” anywhere on the continent. I explained the fluid ounce issue to my new friend, who I wanted to smack in the head with a water drinker, and she said, “I just arrived here today and the drinks I had earlier were in bigger glasses.” I said, “Well I don’t know what part of passive-aggressivestan you came from, but in this country we use our words (and often times cruise missiles.)” I asked if she would like it in a tall glass. She did. I poured it in, added some ice and ginger ale, set it in front of her and said, “Magic!”

The night went from annoying to straight up weird. I only spilled a little cream on the back of my shirt where as Stevie got puked on. He was in the bathroom restocking when a dude who just had a baby, and a few Jaeger bombs, an alcohol he gave up, came roaring in. I guess he felt that it was okay to vomit anywhere inside the bathroom because that’s what he did. Not only did he tag Stevie but he vomited on another dude’s jacket. This guy really took the whole incident in stride though. He asked Gator to call nine-one-one. I’ve called nine-one-one once before because I saw a young lately, crossing the street, get hit by a car. There are emergencies and there are emergencies and puke on a jacket qualified as neither. The barfer’s friend offered to pay for dry cleaning while jacket man wanted his jacket paid for. Since it was slow to dead inside, I stepped out to watch the drama. While standing on the patio, a young guy hurried in saying, “Just came back for my beer,” and darted past me. He was followed by four uniformed cops. This guy got led out of the bar and all I heard was, “It was a juvenile prank.” I heard “juvenile” and all I could think of was that this kid was an under aged drinker. Turns out he put a sticker on the back of a cop car with cops nearby. Now there’s juvenile and there’s idiotic. I believe this prank falls in the stupid as shit side of idiotic.

I looked at the bar across the street and saw a line out the door. I looked on our corner and saw a sea of cop cars dealing with serious crime: stickers and jacket puke. There are those moments when you look at your life and begin to wonder where it all went wrong. After obtaining a bachelor’s and master’s degree, did the University of California fail me? Or did I just make poor choices? As my mom used to say, “If this is the worst thing that happens, your life will turn out okay.” Let’s hope tonight is a much better night.



Pic by: Scabeater

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One Response on “Puke”

  1. The Rt Hon. says:

    Excuse me but I read your blog and I’m European. Actually that’s not true at all, I’m British which, on the hierarchical ladder of European social status, puts me as the kid with the big bunch of balloons flying high above (assuming we are talking British Empire circa 1919. If we are going to insist on 2011 then more like the rubber foot that stops the ladder from slipping.) Either way I may not fall into the Euro category but I’m from that general direction and I read your blog with wistful memories of jaeger-fragranced-vomit-filled-toilets.

    Carry on Sir.

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