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...

Hiatus

As some of you very much appreciated readers of The Corner Bar Theory may have noticed, there hasn't been any new content in a while. For this, I greatly apologize.
When I created this blog, it was my full intention to use it as a writing exercise after I graduated to get my creative juices flowing in order to set me on the path to dive head first into my novel. The blog has indeed served this purpose, and very well I might add.
With this being said, my novel endeavor is currently taking up the majority of my thinking space and free time, so any posts in TCBT will be sparse and far between for the next several months. That is not to say, however, that the blog will disappear. I absolutely love writing about my "day job" and will continue to do so once the novel has reached completion.
The Capt. thanks all of you for your support, and I urge you all to look forward to my witty return in full force in the fall!

Thank you again, and see y'all soon!

The Liquid Ninjas

This post has to do with a recent "incident" I had the other day with a bartending forum known as The Liquid Ninjas. This particular group is a pretty well known Bartending clan based in Texas and the Houston area. Members post anything from when shifts are available, to knowledge and leads on employment opportunities, as well as stories (bitch rants) from bartenders who had a not so great night at work. The forum is become more popular as of late with a select group of core members completely taking over the forum with an "if you do not hang out with us, you do not exist" nature. At least it seems that way to me after my most recent experience with one of their admins. Mostly, I have noticed before this incident that the forum is just clogged with people spamming whatever the hell they like to post, most of it unintelligent, less than colorful, bitching about their job or how shitty customers can be. While I do sympathize to an extent, it seems as though this forum has become the Black Booty Video of forums on Facebook, showing nothing but how stupid people can really be. Their promoting antics are terrible, as well as language used shows that the average IQ is well below par.

Now, you may think I am being a bit harsh in my saying this, but this was my opinion of the group some time before having my run in with Mr. Admin. Actually, I thought of leaving the group many months before, but decided to leave it in the background as I do have some very good friends I have known over the years that seem pretty active with these "Ninjas." (If you take offense to the following, I am terribly sorry, but my experience is very viable in reaching my own personal conclusion.) Now, I do not regularly mix with many members of the group since I do not work the Downtown Club scene any longer (those days in my Goon career are long behind me) so it was no surprise to me that this Admin I had a run in with treated me like I was yesterday's garbage when I had the bright idea, "Hey! I have a Bartending Blog, this is a Bartender's Forum, Maybe some of these folks will like to read my stuff!"

You think this would be an intelligent idea on my part...

You would be wrong.

After my most recent posting in "The Corner Bar Theory," I shared the link to my personal Facebook profile, as I always do, as well as had the idea to share the story with the Liquid Ninjas group.

Very shortly afterwards, I got a somewhat snarky message from Mr. Admin basically telling me that my post was not welcome; that I "needed to ask first."

I'm sorry... What?


Following is a detailed Play by Play of the conversation that followed with Mr. Admin, and my side remarks, i.e., What I Was Really Thinking.

This should be fun. :)







This comment makes sense. Remember the "clogging" I mentioned earlier? It would make sense to me that they would want to run a clean site.



















My comment basically saying that My Stories will do your site nothing but good. They are fun stories, and should be a breath of fresh air to the trash littering your forum.













His reply is basically a "Fuck You, who do you think you are?" And I also believe he is accusing me of using the Forum as a base to lure in more subscribers. Which, FuckYouVeryMuch, was not my intention at all. I do plan to publish "The Corner Bar Theory" in the future, but only after I have enough material written down, then compiled and edited to be released in one complete volume. For this guy, I should have said, "It's gonna be a book fuck nut, chillax. I'm not trying to steal yo rap yo."

















Oh! Now he realizes the point of what I was trying to do! *gets dog biscuit ready*

Wait, just kidding... What was it he said there? "I would love to read your stuff." Great! "But I want your stuff to be exclusive to my group."
'Say wha'???

Obviously, this fidiot has no idea how the internet works...













