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. 

The Pain of Glory

This particular post has to do with one of the craziest experiences I have ever witnessed behind the bar. Now, this event occurred during my first months of bartending  so that was a hell of a long time ago. Following is that story and the aftermath as it has stuck with me for so many years... Here's the everlasting, mind-boggling tale concerning The Pain of Glory.

When I first started out, I was 18 years old. I had been promoted to the bar after only being a server for a few months at my first slave driving institution, TGI Friday's. One of my regular shifts was Friday, Day, Front Bar. The layout of the restaurant was fairly large with the bar being elevated from the bottom floor which was non-smoking at the time, and surrounded by an even higher section, the smoking booths. The bar was four sided and provided ample viewing pleasure from my perspective of all kinds of Shenanigans. On one particular Friday, after the lunch rush had died down and I was pursuing my normal routine of stocking and preparing the bar for the night shift, three rather large and intimidating men in business attire saunter up to the bar. When I say large, I mean like 6'5", built, badass looking Motha Fuckas. These doods looked more like wrestlers than business professionals. Goddamm.

Now, mind you, when I say that the Lunch Rush had passed, I mean that there was literally No One in the entire place except for employees. If you have worked in the industry, you know what I mean when I say the place cleared out by 2pm. Everyone is back at work, and it's not quite Happy Hour, or quitting time for the "normal working stiffs," so the restaurant is quite barren for at least a couple hours. Most of our clientele at this time of day consisted of businessmen/women and working professionals, so the money was usually very good. They would come In, lunch, possibly a mild cocktail, omnom, tip generously, and out within an hour. This was the routine for 90% of the customers that came in, and was a normal occurrence for weekday shifts.

Imagine, me, a young, beautiful, quite naive new bartender trying to take in the sheer appearance of what has just walked its way into my bar scene looking at these three enormous men dressed in Armani.  Some shit is about to go down, I know it!

I proceed over to the three gentlemen and do the usual spiel, "Hi, how are you guys, yadda yadda... What can I get for y'all today?"

One of the guys breaks away from the laughing and conversation (these guys looked pretty peppy and excited btw) and orders, "Three shots of your most bottom of the barrel tequila. I mean the super cheap, well rack shit, in dirty glasses, with the salt and limes on the side. It's very important that the tequila be raunchy and the glasses unwashed."
Quite abashed, and after trying to suggest that they at least use clean glassware, (eeew germs much?) my pleading is to no avail, and I give in to the "Customer is Always Right" mentality that I possessed at the time, and proceeded to line up the order.
The guys take the salt and poor it onto the bar and proceed to make what resembles little coke lines out of it, and take straws and cut them in half so they are shortened.
They look quite excited about what is about to happen, and I look like a deer in headlights. I am so fucking confused at this point...
They each take a shot glass, say some toast that I cannot recall, but it was super congratulatory, cheers each other, knock the shot glasses on the bar, Snort the salt, take the shot, and squeeze the lime in their right eye.

....



What in the holy Godfuck just happened!?!?

Seriously...
What. The. Fuck.

My jaw literally hits the floor and they are cheering and chest bumping like hyper apes! Oh my fucking GOD what is going on?? I must have looked like a truck was about to hit me as one of the men turns to me, with a giant grin, unable to open his right eye, tells me everything is okay, and to please line up another round.

What??? Another round? WTF??
Okay...?

So, I do so, and do so again, and again...
These crazy mother fuckers continue to take shots and make a jolly riot for about 30 minutes, taking shots, chest bumping, high fiving, cheering like merry idiots! Holy shitballs, Batman, this is fucking weird!
They rack up about a 60-70 dollar tab, close out, and tip me $150.
Holy shit.
I am sooooo fucking confused...

The three doods leave the bar in even higher spirits than when they entered, high fiving, cheering, and having a grand 'ole time, and meanwhile, I am trying to scrape the remnants of my sanity off the bartop as I attempt try to process what in the holy hell just happened!!

To this day, it is still clear as yesterday's breakfast what happened, because it is ONE OF THE WEIRDEST THINGS I HAVE EVER FUCKING SEEN!!!

I mentioned earlier that our usual Day clientele consisted of business professionals, so money was usually pretty good, even for a dayside shift. But $150 from three guys I have never seen before (had worked there for 2.5 years already as a hostess and other things before moving to the bar) and never saw again? I thought Surely, I had to have imagined it, when I noticed that after they left, the rest of the staff still on for that day were huddled in a booth upstairs watching the whole scenario. They were equally as confused as I was... "Holy shit, Lollie! What was that? Who were they? What the fuck..."

*pauses and breathes for dynamic emphasis*

It wasn't until years later as I was rehashing the event to someone else, another customer at another bar, that my speculations were confirmed  Another industry regular heard my story, and piped up from down the bar, "Wait! That happened to me too! It was the weirdest fucking thing I have ever seen!"
I'm like, "I know right! I'M NOT CRAZY, YAY! Someone else has seen it too!!" As we share stories, sure enough, the same exact thing happened to him as well...

Holy shit. So it is a real thing. Thank God, because I was thinking that these mofos were absolutely insane!

And, it wasn't until last week, when, yet again, I am telling the story to another customer, in my current place of employment, the story of the craziest thing I have ever seen behind the bar, a good friend and bar regular pipes up, "Yeah, I know what that is. It has a name. The Pain of Glory. Businessmen will do this when they land a huge deal." * he smiles*
Now mind you, this is the one person on the planet that I would expect to know what this is, because Of fucking Course he would know what this is with all the crazy shit He has done! Huzzah!! I laughed my ass off when he told me, and felt further comfort that I was not completely insane and dreamt the whole bit eleven years ago...

