Sticky Mouth Chewie

This particular post has to do with yet another personal peeve of mine. One that is not only annoying, but down right disgusting. Poor, little, black circular dumping device. You just never had a chance did you? Nope, you sure didn't.

There are many objects that might go into your typical ashtray sitting upon the bar. Most common being crushed butts or cig wrappers. Trash of most any kind, the tiny kind of course. But, the ONE thing, the ONE EFFING THING that gets on my nerves more than anything?

Fucking finding gum in the ashtray.

Yes, I said gum. FUCKING GUM!

Chewed, used, sticky, mouth cootified gum, from like someone else's mouth! Ew!

Now, some people have the kind decency to at least wrap there disposed chew-able treat into a napkin before throwing it in my mini trash can, but, sadly, not everyone is a decent human being it seems.

When did it become habit to place one's used Trident onto random objects? The stuff is gross, for one thing, and absolutely terrible for your teeth and gums, despite what the ads want you to believe. (Damn the man!) But, seriously? Why do people find the weirdest ways to dispose of this disgusting wanna-be food thing? It gets stuck to the bottom of tables, chairs, bathroom walls, regular walls, random hidden, but not so hidden, corners, bedposts, rims of glassware, sidewalks, streets, signs, FUCKING ASHTRAYS, and other random areas? I am honestly baffled by this gesture of disposal. Normally, one would find, oh, I don't know, a trash can? Like a real one? To throw things away? But no, douchebags, male and female, and even minion sized, take some kind of sick pleasure in spitting their chewing gum out of the window of a moving vehicle, only for it to splatter on the person driving behind them's windshield. Or, fuckbags are casually walking down the street, look left, look right, trying to be all stealth and shit, then spit out their disgusting big chew on the sidewalk for nice people like me to step on whilst wearing my good heels.

....

I mean, really. Is it so hard? To properly throw something away?
No, it's sure as shit not.

So, when I see a wadded up spit ball of naked gum sitting in the corner, stuck to the bottom of the poor little ashtray I just dumped butts out of into the real trash can, steam starts rising, escaping through my eardrums, flaring out of my nose, my face turns a shade of beet red, blood vessels burst in the whites of my eyes, and I let out a thunderous roar of aggravated disgust as I am the fucking one who has to grab a napkin and attempt to remove the chewed up wad that has by now soaked up ash and all manner of other things whilst supergluing itself to the bottom of my ashtray. *deep breath*


*attempts to calm self down*
Woooooosssaaaaaahhhh...


For real though, it does make me want to scream. This one act of idiocy by the large populous of bar hoppers. It pisses me off that people treat public establishments as their own personal waste receptacle. This includes all manner of other things, things that I have to clean up because I am the workhorse: Vomit, dog waste, spit piles, kid's pee, grown up pee, poo, marker on the walls, poo on the walls (yes, this happened, in the women's restroom no less), mud on the floor, spilled drinks, blood, and gum, gum fucking stuck to all manner of every fucking where.

Do I go into your house or job and throw up, shit on the walls, and spit on your floor?? No, but the way some people treat my bar, my place of employment and sole source of income? Makes me want to track the fuckers down and become each and every one of their personal toddler. I can act like a 2-year-old just as well as any little person. Let's see how you like it, fuckwads!!

I'm going to take a whole pack of gum, chew the fuck out of that shit, and take it out of my mouth and proceed to stamp it your fucking forehead. How's that for recompense?

Jesus.







So, please, for the love of all that could possibly not be a problem in this world, throw your chewy shit away properly. I think I speak for all Bar Goons around the globe when I say:

We are fucking sick of cleaning up after you.

Peev'd

Okay, I get it. I work at a bar that allows smoking. While it is a patio bar, and for the most part, airs itself out, I still catch myself eye twitching in frustration at the habits of the smoking community.

And yes, I am a non smoker. I know. It's rare in my profession, but we do exist.
And yes, I also realize that I choose to be here, in this environment, surrounding myself with potential cancer patients, chiefing it up around me. I could easily be working in some boring office somewhere, pushing papers, taking orders from 'the man', and I would be living smoke free. Yup.
But, let's be honest, most people who work in that type of field hate their job. And quite frankly, at entry level, which is what I would start out as, and remain so for several years into my career,  just don't make as much money as I do slinging drinks. There are statistics that prove my point. Look them up if you don't believe me. That's what Google is for.

Back to the point...

This does not bother me for the most part, working in a smoking environment, as generally, people are courteous about their habits. By such I am referring to the blessed fact that people who smoke, when around someone who does not smoke, will avidly try to not blow smoke directly in the face or general direction of the non-smoker. How badass is this? Fucking badass if you have been around smokers as long as I have, as this development has only become the social norm in the last few years.

In this day and age, smoking has almost done a complete 180 since the 50's when you weren't 'cool' unless you smoked. "Only squares don't smoke, or drink, or, ya know, jump off bridges when everyone else is doing it."

Fucking idiots.

But I do have to give it to the poor saps who got sucked into such a terrible addiction, as back then,  no one knew it was bad for you, or could potentially kill you.

Now a days, however, such is not the case. There is no excuse for a smoker today. The warnings are out there, yet we still do it. Creatures of habit? Of course we are.

Now, this is not to say that I am some holy Guru who has never smoked a day in my life. I have. I used to smoke, years ago, back in the days when I was all about what everyone else was doing. (Thank god my friends weren't into suicide bridge jumps...) Yeah, I was young, 18-19, hot headed, and very much into whatever was 'cool' as far as my peers were concerned.
This is very big turn around from the girl I was growing up. I lived in my own gorram bubble.
I was the goody-two-shoes in high school. Never doing anything, drinking, drugs, sex, even cursing, until I was upwards of 17. Yup, I was that girl. The typical girl next door. Pretty, smart, virgin, untouchable. Until... March of my Senior year in high school. One day I woke up, and let's just say, I got curious...
March was a very interesting year in 2002.