Me trying to explain to him how this thing called the Internet works. You write something, you share. No biggie.
My average posts are around 1500-2000 words, and yes, that would be an eyesore of a Facebook post. Hence, why I have the Blog. plus, with a Blog format, I can make it look all pretty and stuff with these things called Format, and Spacing, and Organization.
All of my stories, any single one of them, packed into one Facebook post would be nothing but a wall of text, ugly to the eye, and no one would want to read it because of the headache that would surely ensue.
Yeah, I'm trying to do you a favor, Dude.










Oh wait, I think he is trying to make me feel bad about not wanting to be "exclusive" with him... Is he trying to ask me to 'Go Steady?' Sorry, but you are not my type...

But I did share, and he didn't like it at first. What changed?
And, the "Good Luck!" I am pretty sure means, "Fuck You." So, of course I wish him one back. ;)
Fidiot.














Yeah, the peak of your idiocy, and my patience for that matter, has been reached, Mr. Admin.
Impasse, we have indeed reached.












So, after reading through the convo yourselves, you can see why I held nothing back in my earlier prognosis of the way this guy runs his forums. So, of course, since I have a Blog, I get to bitch about it, intelligently of course. :)

Basically what I got from the entire thing was this:

AdminDick: "I don't know who you are, nor did I read your blog before deciding to delete your post and ban you from my site, but now that you have laid it out for me like the four-year-old I am, you have a really good idea there! I want exclusive rights to it, you can't share it with anyone else, and you get absolutely nothing for it in return, other than the prestige of being a Liquid Ninjas writing slave, which I may not even give you credit for in the future."



Me: "You're a fucking idiot, son!" *chunksdeuce*






So, yeah.

This is my experience with the Liquid Ninjas.
They reserve the right to be a cliquey bunch of D-bags who will not look at you before tossing you aside. (I mean this in the strictest case of the Admins, not the members, who for the most part, are innocent, and those who read my stuff seemed to like it, Thank you for that. Seriously.) But, if this is how your group is going to be run, then I feel for you. Sorry you won't get to see my stories, or be able to contribute yours, as I do take submissions from fellow BarGoons, but your Admin has made it very clear that I am not welcome on your land. Instead of possible positive promotional value that could have been had by teaming up with me, the forum has now earned nothing but negativity from this particular party. The big difference on why you should give a flying fuck? Because I may be published someday, and I will not be bleeping out any names in this instance to save face.
You done fucked yourself there Buddy. :)

Thanks, Alfonso Chable, for being a Dick, and Not knocking me down, but rather Fueling my Fire even more to succeed.
I guess people like me need people like you to remember why I do this in the first place.
For 'Merica.
And because I think it's funny.

You're welcome.

A Not So Happy Ending

In honor of our most recently passed Lover's holiday, this week's edition has to do with a Love Story. Although, this particular tale is one of woe versus a Happily Ever After. I decided to document this story over another because being in the bar business, on Valentine's Day, most couples are off doing Couply things like dinner, movie, or whatever other romantic plan, leaving the stragglers and the Broken Hearted to wander into my bar to drown a bit of their sorrows away. Such is the tale of one gentlemen as he told it to me a few days ago.