But still...
To this day...
By far...
The. Weirdest. Shit. I. Have. Ever. Witnessed.

The Pain of Glory.

New Years Day = All the Idiots Come Out to Play

I have been a bartender for over eleven years now, and I can honestly say that in all my years of slinging the 'poison' have I ever had such a mass quantity of stupidity and randomness in one single night behind the bar. Yes, folks, what I am saying is that New Years, the bartender is just as hungover as you are, and is in quite no mood at all to put up with bullshit. I.e., I had absolutely NO filter that day at work. If you said something stupid, I called you on it, with a smile of course... ;)

Here are just a few examples of the shitstorm of stupidity I encountered New Years Day, 2013. (Mind you, I polished off the previous night blacking out after double fisting a bottle of wine and a liter of Crown Black... Yeah.)

First customer of the day was a woman. Nothing to scream about, entirely average, and did not put off an air of dis-intelligence upon first glance. Oh, boy, was I wrong.
She steps up to the bar and here is the conversation that followed between me and Ms. Ditz:

Ditz: "Hi! Yes, I would like a Starfucker, but as a drink. No ice though. Chilled, but without any ice in it."
Me after looking at her for a second and a half wondering did she really just say that: "Yeah, sure! It's still a shot though..." *stare*

This was my first drink order of the night. My first flippin' customer! I swear, sometimes I wish I had a cloned Bill Engvall to pop up whenever statements like this are made to say, "Here's your sign."
That was my first encounter of the idiot kind for the day, but it was definitely not the last.

Idiot number two was an encounter that not only did I have the pleasure of conversating with, but so did the rest of the staff that night, as well as a couple bar regulars. This guy was (supposedly) on a date or meeting of some kind with a mildly attractive female... Or so I thought until she left after an hour and he remained behind to torment us all. Oh my baby Jesus, was there torment. He figures out my name at some point earlier in the night, and decides to nickname me Lollipop for the remainder of the evening. Here is the conversation that followed his companion's exodus:

Dumbfuck: "Hey, Lollipop, I want to ask you a personal question, I am having a problem and need some advice..."
Me while DF is still midsentence: "Why?"
DF: "Yeah... I am having a lot of trouble, wait, did you just say 'Why?'"
Me: "Yeah, I did. Why do you need to ask me?"
DF: Man, that is really discouraging..."
Me trying not to be a total bitch even though he is about to pour his entire personal life and problems into a complete stranger's lap: *laughs a bit to lighten mood* "Ok, man. What's your issue that you need advice on?"
DF:  *sighs and laughs as well* "You see, Lollipop, is there something wrong with me? I can't quite figure out what's wrong..." *grins like an idiot*
*I stare blankly*
DF continues: "Why can't I find a woman? Is there something wrong with me? *shakes head* I don't know..." *he grins like an idiot the entire time btw*
*I continue to stare blankly*
Me: "Well, (because I couldn't think of anything else to say) you're not ugly or fat, so I guess you have that going for you..." (but you're a fucking retard that is seeking life advice from a complete stranger, that might be the problem?)
DF laughs: "Thanks for not calling me fat or ugly, I guess, haha. Man, I should talk to you for an hour..."
Me: "Are you gonna pay me?"
DF: "What? For what?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted a therapy session. Are you gonna pay me for it?"
DF laughs, I laugh...
But, I was completely fucking serious!

The conversation went on for another few minutes of this poor sap trying to seek heartfelt advice and comfort in the Theraputic smile of the hot chic behind the bar, and I am absolutely not playing into it at all... In fact, I am fucking with this guy as much as possible, because well, he deserves it! Who came up with the idea that the bartender is your closest friend, confidant and therapist? I make $2.13 a fucking hour. Not nearly enough to put up with your life drama. I don't care that you can't find a decent girl. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you are a moron? Throw a hundo down on the bar, and maybe I'll consider giving you some sound advice: The simple fact that you asked if something was wrong with you states the obvious, Something is Wrong with You.

I really was laughing most of the time inside my head as this Dumbfuck poured out his pathetic heart to me. He really was trying hard for a reassuring statement. I'm sorry, Dude. I have been in this business for far too long to smile simply because I am expected to. I do not know you. I do not really know why you can't get laid. I have absolutely NO interest in getting to know you in order to find out the answer to your problem. You probably already know what the answer is, but you are seeking affirmation from me, an outsider, and a female, for some unknown reason... No, I will not sleep with you either.

To put it simply, I Do Not Care.
I Am Not A Therapist.
You Are Not Paying Me Enough For This Shit.

Now, do not get me wrong, if some stranger comes at me with a legitimate problem, I will attempt to help, as I have done many times, But, if you are a straight up idiot like this guy, then I'm going to call you out.

The best part of this conversation was when he saw his defeat in purpose reflected in my eyes and turned his attention to my rather attractive friend and bar regular. He was trying so hard... He asked her how old she was, and said that she had pretty hair.
DF: "Hey you have cool hair. Take your helmet off so I can see it."
Me and CuteBarReg together say: "It's not a helmet..."

She was wearing a fuzzy hoodie.
Helmet, Wtf??

He continued to torture her, then proceeded to the inside bar to try his luck with those poor ladies, but eventually left the bar, utterly defeated. Poor guy. (not really...)
There were a few more occurances throughout the night of random acts of idiocy, like a couple loitering around the front door for fifteen minutes, proceed to my patio, and excitedly ask if the inside bar is open. "Yeah, it is. The door is right over there, where you just came from..."

Overall the night was entertaining. Being sorely hungover at work paid off for once because it properly enabled me to deal with all of the nonsense.
Shenanigans. Pure Shenanigans.

"Here's your sign."