I did eeerthang...
In one month.

Smoked my first cigarette.
Took my first drink. Got drunk for the first time.
Smoked weed for the first time.
Took ecstasy for the first time.
And lost my virginity.

I guess you could say I was very curious.

After that, I learned how to moderate things. I come from a background of drug addicts and alcoholics littering every corner of my family tree, so I did not want to even think about going down the same road. I was smart about my partying. If there is such a thing. Never did anything to the point where I 'had to keep doing it' or did anything by myself with no one else around. I was a social butterfly. So, when it came to smoking cigarettes, I only did so when I was drinking, or at work, back in the days before the smoking ban hit Houston when we could still take smoke breaks inside the building in the back. And that was pretty much the only way you could get a break at work is if you smoked. If you didn't, it looked weird to the higher ups  if you were just sitting around and hanging out. They saw it as you just being lazy.
Fucked up conclusion if you ask me...

So, I estimate I smoked on average, a pack a week.

This continued for a couple years, before one day, I woke up and decided I didn't want to do it anymore. And I stopped buying packs of my own. Yeah, I still had drunken spouts that if I was around it, I would bum one. And I can honestly say, years and years down the road, from time to time, drunk me still thinks it might be a good idea to pair my alcoholic beverage with a tasty smokey treat.

Then, sober me wakes up the next morning, throat on fire, voice raspy as shit, and nothing but regret on my plate.

"Dammit, Drunk Me! Why would you do that?!" I would scream at myself in the mirror.
She's a bitch sometimes. Selfish whore...

Anyhoo.
The point of all this blabber is to iterate that I do understand the desire to smoke. I understand the way it makes you feel, that is feels good when you are drinking. The two just seem to go hand in hand for most people.
I also understand that it is terrible for you, and have made a decision, thankfully, to not become addicted to such a habit. I mean, let's face it. For the most part, it's just not attractive.

So I truly am grateful for those patrons who come into my bar and sit down in front of me and actively try and not blow their smokey exhale in my direction. It astounds me, the courtesy. I thank you all. ^^

BUT!!! And the reason for this rant... (I told you I would be getting to the point at some interval, Here it is.)

Is those flippin' douchewads who when they put out their buts in the tray, DO NOT PUT IT OUT ALL THE WAY!!!!

Omfg! Nothing gets on my peeves more than having to take a tray and dump it, squirt water over the ashes in the trash can so a fucking fire doesn't start and burn down my place of employment.

Fucking Christ! (Yeah, all that blabber beforehand was just a warm up. A kind introduction to seduce you into reading the rest of my rant. Kind of like a sandwich theory. I lure you in with kind words and sympathetic gestures, then I BLAM! Bash you with your bad habits! But wait, I will make you feel better about it at the end. Keep reading.)

Is it really that hard? To completely put out your effing cigarette properly?? 

NO IT'S FUCKING NOT!

Lemme sing you a song of how it's done.

(Played in the tune of happy-go-lucky reggae mixed with kiddy-tunes)

'You take da butt-a in your hand-a
And you Pinch-a, and you Pinch-a! 

Take the butt-a in your hand-a
And Smutha out de tip.

'You take da butt-a in your hand-a
And you Squish-a, and you Squisha!
You take da butt-a in your hand-a
And de smoke, it goes out!'

See? It's so simple! I cannot tell you how many times, some douchepickle is at the bar, drunk, chiefing on his cig, and when he goes to put it out, just smashes the damn thing into the ashtray and walks away. Leaving the pour, half cocked butt smoldering and letting off such a strong wave of stink and smoke, it's almost worse than secondhand blown in your face.

Please, for the love of God and Baby Jesus, even fucking Buddha...

Make sure the damn thing is put out. ALL THE EFFING WAY!

I like my job. I do not want it to burn down because of a trash fire caused by Your bad habit and douchey nature.

It literally takes an extra second to make sure the damn thing is put out all the way.

Everyone has their peeves, this is one of mine. I'd say it is pretty damn near the top of my list of Things I Fucking Hate About People.

So, in the future, while you are gratefully minding the direction of your exhalation, make sure the butt is out when your done. Otherwise, you will make Baby Jesus cry. And no one wants that...

If ever should you forget, or see some doucheknocker forget to put out his butt, start singing my song to them! It's fucking catchy!
And one person at a time, this song will catch in the minds of every person around the globe. And everyone will put out their butts properly, and no houses or places of business will burn down, and children will grow up with mothers and fathers, and world peace will ensue! (See? World Peace makes everything better! Sandwich theory, bitches!)

Well, maybe not quite that far.
But at least you won't have to hear me yell at you.

And trust me when I say, that is a saving grace.

Not Everyone Has Holidays Off

First of all, I would like to personally wish all you wondrous readers a Very Merry Christmas!!!

Today is one filled with Holiday Cheer, spending time with loved ones, taking naps, drinking all sorts of delicious beverages, eating, eating, and eating some more, and let us all not forget... PRESENTS!! And I sincerely hope each and every one of you got all your heart's desired this holiday!

However, there will come a time when the family stuff runs dry and boring, Grandpa is passed out in the lounger, Mom is drunk, your sister is texting her boyfriend nonstop, and kids are hogging the TV so you can't even get a decent raid in online.

Never fear!! There is a rescue for you! A safe haven, one in which you can escape your family and screaming kids.

Where do we go?

TO THE BAR!!

Yes, the Bar will be open by evening time, and ready and waiting to take your hard earned holiday cash in exchange for drunken debauchery.

Seems like a great idea, right?
Of course it is!!

BUT, ever wonder about the guy working behind the bar? Yeah, that guy.
He doesn't get the day off.
Sure, he gets most of the day, or half of the day in my own case, but not the whooooole day.
Yeah, he's prolly gonna make a great amount of Christmas cash on his shift. Of course he would! Otherwise, why in the hell would he volunteer to work on one of the biggest Holidays of the year?