Now, this story begins last week when I was working my usual Tuesday shift during Happy Hour, a man walks up by himself and orders a beer. Nothing out of the norm in this situation. This happens a lot during Happy Hour: lonesome man just getting off work, into the Pub for a bit and a few beers before hitting the homestead. Normal. After a few minutes of him sipping his beer and me lolling about, (there usually is not much for me to do customer wise between 5 and 7) the Poor Sap begins to talk to me. He opens with, "You know, this is the first time I have been in a bar in almost a year."
Me: "Orly? Why is that?"
Sap: "Well, it's kinda a long story."
Me: *looks around at mostly empty bar* "I'm sure I have time. Lay it on me."
Sap: "It all started about a year and a half ago. I came to this bar and was having a few drinks after work when I noticed this young lady sitting in the corner over there by herself(points to end of bar by window), shivering a bit. It was kind of chilly outside (this is a patio bar btw) and I consider myself gentleman, so I went over to her and offered her to use my jacket. Nothing strange. I wasn't trying to pick her up or anything, I just couldn't sit there with a girl obviously uncomfortable. She asks me to sit down and we do end up talking for a few hours. And she was really nice. We decided to meet up again later in the week over coffee. She was a really nice girl, it turned out after a few dates, and we ended up dating within a month. Now, she never asked me to pay for anything. In fact, I had to battle with her pretty hard in the beginning to pay the tab anywhere we went  She always wanted to pay half, and me being the nice guy I am, I can't have that. We didn't even sleep together until a few weeks of seeing each other. After several months, she took me to meet her parents in (Boston I think it was?) and they seemed like really nice folks. Everything was going perfectly. We even got engaged. She had a key to my house and was planning to move in with me.
One morning I woke up to get ready for work and couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. She was getting ready to go out of town for some business trip, and acted as if everything was normal, but I just couldn't shake this feeling that something was up. I went to work, and I work long hours sometimes, and came home that evening to find my house cleaned out. She took all of her stuff, and even some of mine too.
I was robbed blind.
She took expensive jewelry that had been passed down from my grandmother  the extra Go-cash I kept hidden in the house, expensive pieces of art that I had collected, even some of my really nice suits. Of course she kept the $10,000 engagement ring I gave to her. She even took some of my more expensive guns.
When I went to check her apartment, thinking at first that I had been robbed randomly, I found out that her address was fake. Not only that, but her phone number was disconnected, and her job was false also. At this point, I am not even sure if the parents I met were real."
(Poor Sap shook his head in disbelief)
"I was totally had. I have never felt so betrayed in my life."

My jaw hit the fucking Floor after he told me this. HOLY MOLY! This is like some movie type shit! You never hear of stuff like this happening in real life!

He proceeded to tell me that after she took him for everything he had, he tried to file police reports and take her to court, but of course she didn't show, so he could not press any real charges because he had no real proof it was her. She was practically living with him after all, so her prints were everywhere. He had no hard evidence to present against her since she had a key to the house. She even stole his truck to cart his shit away in.

FUCK-IN-A man!!! I still cannot believe this! Even as I am writing it down.

He then said that also shortly after the incident, his friends, and her friends as well, came to him with things like, "I didn't want to say anything before, but I just didn't trust her. I should have told you she was bad news..."

REALLY GUYS?!?! You wait until AFTER she robs him blind to come to him with that shit? Great fucking friends you are...
The Poor Sap continued to drink his beer. Of course I bought him another one, because yeah, I felt horribly bad for the guy. And it was Valentines Week, so I am sure he was in an even darker place than usual. The man was so turned off from human beings that he refused to go out socially for almost a year after the event.
I gave him my sympathy, and reassured him that she must have been a professional. It is rare, things like this happening, but it does happen, and from what he told me, the SuperBitch knew exactly what she was doing.

Sit in a bar, look vulnerable, but still appear to have an air of confidence. Get in reeeeaaal good with some super nice guy, really drag out the relationship until he completely trusts you, then take him for all he is worth when he least expects it. Skip town, rinse, repeat.

He even said that he looked her up in police records and found that she had a record in several counties, including Brazoria. She was on probation in a couple too. All for theft.
This was not her first rodeo.

I have seen women at the bar all the time, busting out their boobs and raising their skirts a few inches to get free drinks, but FUCK man! I have never seen this happen before. And in my own bar!

The Sap left after beer three, I told him to keep his chin up, that it could have happened to anybody, and to not knock himself down so bad for it. I thanked him for coming in, and wished him well, and to stay away from single ladies at the bar.

I ALWAYS tell doods to not take a girl seriously you meet in a bar, because YOU MET HER IN A FUCKING BAR! But this? Oh man.... He got fucked twenty ways to Sunday with no Happy Ending waiting for him at the finish line.

So, my advice to anyone, either male or female, about a significant other prospect you may pick up in a bar:
You can take 'em home and fuck 'em, but don't take 'em home to meet your parents.

99% of the time, they are not worth anything more than a good drunk lay.
You want to meet a nice girl?
Go to Barnes and Noble.

"I Give God 10%, Why Should I Give You 18?"

This week's post has to do with a recent news article involving an Applebee's employee and a not so charitable person to her fellow man, Pastor.

Now, this is a common 'fence' issue between those who have worked in the industry, and the ignorant fucks who have not serviced their fellow man, not once, in their lives. I have heard both sides of the story on this, and while I do admit that I am biased because of being an industry Goon myself, I do understand some folk's wariness for automatic gratuity being added to a bill.

Now, for those who are against automatic tip of any kind, most restaurants  such as Applebee's, add in the AutoGrat on parties of 6-8 or larger as a precaution for the server to not get royally fucked over. Now, I have worked in some places where there was no AutoGrat to save your ass, and you could have a party of, say, 12, the total tab well over $200, and being left with a lofty $10 tip. And said asswipes would think that that was a decent handout for services rendered...

If you are one of these fucktards, stop reading this blog now. Yeah, right now. Fuck you.

By common decency and unwritten law, by every moral encounter one can come up with, in America, one should tip based off the total amount of the bill. The general rule is 15-18% for your server, and 20%+ for your bartender. That is, if the Goon does a good job of taking care of you. I am by no means saying that if the Goon fucks up everything under the sun, including drink/food orders, fails to pre-bus/keep the table clean, bitches and whines about their miserable job and life, then fuck that guy... I have literally, only once in my life thank you, taped 2 pennies to a receipt as a tip, and proceeded to list all the things said GoonFuckUpNumberOne did to piss me off. And, being a Goon myself, you have to be a royal fuck up for me to get that angry. I generally sympathize with a slight lack in service, because let's face it, not everyone has been in the industry as long as some of us, and may not have perfected their skills yet. But, if you just plain suck, then that 20-50% tip from me goes right out the window.

Anyhoo, back to our main point: AutoGrats on large parties are a very common thing. No one in this country who was born and raised here is a stranger to it, so why do people get so pissed off when they see that auto tip? I have heard such excuses from customers as:

"Well, if you didn't add in the automatic tip, I would have given you waaaaay more. It's an insult to your customer to think they would not tip you..."

Said asshat would continue to bitch and complain, sign the tab without leaving anything extra on the Additional Tip line, and exit the premise with a full belly and a haughty disposition. This has happened to me FAR more times than I can count, and you know what? It's just fine with me. I got my 18%.

Yeah, that asshole who claims, "I would have tipped you more..." Fuck that guy. I call bullshit. He would have left a $3 on a $30 tab and have been done with it. 9 times out of 10, the asshole who says he would have tipped you more is lying through their Gorram teeth, just wanting something to bitch about and someone to bitch at, because you know why? Their life probably sucks ass and that is the little bit of power play they will get in their day to day. And they get away with it, Why? Because they are the Patrons, and we are the Goons. So what do we do with these assholes? Put a policy on our menus saying that 'Parties over 8 people will receive an Automatic Gratuity of 18% added to each guest's check."

Booyah. Problem solved. The Goons don't get fucked over, and the patron is not forced to tip way more than he should feel comfortable. Key word being 'should.'

Now, as to this incident in St. Louis with the Applebee's and the Pastor...

Fuck.
That.
Bitch.

While I do have to admit that posting a photo of the receipt online was a Big No No, the BitchPastor deserved it. If it were me, I definitely would have been ranting on Facebook after I got home from work after that shitty slap in the face. All the PastorBitch had to do, if it REALLY bothered her that much, was sign the tab with no extra tip and be done with it. If she even more so had her panties in a wad, she should have taken her outrage to Corporate, as it is after all, a Company Policy to AutoGrat large parties. It was NOT the waitress's fault, and to be a snarky TitWad and write it all over the Merchant Copy of your receipt taking it out on a  hapless Goon just doing her job...
Fuck You.
And further more, using God as an excuse for your actions?
Fuck You Right Up Your Religious Ass.