All this being said. What that guy does not look forward to is dealing with a bunch of drunken, loud, screaming, impatient idiots acting like children because they are trying to get their drank on.

What he would instead prefer, is for people to wait patiently for their turn to order. Have their order complete and ready to converse upon getting the bargoon's attention, have payment ready. And for all intents and purposes: Have a great time.

So, as you make your way out the back door of your family's house, sneak into your car and dash away to your nearest and dearest watering hole, please remember, that it is not all kittens, ornaments, and rainbows the entire day for some people.
Some people have to work holidays, because, that's just how it is in some industries.

So, please be kind to your bartender, waitress, or service member this day as they bust their ass to make sure your holiday evening is a night to remember (or forget in some cases).
Be patient as you wait for you liquid good time.
Say 'Hello' first instead of shouting out drink orders as you walk into the bar.
Tip graciously. You have the day off, and they do not. They are here for you, yes. Make sure you take care of them as they are taking care of you.

And most important, Don't Be An Asshole.
There are many places any one of your industry members would rather be than cleaning up your puke in the bathroom because you cannot hold yourself upright.
Call a cab if you get too drunk. Don't be a dick if you get cut off.
And have a Merry Fucking Good Time! It is Christmas. Maybe say something polite to your Goon. I guarantee if you make them smile, they will ensure your night is made of win.

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays to All.

No matter your walk of life, I hope this day is remarkable for you.
Just don't forget, the little guy has a life too. ;)

Hangry

Today's post has to deal with a particular peeve of mine. You know, it happens every time. Every single damn time. Especially on slow nights.
You are slaving away at your Goonage, slinging drinks, or just being bored out of your mind because it is after happy hour and before the night rush, so yeah, you have all the time in the world to goof off. So, you think, "Now's a great time to get me somethin' to eat!"

Yup. I'm talking about the illustrious phenomenon of as soon as you are about to take a bite of your own delicious and savory meal, everyone in the bar decides they want to come in and order drinks.

Now, I have extensively studied this phenomenon over my many years of Goonage. And it is a proven fact that this phenomenon exists. Even if there is no one in the bar at all, as soon as you heat up your dinner, or as soon as that delivery guy brings you your Chinese, in walks the party bus.

I swear to fucking God.
Every single fucking time.

They be all like, "Hey! Time to party bartender! No time for grubs. Get us some dranks!"

Now, the customers don't really talk like that. I am sorely over-exaggerating. But, it is true that as soon as I am about to chow down, and mind you, I have learned to eat quite fast because of dealing with this phenomenon over so many years, that sometimes, it still gets me. It is an art form to eat an entire meal in a matter of minutes. And most of us in the Industry can agree, that we have mastered this art.

I can sit for a solid hour, three people in my bar, all chillin', drinkin' all slow and stuff. Having a relaxing time. And as soon as I pull out my tupperware bowl, it's like they have a sixth sense that perks them up.

Me: "Man, it's slow, and it's like 7:30. I should be good to eat. Hell yeah! Starving!" *pulls out lunch box and is about to bite into a delicious apple.
Customers, like everyone all at once: *sniff sniff* "Is the bartender trying to eat? Oh, man! I need a new drink! Mines empty! Off to the bar I go!"
Me, mouth full and dribble coming out the side because sauce exploded out of my Gyro: "Oh, mmhey!" *chomp chomp embarrassing wipe of dribble wash hands* "You need another round? One sec. No prob." *goes to make new drink*
"Customer: "Eh. Sorry, I know your trying to eat. My bad."
Me: "No worries bro. I'm used to it."

And off they go. New drink in hand, feeling mildly bad about interrupting me, but happy they have a new beverage. And I'm happy they are gone so I can continue my mission of eating all the things.
But. I swear, as soon as one leaves, up walks another.
And another.
And a fucking 'nother.
This keeps going for 30 solid minutes.
Then a party of 10.
Then people I helped half an hour ago need refills.
Then the party bus shows up.
And after my mini rush of 100 people, an hour later, I am finally able to take a decent bite of sustaining fuel.

By this time I am a little annoyed and my stomach is ready to jump out of my throat and eat the food itself.
GAAAAH!! I'm so hungry!! But, I can't complain too much, because while I am starving, at least I am raking in good cash. So usually I shrug it off, and get around to eating when the rush subsides.

This happens every time. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. There could be crickets on the bar-stools, and as soon as I open my mouth to insert whatever delicious treat I am about to intake, they want fucking drinks.
GDI!

*sigh*

I do have to admit, however, that most people are apologetic when they come up to the bar and see that I am trying to woof down food so I can get back to work. These loving people are like, "Oh hey, can I get another... Shit, man, I'm sorry. Go ahead and finish eating."
While this is polite, and I do appreciate the gesture, I really just want to irk even more because they really do stand there, expecting to watch me eat while they wait impatiently for a drink that will take me all of like 3 seconds to make if I stop what I am doing, versus the ten minutes it may take me to finish eating.
Damn passive aggressive people. They have a way of making you feel bad for just about anything.

It's totally cool guys. I promise.
Yes, I appreciate your kind gesture, but what I really want to do is get you your drink so you can go about your merry fun having business and leave me alone so I can continue to stuff my face before the next guy comes up for a refill.

Do you really expect that I will make you wait at the bar and stare at me eat for the next ten minutes and not help you?
I know, I can be a bit rough around the edges sometimes, but come on guy! Of course, I will get you your drink. I have absolutely no problem whatsoever pausing and getting you a refill. I am working, after all. And yes, while it does kind of suck that I do not get a defined break in which I can go hide in the back and enjoy my dinner, I really do not mind pausing my inhalation and getting you your drink.

 Now, if you are the douche who sees I am eating, and wants to stop me for an eternity and ask me long winded questions, then we may have a problem.

For instance, guy walks up to bar, sees I am eating, does the polite thing:
Douche X: "Hey there. Oh, sorry, don't mean to interrupt you."
Me: "It's cool man," *puts down chow, washes hands as I'm talking* "What can I get for you?"
Douche X: "Are you sure, I can wait..."
Me: *eye twitches but I smile* "No, it's really okay. What can I help you with?"
Douche X: "Are you suuuuure? I don't want to keep you. I know how hangry I can get if someone interrupts me when I am trying to eat."

At this point, I am starting to get a little peeved.
In the time it has taken this guy to convince me to ignore him and do my business, I could have gotten him and three other people drinks, and be back to eating by now. Ugh.

Me: "No. Really. I don't mind. Goes with the job, you know?" *fake laugh* (Hurry up and order something!)
Douche X: "Okaaaay. Well, let's see. What are your specials?"
I politely tell him.
Douche X: "Well, I've never had that beer before. Can I get a sample?"
Me: *eye twitch* "Sure thing. No prob." *runs inside to get a sample of beer and brings it back out to him*
Douche tastes, makes a face: "Man, is this an IPA? I don't like IPA's. Guess I should have told you. What else you got?"
Me, getting annoyed. I told him it was an IPA before I went to get the sample. It's in the name of the effing beer!: "Well, do you like light beers? Dark beers? Wheats?"
DX: "Hmmm. Sounds like you guys have a lot to choose from. I don't know. I'm not much of a beer drinker. Got any liquor specials?"

Oh, my fucking God. My food is starring at me at this point like, "Heeeelp meeee!! I'm getting frigid and tasteless!"

Me: "Actually no. We are mostly a beer bar. But we do have a full stock of liquor. Just about anything you could want. We just always have our specials on beer. What kind of drinks do you like?"
DX: "Well, I don't know. What do you suggest?"
Me, balls fists, but smiles: "Do you like Crown? Or any other type of Bourbon?"
DX: "Crown? Oh, no! Not since college!" *laughs* "Anything not so harsh?"

I want to pull my hair out at this point. I mean, this is a big guy, and I swear, if I suggest a Malibu something and he goes for it, I'm gonna scream. And at this point, five other people are now at the bar waiting for me to finish with this guy so I can help them. GAH!

Me: "Well, what do you normally drink? I am sure I have the stuff to make it."
DX: "How about Vodka. You have any Vodka?"
Me, finally! I'm fucking starving!: "Sure! We have several kinds. What do you like to mix it with?"
DX: "Nothing too crazy. How about Cranberry. You have Cranberry juice?"
Me, stoked I can finally get this guy moving away from my bar: "Sure do! Coming right up!" *makes move to grab a bottle and make victory drink*
DX, stops me: "Wait, what kind of Vodkas do you have?"
Me, facepalm: "A lot actually." *names through long ass list*
DX: "Oh, Absolut? I like that one."
Me: "No problem!"

And I make the drink, so fucking happy to get this guy moving along. He pays, tips decent, thank God, and as I am about to run through the line of people now standing and waiting for drinks, he just has to throw in, "Enjoy your dinner!" and smiles.

I want to punch babies.
My stomach wants to punch Him.

By the time I finally get everyone taken care of and get back to my food, it is freezing, shriveled, and not appealing to anyone. But, fuck it. I'm starving. So I throw it back in the microwave in the office, throw some hot sauce on it, and munch down in a record 30 seconds hiding in the back. Tummy is satisfied. Back to work I go! Hooah!

This phenomenon is fact with many other things in life other than eating habits at work. Like, if you have kids, and you finally get everyone quiet and think you will get a good fifteen minutes of peace for a nap of your own, as soon as you hit the couch pillow and close your eyes, BAM! Crying baby, or the phone rings, or the doorbell because your Amazon has arrived.
Or, if you wake up early wanting to get a few errands run before hitting the office, BAM! Traffic is backed up on every single street you attempt to drive on, making you an hour late for work.

It happens everywhere, to everyone, in some shape or form. It's like the Universe is a four year old with a magnifying glass and a sick sense of humor.

My problem really does not affect me so much. I mean it when I say I really am used to it. I do have to admit, it used to piss me off in the early years, but in my evolution, I have come to realize it is part of the flow of life. I even find it amusing most times. Laughing as I pick up my spork only to put it down again because someone walks up to the bar, in dire need of my professional drink pouring services. I just have to keep reminding myself that I signed up for this gig. And while it can be irritating at times, most times, I really do not mind.

Because the simple truth is?
Your tips are what enable me to eat in the first place.
So, yeah. I will pause for a few seconds to help you out.
Hell yeah I will.
*takes bite of sandwich*

Motivational Awesomeness and Kind Gestures

The post today has to deal with amazing people. They really do exist. You know, the people you see in movies or books: selfless, kind toward their fellow man, saviors. People who generally believe in the value of the person standing next to them, even if they do not know them. The people who do not judge, but see potential in their fellow human being. Who see a good thing, a good thing someone is trying to do with their life, and is willing to bet on it.

This is such a story.

I will be posting this story to both my blogs, because, well, it's a huge ego boost for my novice writing abilities. And it just makes me feel good to know that there are still people out there in the world who truly believe in the great potential of their fellow man.

The story begins a far few months ago. I was working at my bar, a trade I have been slaving at and keeping as a way to make money while I pursue my real dreams, the various they may have been, and in walks one particular gentleman.

He is a regular at one of our sister bars. (The Irsish guys who own the bar I work at also own about 20+ locations in the greater Houston area). So, we get a lot of regs from different parts of town simply because of the name we carry. And we have been an established bar for over 20 years.

He is an older gentleman, late 40's maybe. Has a very successful business, moving company. And he has worked all over the country and in his travels and work has had the pleasure of meeting quite a many famous and influential people.