After reading the article posted on Yahoo News and watching the Video, the Pastor seems like a halfwit anyway. "I give God 10%, why should I give you 18?"
You wanna know why?
Because Applebee's says so.
And it's the decent Goddam thing to do.
Not write a snarky complaint slapping the server in the face.
Fuck. You.

Nothing in the article was said about the quality of service, but I am assuming it was okay since everyone else at the table tipped a little extra over the AutoGrat. Therefore, I am concluding the service did not suck enough to render her such a remark on the receipt.

To top it all off, it was not even the server who got fired, but her friend who snapped the photo and posted it online. I can understand her termination, because yeah, that sucks. But then again, a Goon job is a dime a Fucking dozen. Fuck that place. Go get another job tomorrow and be done with it.

As far as I am concerned, Chelsea Welch, former emplyee of Applebee's in St. Louis, Cheers to You Girl.
Fuck that cheap poser, illiterate, ignorant Fuckwad of a person using God as an excuse to fuck you over. Hold your head high girl. We all support you.

From one Goon to another, we all get stiffed sometimes, and desire to take retaliation against said fucktard who screwed us over, and most of the time, said retaliation gets us nothing but personal satisfaction and the loss of employment.
But you know what?
It was fucking worth it.

Read full Yahoo News article here: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/sideshow/applebees-waitress-fired-pastor-receipt-193820748.html

Cherries Cause Cancer

This particular tale also reaches way back into my bartending mental scope. It is one that occurred many, many, many years ago, again, in my early years of Goonage. Have you ever heard the old wives tale (started in the 70's) that Marachino Cherries can cause Cancer? Well, some DumbSlut I met at the bar lived by taking Red Dye #2 completely out of her diet. Following is my story in dealing with the, apparently Cancerous, round fruit.

As mentioned before, many, many, many years ago, I used to work a couple Day Bar shifts at the lovely establishment called Fox and the Hound. It was a quite large and accommodating Sports Bar with tons of TV's, comfy couches, and quite an extensive menu of deliciousness. On one particular morning around lunchtime, two ladies approach the bar and sit down in front of the Mega Touch to play Poker or some shit, and they are in a quite involved discussion of I cannot remember what. The talk was so heated, however, that I decided to give them a few minutes to wind down, stop cackling, and pay attention to me long enough to get their drink order. Much like trying to get someone's order who is talking on their cellphone... (Pffft! Do you want a drink, or do you want to stand in front of me awkwardly and babble, pretending to be important? The next post will have to be about Lollie's Bar Pet Peeves. Asshats)

Anyhoo, the Cackling Hens finally noticed that I was casually waiting for them to STFU and glanced my way. Waving me over with a dumb grin, one of the Hens asks me a question: "Do you have regular cherries or those Marachino cherries?
Me: "They are Marachino."
Hen #1: "Oh, No, No, No!! Don't you know that those cause *gasp for dramatic effect* CANCER?!?"
Me: "Yeah, I heard something about that. Red Dye #2 right? I thought that was a wives tale? Debunked? Yeah?"
Hen #2: *gasps again* "Oh, No, No, Child! You are quite mistaken! They very much do indeed cause *dun dun dun* CANCER!"
Me: "I'm pretty sure that they released a statement in the 80's retracting the earlier scare of Red Dye #2. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can pull up a news article on my phone..."
Hen interrupts: "Oh, that is just the government LYING to you! *friend hen is nodding in agreement*  Honey, honey, oh my, what rock have they put our youth under where they will believe ANY old thing they release on TV? I heard my info on the radio, and that is totally different. The radio NEVER failed you back then! And these Cell Phones! Internet in the palm of your hands! It's all a conspiracy, I tell you! *friend hen continues to nod, and shake her head at the corresponding moments* The government has you all brainwashed, the youth of America! Those little devices are like antennas into your mind! You are all under their spell!"
Me: *blank stare* (I think my mouth was hanging open a bit as well) "Um... I'm not so sure about that..."
Hen #1: "Oh, you must believe me! It's the only way to free your mind from their control! I, myself, will NEVER own one of those devices! That's how they get you! Listen to me, honey, I was around when Kennedy was shot. Believe you me, darling, two words, Cover Up. It's the same thing with Cancer. Most everything causes cancer these days. I have a complete list of all the cancerous items and ingredients they put into our food and preservatives. And, of course, they tell you now that everything is fine... Well, they won't make a fool out of me! I tell you."