This guy is literally the guy who just likes having someone to talk to. About anything. And he is super positive and proud of his life, and is loving the fact he is still around to share his stories with anyone who is willing to listen.

I like these kinds of people. They are genuine. You can tell just by the first five minutes of meeting the man he has had a very full life, and is still going. And wants to take anyone along for the ride, either literally, or through the form of his storytelling.

He came across me one Tuesday night. And like most Tuesdays, it was was rather slow at my bar, so I had plenty of time to talk. The usual subject came about, Patron asks bartender, "So, what are you doing with your life? How are things? What are your goals." The basic introductory, 'How are you, I want to know you better." Because, let's face it, The bartender is always an interesting stranger with stories to tell, Otherwise, why would anyone want to talk to us? ;)

So, I give him the shpeel about my life: I am a recent college grad, working on my first novel, hoping to sell it one day, and just sit on my bum pumping out fabulous stories through my fingers for the rest of my life. Oh, and make a comfortable living off of it.

Of course, he is interested. And most are! It's exciting to talk about my dreams, and I love sharing them with people. I consider myself an open book, and I will go on and on, especially about stories and writing.

So, I give him the premise of my book: A fucked up Alice in Wonderland story, psychological thriller, fantasy/horror elements, and oh yeah, it's gonna be a series because apparently I am a wordy muther fucker when writing. (You wouldn't be able to tell so much from me speaking. I write much better than I talk.)

And, he's hooked. So much so, that he straight up says he wants to buy the very first copy of the final draft. For $100.

Say whaaaa?

Okay, guy. Sure thing! Of course, I am skeptical, but he seems legit. But, it's one of those things. "You say that now, but I'll believe it when I see it" kind of scenarios.

So we continue to talk and chat for another hour or so. (He tips well of course.) And I don't see him again for several months.

Months later, he comes in again, "Heyo! Remember me? How's the book coming?"

Of course, I give him an update (At the beginning of this year I gave myself a goal to be ready to publish by the end of the year, and I am still on track for this.) I tell him, and he's still excited. And he, not me, reminds me of our deal. He says he wants a written contract, saying that the very first copy, even if I have to kinko myself, bind, and sign for him, belong to him. And he will pay me the hundo.

Hell ya dude!

But, still, I'll believe it when I see it. Not to say I did not believe him. I just was not sure when I would see him again. It had been months, And it is just silly to count on an anomaly like this.

Then, last night, he comes in again, super excited. Tries fervently to get my attention. (This was an unusually busy Tues, so there were no seats at the bar. I see him, he wiggles his way into a seat, and says:

"Hey girl! Getting close to finishing?"

Me, all Hey guy! Nice to see ya again!: "Actually, yeah! Six chapters to go, and an epilogue, then time to edit, then publish!"

He smiles, and whips out a cool clean hundo. Hands it to me, and says, "I would like a receipt for this. I'm paying you in advance." *smiles wide*

I am star stuck. Jaw hits the floor. I look at him with an 'Are you serious?' look. I mean, I am not even finished with it yet, and this guy is serious!?

Awesome!

So, I grab the nearest piece of paper, a blank guest check of course, (as I am still barGooning) and proceed to write out the following:

He hands me the hundo, we both sign the 'contract', and we chat for about an hour while he has a couple beers, asking me about my life, and telling me about his.

He says he wanted to catch me early because he moved to the north side of town, and wasn't in much, and he had a feeling that if he didn't catch me soon, that he wouldn't catch me at all.

This is very eerie because I am actually thinking of leaving the bar trade very soon, for various reasons, the main one that I am pretty sure I am developing carpel tunnel in my left wrist (I'm not even 30 yet!) and I only have it in me to Goon until the end of next Spring.

I tell him how right he is, and my plans for the future, and that I reeeeaaally hope the novel takes off so I don't have to get a regular, normal, boring ass desk job that I will absolutely hate.

We chat some more. And he one ups our deal telling me he knows a lot of influential people that would be willing to invest in me if my novel is worth anything. I tell him, "Fuck yeah!" I hope that I am a good investment. I think my book will be good, and even if it isn't, it's not like it's the only thing I am writing, or will ever write again. I can only get better, right?

I keep telling him, "I hope this money is a good investment for you. If I do make it, that signed first edition copy might be worth a lot of money." *giggle-I-have-dreams-giggle*

I was being sarcastic and humorous, but he simply smiled and said, "Honey, I know it will be. Why do you think I showed up tonight? Did you think I was hitting on you?"

Yeah, most guys do, buuuuut. Weird thing. No, not really.

I told him of course not, because he knew I was married, from previous discussions, and that I thought it was really beyond amazing that he was willing to take a chance on me. He expressed no other intentions, did not ask me out, did not say how pretty I was. Was only interested in the fact that I had a dream , and he wanted to help.

I am still baffled that he was genuine in his intention. Because I have been in the industry for so long, that I automatically assume everyone, guys especially are hitting on me.
Or females hate me, because their guys are hitting on me.

I'm not vain. It's 90% fact. (More on this later for future TCBH posts.) *smile*

Anyhoo, we chat some more, and he eventually leaves, still tips very well for two Bud Light bottles, and I take down his contact info so I can let him know when his copy will be ready.

All in all, and he kept saying this, not me, 'How many authors have sold their first copy of their first book for $100? Not many. And you just did."

I was literally beaming with confidence and motivation after all this happened I had a hunch that he was serious from the get go, but when he followed through with his claim, I wanted to cry.

Moral of the story?

If you have ever wanted to be a writer, or artist, or follow any dream that was considered by popular society, 'outlandish' or 'impossible', then you will understand that by this one act of kindness, this one act of a complete stranger believing in the possibilities of another, how damn good that felt.

Thank you, Stacey Jackson. For taking a chance on me. I surely hope I do not disappoint you.

World, Are you ready for this?
Bring it.

"That" Guy

Yup, everyone who has ever worked in the industry has had the pleasure of running into at some point, "That Guy." You know, That guy... the guy who is mopey, has no life, and feels the need to pour out his troubles on the poor unsuspecting BarGoon. And you what? He fucking gets away with it. You know why? Because most of the time he plays on our innate requirement to listen to his sob story. We are the cheapest form of therapy around, right? Right.

This is a fact of life in the service industry. We just have to fucking listen to him. But, here's my question, Do we really have to? Yeah, we do, for the most part. But, why not have a little fun with it? Fuck with the guy. Make funny remarks, funny faces, stick your tongue out at him and go 'pfffflllllfffpp.' Just see what happens. You might be amazed. 

No, really.

He comes into the bar expecting to spill his beans and us to just sit back and listen and give life advice to a complete stranger. I say, No! Revolt my fellow Goons! But, don't be a dick. We don't want anyone to lose their jobs here. Just play around with it. Use your imagination. See what you can get away with. You may be amazed at how quickly an annoying tale of woe can turn into quite the funny story.

Hell, I get to write a Blog about mine...

For example, I am willing to share my latest "Fucking with That Guy" tale to you gloriously bored readers. Pay attention. You might learn something.

This particular tale begins at the very start of my shift, and runs into the wee hours of almost closing time. For those who do not personally know me, my shift begins at 4:30pm and runs til we close at 2am.

My story has to deal with the same guy...

All night...

Nonono! Don't worry! He wasn't there the whole time, just at random intervals throughout the night.

I saw him a total of three times. Yup, 1, 2, 3.
At totally different and completely random points in the night.

This mother fucker would come into the bar for fifteen minutes, not order anything, sob to me about something random, and then leave to, I'm assuming, bother someone else.

It was rather annoying yes, but trust me, I had my fun.
Most of it was actually quite funny without me having to try to hard...
At first.

Instance One: 5:00pm (roughly)

That Guy walks in to the bar and inquires, "Hey, how'ya doin'? I'm looking for my friend... *pause*
I stare back at him with a look on my face like I want to be helpful, but you might need to give me a little more info before I can distribute said help, like what your friend might look like? I already have an idea about what kind of person this guy is, which would be totally clueless, so I politely pause with him, waiting for him to give me more information on said friend so I can direct him either to the person, or out the door because said friend is not in the bar, or simply does not exist. 

Waits for it....

*crickets*

After a few seconds, I continue to look at him and just say, "Okay." *Aaaaand then?*

He smiles, I smile, and then... 

He continues.

Guy: "Yeah... she was in here yesterday for a good part of the day. She's from Sweden."

(Hallelujah! He speaks!)
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry man, I don't know. I don't work on Mondays. Sweden? Never met anyone from Sweden. Did you ask the inside bartender? She usually works on Mondays. Maybe she could help you." (I'm really trying to be helpful at this point.)
Guy: *shrugs* "Okay... She was really nice. She talked to me for most of the day." 

*sighs* 

"You know, I think I am having one of those days. You ever have those days, when you just feel... reckless? Like you want to... I don't know..."

Me, already smiling because I got this sappy mofo right where I want him: "An adventure? Why don't you go exploring! Go on an epic adventure today!" (of course I sound all cheery, I really do want this guy to go get a life! Be happy man! Life is cool! Very much like Bowties...)
Guy: "Yeah... I guess. I just need something. Something in my life. Yeah an adventure! *perks up* Hey, what are yoooou doing later?" *smiles all cheery, attempting to be suave.*
Me, very matter of factly: "Atcually, I'm working until 2am... Aaaand, I'm married." *flashes ring that has been in plain sight the entire time* Guy: "Oh! Well..." *shifts positions uncomfortably, eyes darting around* "Good for you."

Exitus That Guy.
Yup, he pretty much bolts.

I smile smuggly to myself, thinking my work is done.
But, oh no... My work is apparently far from done.

Instance Two: 8pm-ish

Guy walks back into bar. It's a rather slow night, but I find things to do to make myself look busy. Oh Gawd, is this guy really coming back for more? Okay... 

And, scene!

Guy: "Hey there! I'm back. Still married?"
Me, very unnamused: "Yup, last time I checked. Got any better one liners? I've heard that one before..."
Guy: *pause* "Um, yeah." 

*silence*
Me: "So, I saw your friend you were looking for earlier. Swedish gal? Yeah, she was here," (and she was! Much to my surprise, she did exist. Cute girl too.) "She was chatting with some other guy. He sounded like he was from Belgium or something. Think they left together."
Guy: "Yeah, that's pretty much what happened yesterday. She was really nice, you know? I just started talking to her and in 30 min I knew her whole life story. I guess I was too nice though..."
Me, feigning surprise: "Oh really? Her whole life story in 30 minutes? Se must have a boring as fuck life if it only took 30 min to figure her out. Pitty she didn't take you home instead of the Other Guy."
Guy: "Um... I don't..."
Me, interrupting, not trying to be total dick (hahaha): "That sucks man. Girls, they sure are funny like that. Talking to random people, making you think they like you or something... Sorry, dude. Maybe next time."
Guy: *shrugs* "Yeah... I was just too nice I guess."

Me: "You keep saying that... What do you mean by 'too nice?'"

Guy: "You know, not flirting with her. Trying to talk to her, tell her some of the places to go around here. Just be friendly. I didn't want to come off as That Guy who was just trying to pick her up. Girls hate that. But then, this other dude came up and they started talking and she just ignored me."

Me: "Wow, that sucks bro. I feel you though. It sure is hard to gauge when a girl wants a nice guy or just an asshole to get her laid."

Guy: "I'm just too nice..."

Me: "But, you were in fact trying to pick her up, am I correct? Kind of like you did me a few hours ago? And a few minutes ago?"

Guy, looks around uncomfortably: "Um... Yeah. I was. And, sorry about that. I guess I just don't know how to read women."