The Hen goes on and on, even pulls a list out of her purse to show me all the things that cause *wait for it* CANCER. I cannot even tell you the amount of crazy eye was in these two ladies heads at the time. I almost didn't want to serve them for fear that they may already be high on god knows what, but they had to be at least 60, so I ruled out narcotics, because they cause cancer too, and surely the old biddies would avoid such substances... Dear Lord...

After about fifteen minutes of me being dumbfounded, they begin to stagger off their 'Cancer Kick' long enough for me to ask them what they would like to drink? "We have plenty of non-cancerous items, like Vodka. Would you ladies like anything to sip on today?" I am really just hoping they will order so I can make them something to stick in their mouths to shut them up long enough so I can run away to the back of the house and catch a fucking break from their nonsense. They finally relinquish to my desire and Hen #1 asks #2, "What was that drink we had the other day? My, it was quite tasty! Oh, what was it... It was a Vodka something, Sour... Oh that's right, A Vodka Cherry Sour. We shall take two please."

...   ............      
...............!!

You have got to be FUCKING kidding me!!!

I try to stifle my boiling roar, cock my head to one side to keep from exploding, and as politely as I can, through gritted teeth, remind them, "You know, ladies, that a Vodka Cherry Sour has a Cherry in in it right? A Marachino Cherry?"
*Hens blink a couple times* "Why yes, but just don't put the cherry in it, just that flavorful red stuff that makes it taste so sweet."

...   .........    
.................. Holy Mother of Godfuck these two are Batshit Retarded!!

Me: "Um, you know that is Grenadine, right? It's Cherry Juice."
*Hens blank stare and blink again, then smile, and say: "Oh, well, it's not REAL cherry, so it's ok."

Bill Engvall pops up to "Here's Your Sign" these bitches...

I swear, HOLYFUCK!

...Whatever, I make their drinks, run to the back, and outside the back door to first, explodeshout my frustration, then laugh like a stoned hyena at how fucking stupid these two old biddies are. I mean Christ! How does one become that fucking daft to the point that A: You are allowed out in public, and B: That you have enough fervor to fervently display your stupidity to another human being, and C: Argue with said notcompletelydumbasfucklikeyouare person about how FUCKING RETARDED you are???

After I was able to pull myself together and return to the bar, the two ladies merrily sipped their drinks, played Naughty Picture Find on the Mega Touch, paid their tab, at leasted tipped generously, and as they were exiting, reminded me to "Be wary of the Cancer! Stay away from those Cherries, Dear!"

Yeah, sure Lady. I'll get right on that... Right after I bash my own brain in with my conspiratory cellular device.

The Wrong Kind of Role Model

Following is the first submission from a fellow Goon. He works as a waiter/bartender in an upscale dining institution, and yes, he gets to deal with all kinds of stupidity and assholiness as well. I leave out names of people and places as a precaution, because one of the bases of this Blog is that these people are everywhere, and instances like this could happen anywhere, to anyone. His tale is one that has a moral base to it as well as some Tsk Tsk’s that will surely be iterated by you readers, as I very much WTFed as he told me the story.