Me, feeling slightly sorry for him: "No worries mate. Getting hit on is part of the job description if you're a female bar wench." *shrugs* "As far as that other girl? Forget her man. I'm sure you'll find a nice girl soon enough."

Then I actually do get some other customers and Guy leaves when I am no longer able to indulge his fantasies about Swedish chic.

And... I think I am done. 

Wait! 

Nope! 

Not yet, faire bar maid!

Instance Three: 1am

Dear baby Jesus, it is a slow night. Everyone has left me, and I am stuck cleaning the bar fifteen times out of boredom. My tablet dies so I can't even get any writing done because I forgot my flippin' charger. So, I facebook, pinterest, whatever I can find to bide my time on my phone until the 2am Closing Time Fairy graces me with her presence.

Aaaaaand, in walks That Guy. 

Again.

I still do not know his name. I am pretty sure he said it sometime during instance 1, but I can't be sure. He never ordered anything or started a tab, so I didn't hijack his name info from any credit card. But, then again, I don't really care what his name is. He will forever be known to me as, That Guy.
In fact, I think I'll do a "Heeeeey Guuuuuy!" the next time he comes in.

Anyhoo, there are like two people at my bar at this point in the night, total. I'm fucking around with my phone, bored to tears, and in he walks, sad and mopey as ever. 

Okay, here we go again.

Guy: "Hey there. Hello again."
Me: "Hey Guy! (teeheee) You look like you went on an adventure today!" *I say all cheery and even throw my arms out in a 'hooray' position*
Guy, glumly: "Yeah, I went to a few places. This place is the best out of all of them tonight..."
*cue crickets chirping as I look around my own pathetically filled bar*
Me: "Orly?"
Guy: "Yeah... Went to a few places. Eh." *pause* "You know what? I am having some issues..."
(of course you are)
Me: "Oh yeah?" *indulging* "With what?" (fuck it, I have nothing else better to do... Lay it on me, bro.)
Guy: "Life. I just wish I could find a nice girl. I just don't know how to talk to them. It never works out."
Me: "Girls are bitches. Especially ones you meet in a bar. Have you tried a bookstore or a library?"
Guy: "No. I don't know." *pause* 

"I had a girl not too long ago, but she left me... She got pregnant, then left me a few months later. She's now with another guy."
Me: "She sounds like a bitch. Is the guy she's with now taking care of her?"
Guy: "Yeah, he does. It's good for her, I guess."
Me: "Good for her, shitty for you, bro. Sounds like you are indeed, too nice. Be an asshole, you might be surprised at the outcome."
Guy: "I guess I just need to put myself out there, but I can't really handle anything serious. I'm in school, and need to focus on that."
Me: "Okay, I can understand that." (So you have been wining and crying to me all night long because you really do just want to get laid? I knew it! Typical boy...) 

Guy: "But, there is still a void, you know?
Me: "Yeah, that's called loneliness. It's normal. Why don't you try and find something casual. Shouldn't be too hard. You seem like an okay guy. You're not ugly or anything." (and he wasn't, really. He was big, said he used to be a fighter, but he had sad puppy eye syndrome like a mother effer... And no girl respects sad puppy mopey fucks like this guy.)
Guy: "Yeah, I guess I could do that..."
Me: "So do it. Seems simple enough."
Guy: "I guess you're right. I've actually turned down girls because I didn't want a relationship... School takes up a lot of my time." (shocker! He had some pussy and turned it down? That's your own fault, bro...)
Me: "Well, sounds like you need to find a girl that is okay with a casual relationship, and make it happen. Then you can focus on school and still get laid!" *hooray!*
Guy: *pause, thinking hard* "Yeah," (yeahyeahyeah, use your words...) "I also need to find a roomate."
Me: (Dear Lord, do I have the words 'Therapist' and 'Life Advisor' written all over my friggin forhead?) "That sounds even simpler. You have any friends that need a place to stay? Or even, post a flyer in the student center at your school. You should get some bites. Just stay away from Craig's list. Those peeps be cray cray."

Guy: *laughs* "I should get a female roomate."

Me: "Yeah! Then you get to split the rent and get laid!" *Hooray! I just solved your life! You're welcome.)
Guy: "I just don't have any friends..."
*facepalm*

Me: "Okay, dude. Your situation sounds like it's pretty easy to solve.." (I'm getting pretty tired of playing the free therapist at this point.) "You want to find a girl? Do it. Put yourself out there. Sooner or later, someone is bound to dig what you are presenting. You need a roomate? Do what I said earlier about posting a flyer at school. Bottom line: You have a problem? Find a solution and fix it. Sitting here moping about it is not going to fix any problem that you have. You seem like you are capable of making everything on today's list more than happen for you. So here's my end all, be all advice: Just Do It." *coughwhineylittlefuckcough*
Guy: *shrugs and smiles a bit* "Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll get on that. Thanks!" (And the crowd goes wild!)

End Scene.
Because at this point, my generosity has run out. I'm annoyed and bored with your sappy 'woe is me' tale. I don't even know you, Guy! You are spilling your beans to a complete stranger, and while this does not make you very different from most any other single bar patrons, it still gets old for us on the working side of things. I am not saying I don't mind giving advice, I really do like to help people if I can. But, you can't fix stupid. 

I'm good, but I'm not That good.

And this guy was a friggin' moron. 

*waaah waaah waaaah* "My poor life..."

No, I will not sleep with you.

No, she will not sleep with you either, because she is Swedish, hot as fuck, and you are a sad faced little kid who probably has a small penis because of all the steroids you took in high school.

Sorry your other girl left you for whatever reason... (you probably never shut up about yourself much like you did today.)

Sorry you don't have any friends. I don't know why. But I can't fix that.

We are not friends, bro.

I'm a bartender, not your friend, and certainly not your free therapist.

That is the truth of life.

At least order a drink next time and tip me for my troubles... Oh, yeah. He never ordered anything.

Not. A. Goddamn. Thing.

Nor did he put any jingle in my jar for all the awesome life advice I threw his way. (Common freakin' sense!)

Fidiot.

For real though, he seems like he has a good deal going for him. In school full time, trying to get his degree. It's normal to feel lonely and horny. All college kids are horny.

But, if it's really that big of a problem? Hire a friggin' hooker, man.

I. Don't. Really. Give. A. Fuck.

Just GTFO my base with your sappy ass self...

Here's a little rap I came up with on the fly to illustrate the frustration most of us must feel when confronted with That Guy:

I tried to be nice
And give some sound advice,
But this bar maid be stoppin'
Before my punches start a flyin'
In or around yo' face.

Ya feel me?

So, my fellow Goons. My advice? Have fun with the Guy. Fuck with him. I can only be sympathetic up 'til a certain point. If you had had a real problem? Then hell, yes, I would have sort of gone out of my way to help you/give you the best advice I am capable of.

But, no. You are a fucking retard that just wants someone to whine to.

For free.

I am not your girl.
I have a life.
And it does not include being your therapist.

*chunks deuce*

Light Saber Penetration

This particular tale comes from a very dear friend of mine and fellow Bar Goon, Grant. Like myself, he has slaved away at various institutions in the corporate bar world, and one particular slave driver we both have in common is TGI Friday's. Luckily, I was able to escape this hellhole years ago, but my poor friend is still stuck on the reigns. At least he is head bar guy, makes his own schedule, and pretty much gets to do whatever the fuck he wants, so that works out. He also gets to bear witness to some pretty outrageous stories, very much like the one he told me last week, and I am about to reiterate to you fine readers now.

The setting is a four sided and quite large and colorful bar on a Saturday night. The bar isn't too crowded, but there are spots of patrons mingling about, drinking their dranks, conversing, trying to get that 'hook up,' and whatnot, when a couple comes in to join the party. The duo is a youngerish type husband/wife set who have come in to celebrate their anniversary. They get to drinking, hootin' and hollerin', having a merry-go-round type time, and of course, my Goon friend is having a great time with them getting them drunk and cracking jokes, doing what he does (with that wicked playboy smile.) Gotta make that money, honey!

Anyhoo, at some point in the evening when the couple has had several and are starting to get to that point in the night where one feels brave and invincible (you all know what I am talking about, real superman type shit) and the fella calls Grant over to them to strike up a convo. Superman says, "Hey man... this is a great place... Great food, great people, great decorations..." (yada yada yada) when his wife interrupts her hubbs to (thankfully) get to the point.

Wife: (interrupting the word vomit) "I want him to get a Jedi tattoo."

... ...... .........

Say wha??? FUCK YEAH! (Tattoos are a ROCKIN' idear when you have been sippin' the sizzurp!)


So, of course, my friend being the fellow nerd that he is, plays into this gesture and demand from the super fucking awesome Fangirl wife. They converse a bit about tattoos, what to get, what would be fun, what would be super badass to show the grandkids when yer 80, when my Goon friend gets the best idea ever.

Grant: (to wife) So, let me get this straight... This is your husband, correct?" (Points to dood). Wife nods and says 'Hell yeah!'
"And, this is your wife, correct?" (Says to hubbs and points to his wife sitting next to him.) Husband nods and Grant continues, "And you would do anything to please her, correct?"
Hubby places his hand over his heart and the other hand in the air in an 'I solemnly swear' type motion, "I would do anything for her."

"Alright then," Grant continues, that wicked smile spreading across his face, "Then here's what you do. Get a tattoo of a light saber on your Dick." (I imagine he says this with a completely straight face after the mischievous smile.)

Yup, he said it. He said what we were all thinking. Of course, when people talk about tattoos when they are drunk, EVERYTHING seems like a good idea. Of course, most of us do not actually follow through with these asinine plans, so it's cool to be all bark and no bite. No one actually expects anyone to get a light saber tattooed on their Dick.

So, the couple of course break out into riotous laughter, and joke about the suggestion with my friend for a bit. (Optimum penetration jokes and whatnot.) They continue to have a grand 'ole time, and eventually leave the bar, drunk and happy, and my friend has an interesting story to tell and a little more mula in his pocket.

But, the story does not end here.

Oh, no. No, no, it is far from over.

Don't go away, I haven't gotten to the punch line yet.

Wait for it....




Okay.

Monday rolls around and Grant is back at work, doing his thang, when the same husband from the other night walks in. Grant immediately recognizes him and says, "Wassup man? You're from the other night, right? How are things?"
Superman: "Hey man. Yeah, I remember you too. I was in the other night with my wife. Good times, bro! But, honestly, I could be doing better. I am a little tired and sore."
Grant: "Why, what's up man? Rough work out? (think the guy was wearing gym clothes or something...)
Superman: "Well, remember what we talked about the other night? The tattoo thing? Well..."

The guy starts to go for his trouser snake area and whips out his mini-Superman to reveal (dun dun dun) A FUCKING LIGHT SABER TATTOOED ON HIS DICK!!!


Yeah...
Way to go Superman! FUCKYEAH!!

But, (and I do not have said dick on which to get this awesome tat) I just imagine the pain? Holy fuckballs, how much would that fucking hurt??? And a bigger question made it's way to the forefront of my mind, Did he have to be hard the whole time he was getting pricked by inky needles? I imagine so. Did he down a bottle of Viagra before hand? HOW THE FUCK DOES THIS HAPPEN??? The process eludes me, but nevertheless, THIS GUY IS MADE OF FUCKING WIN!!!

So, the moral to this story is: Do not get tattoos when you are drunk. You will more than likely regret it in the morning.
That is of course unless you get a Light Saber tattooed on you Dick.
Then it is totally kosher.
Your wife will be happy she is getting penetrated by the coolest weapon ever created a long time ago, in a galaxy far far away...