Kids, even though I am pretty sure no children read this blog, or should… ;) Do not always follow your parent’s example. Just because they birthed you, does not make them God or the Holy Roman Emperor of Role Models. This is very much an example of the WRONG kind of parental role model to be. If you act like this jackass in any public outing, not only are you proving you are a jackhole to your family, but the general populace gets to shake their heads at you too… *tsk tsk*

Here is my friend’s tale of the Wrong Kind of Role Model:

The dining institution my friend slaves away in for an honest buck is the kind of place that closes down early during the week. Yup, he gets the pleasure of the white penguin suit, the cloth table coverings, extensive wine menu, full table presentation, all that jazz. It’s not quite fine dining, but it ain’t no Chili’s neither… That being said, if a table walks in at 8:55 and you close at 9pm, yup, you will be there for the duration of their meal, waiting on those ignorant fucks. All you wanna do is get to the Pub for a drink and a simmer down shot, only to be delayed for at least an hour. Such is the case for this particular story.

The guests did call right before coming in to make sure there would be a place for them to dine, and of course the calltaker must oblige. The Goon gets a little bummed, but hopeful that in at least a party of five the tab will be decent, maybe some wine and drinks, and the tip should be according as well.

A family of 5 comes in to the restaurant right before closing and says they are the people who called. Two adults, three kids.

PpffffttFuuuuuck. *sound of monetary profit going right out the window*

Goon, sighs, but must oblige, and prepares the spiel, “Hey, how are you guys, welcome to *nameofestablishmentommitted* What can I get y’all started on for drinks?” *yadda yadda.. We all know that robotic motion*

So, the family sits down, orders drinks, and the Dad asks the Goon, “Hey, what’s good on the menu?”

Now, the menu is pretty extensive with all kinds of variety of goodness to choose from, so of course the Goon replies, “It really depends on what you want. We have chicken, seafood, pasta, etc. It really relies on what you have a desire for. We do have quite a variety.”
Guest: “Well, what do you like?”
Goon: “Honestly, I have worked here for *X number of years* and there is only so much on the menu that I eat. You know, when you have the same stuff available for so long… *laughs* But, really, everything on the menu is quite good. It just depends on what you have a craving for.”

They go back and forth a bit on what the guests should order, and finally decide on dinner for everyone. Things seem to be going well when after the family is partway through the meal, the Goon comes to check on them. “Hey guys, how is everything working out this evening?”
Guest: “Everything is great, thanks man. Hey, what time do you guys close?” (Guest has noticed that chairs are upside down on top of tables and the carpet cleaning crew previously scheduled for that night were hanging out over by the entrance.)

Goon: “Well, actually we close at 9 (it was now 9:45), but don’t feel you have to rush or anything. Take your time and enjoy your meal. (Says with sincerity. *applause* He wouldn’t be able to get away with being a snarky bitch at work like me… So he must be nice, as is common with those types of Slavery establishments.)

The father starts getting in a huff, profusely apologizing that he and his family are keeping him there past close, and begins to bark at his family to “Hurry up! Finish your dinner! The place is closed! I’m so sorry man, I work in the industry as well, and I know how much this sucks having to wait on people past closing… FUCK I said EAT YOUR DINNER! THEY’RE CLOSED!”
Goon, quite stunned and trying to smooth situation: “No, it’s really no problem. This kind of thing happens all the time. It’s really no reason to rush. Take your time, and enjoy the rest of your meal. Would you like to see a dessert menu? We have several things that are quite delicious…” *double applause*
FatherDick: “No, no. No dessert. Just bring ToGo boxes and the check. I’m so sorry man. I’m a manager at a high end country club, and this sucks. Just bring us boxes. Kids, eat your dinner!” (kids have been playing on their iPads the whole time not really paying attention to the scene their douchedick of a Dad is causing…)
Goon, again trying to smooth things over: “Oh really? Which country club do you work at?” *trying to nonchalantly calm Dickhead down*
Dick: “I can’t tell you that… Just bring us boxes and the check.” *continues to yell at family to hurry*
Goon: Well, technically I can’t bring you boxes. We are supposed to box any ToGo food for you, as a courtesy. It’s our policy.”
Dick: “None of that. We don’t care. Just bring the boxes and sit them on the table next to us. If we use ‘em, we use ‘em. Then you don’t get in trouble.” *continues to bark at family even more*

My fellow Goon does what the Douchedick says and brings boxes and sets them on the table next to where they are sitting. The whole time, he is utterly abashed at how the Dad is treating his family. By “hurrying” them along, it is actually having the opposite effect as his yelling and screaming is taking more time than the family normally would have taken to finish their meals in peace. By this point, the Goon is just ready to be rid of the asshole as he is feeling sorry for the wife and very aloof children.

The time comes around for the check to be taken care of and as he comes to present the tab, Dick gets in a huff because his wife is trying to pay:
“No, what are you doing? Don’t pay the tab! We agreed I would pay…” *bark bark assholiness*
The wife apologizes to the Goon, says it’s fine and to please take her card. She is attempting to shush her husband still when the Goon, after conflictingly being reassured by her it is okay to run her card, walks away to do so. He can still hear them at the table as he is at his terminal, “What are you doing paying for this? It’s your Birthday!” *bark bark assholiness* The Goon returns with the tab and thanks the family for coming in, and offers the complimentary birthday dessert for the wife, as he has overheard the special occasion. The Dick gets huffy yet again and says, “No! We don’t want it. We have kept you here far too long. Kids, get your stuff! Let’s go! I’m so sorry about all of this man. You were so great letting us stay and have dinner. *yadda yadda ‘Sorry’ yadda ‘I’m a giant asshole’ yadda*

The Goon waves goodbye to them, thanks them for coming in yet again, and wishes them a good evening as they are walking out the door. Regardless of the drama, the tip was decent for the tab. Thankfully, I wonder, that the wife paid rather than the Dick. Something tells me she’s the money maker in that little clan…

I wish I could say that was the end of the story, but oh no. It’s gets worse…

After the family leaves, and the carpet cleaning crew has come in to do their thing, the kids get in the car and the parents sit down on the bench outside the restaurant to have some ‘quiet time.’ They remain there until the Goon is done with his side work and is leaving the building himself when he notices the parents sitting outside talking. He waves, they nod, and he gets in his car to head to the Pub for a very much needed drink. As he is about to drive off, he notices one of the kids get out of the car (yes, the tykes were waiting on the parents the whole time, it’s been like another 30-45 minutes they have been waiting in the car) and asks how much longer until they get to go home. The Dad gets in a Superhuff and starts screaming at his kid, “Get back in the Damn car! Can’t your mother and I have a few Goddamn minutes to ourselves? It’s her Fucking Birthday!!… *rantassholerant*”

WTF???

Who said this asshole could father children? I mean JESUS! What a DICK!

My Goon friend very soon after hits the Pub, and proceeds to relay the story to me. Of course, I have to post it… I mean, Fuck!

The point of the story more lies in moral grounding than humor. Some people just should not be parents. They are an embarrassment to themselves, and Holy Fuck, what kind of assholes are those poor kids going to grow up to be? First of all, all of them had iPads, cellphones, and such that they were playing with the Entire time at dinner. I am sorry, but playing with your Gorram phone or whatever when your family is supposed to be enjoying a nice meal together warrants a FlipFlop to the face! Bad fucking manners, mate! Well, I guess I can’t expect much since their Dad was a complete Dick. AAAND, these kids were out past 11pm on a fucking schoolnight. Jesus man, if it’s your wife’s Bday, get a fucking babysitter! Ass!

Worst. Role. Model. Ever.

Lollie’s Role Model Advice:
Do not be a Dick.
And especially…
Do Not be a Dick in Public.
Period.

Then maybe your kids won’t grow up to be Dicks just like you.

So, the next time you decide to take your family out to dinner, remember, Be a Good Role Model…
Please, for the sanity of those who have to put up with your dumbass, and especially, for the Children.