Sunday, July 30, 2006

My Heroes

If you look even slightly young you're going to get carded. It's a fact of life in an industry when even someone who looks totally legal could easily be an undercover cop waiting to nail you. So, better safe than sorry I say. Last night a very Nordic group of tall blondes, two boys, two girls, sauntered into the bar. They were everything that someone from California is supposed to look like. I carded all of them and the two boys, who were both in their very early 20's, were US Marines. They were hanging out with one of their sisters and her friend for a night out on the town. They were stationed down the 405 at Camp Pendleton and they couldn't have been more sweet and polite. I bought them all a few rounds of drinks and unabashedly gushed how grateful I was for their service to our country. I meant every single word of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you......

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Keep the Compliments

I have a few golden rules of bartending that are pretty tried and true. Meaning, if one of them happens, 99.9% of the time I am certain of the outcome. Here's a case in point that occurred last evening on our busiest night of the week, the Friday Night Happy Hour. A Young Hollywood Turk with his posse of like-minded buddies is attempting to be extra 'cute' by calling me sweetie and other endearing names while telling me what a truly fabulous bartender I am. Here's the deal, any time someone tells me how great I am behind the bar, I KNOW without a shred of doubt they are going to leave me a shitty tip. In fact, the more they shower me with praise, the more the tip goes down. This guy wouldn't shut up. After many Don Julio tequila shots for he and his friends he asked for his check. It was $119.00. Guess what he left me? $10. That's technically less than ten percent. Thanks! My fellow bartender and I promptly celebrated the moment with a Shot of extra chilled Stoli Raspberry and splash of cranberry.

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Drop the Attitude

I know, I know, you probably think I'm going to go on some typical bartender rant about how customers drive me nuts from time to time, but you're wrong. This particular advice is directed at myself and any other person who works in the 'service' industry. Let's say you're about to head out the door for work and your boyfriend stops by to let you know that he's decided you're better off as 'just friends'. Before you have time to even react you have to jump in the car, get to work and suddenly be around a few hundred people looking to have a good time out for the night. I have seen this happen one of three ways: 1. the jilted person is nasty as hell to anyone and everyone 2. they get blasted shit-faced drunk 3. or they disappear for half the night in the bathroom room sobbing to their friends on the phone.

Let's say I've had some experience in this arena (not exactly, but close enough) and the bottom line is it's NOT the customer's problem you're having personal issues. It may be their one night a week to blow off steam and it's not their fault you got dumped. So, suck it up, do your job, and no one says you have to smile like a cheerleader, but don't let the whole world in on your life. If you really need to, have a good stiff drink, but don't drink and cry: Tokyo Tea: 1 prt vodka, 1 prt gin, 1 prt rum, 1 tequila, 1 prt triple sec, 1 prt sour mix, 1 prt Midori.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

Coin Slot

It's not like I'm a fashionista or the ultimate purveyor of the hottest new look, but there is one particularly disturbing trend that I feel I must speak up about. Made famous by a "Saturday Night Live" fake commercial starring teen queen Lindsay Lohan was the 'coin slot ass' jeans. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. It's those pair of low-rise, one size too small jeans that women squeeze themsleves into so that when they sit down, especially on a bar stool, the top part of the crack of their ass is on display to the viewing world. And yes, it looks like a coin slot.

I dared one of the waiters the other night to put a quarter down this one girl's slot just to teach her a lesson, but he chickened out. I even took an informal survey of the six guys I work with and pointed to her exposed crack (it even sounds gross) and asked them if they thought that was attractive in any way. Five out of the six said no.

Ladies, here's the deal. Those tight pants that don't cover the top of your bootie look terrible, so please considering covering the coin slot up. In a moment of exasperation I quench my thirst with: Watermelon Martini 1 part Watermelon Pucker, 1 part Stoli Vodka, splash of pineapple, dash of chambord.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Supreme Irritation

Tonight started just like any other. A slow and steady Happy Hour for an hour or so and then suddenly, out of the blue, a big group of very self-important people(at least they thought so) invaded the bar like a small army of very demanding ants. After many years of bartending, there are a few things that people do to all but guarantee I will virtually ignore them as they desperately try to get a drink.
Here's my top five non-no's:
1. Snapping fingers
2. Yelling "Hey!"
3. Asking me my name and then yelling it down the bar the rest of the evening
4. Whistling to get my attention
5. Grabbing some part of my body as I pass by
I swear, any of these will cause me to think terrible murderous thoughts so please, please just don't do them. If you're hanging out with someone who does any of them, quickly diassociate yourself and slink over to a new section of the bar. I might just serve you.

Monday, July 17, 2006


Saturday night was ridiculously busy. We were packed with people for Happy Hour all the way through dinner. Things were starting to wind down when five girls walked through the door and sat at the bar. For a moment, time seemed to stop as every head in the restaurant turned to try and get a better look at them. It took me a split second to realize what the fuss was all about. I have never seen 5 pairs of perfectly spherical massive breasts all lined up in a row. I'm not a guy, and I'm not into girls (really, I'm not), but even I couldn't keep my eyes off of their incredible boobs.

I barely heard them when they gave me their drink order. Did she say Malibu and boobie? No, wait, I think it was pineapple juice. All of them had very low cut tops on to show off their prizes. These ladies knew their assets and weren't shy about it. All of a sudden every hot-blooded male I work with, which is quite a few, was behind the bar getting a glass, a beer, a water, just to get a peek. After telling all of them to get the hell out of the bar my fellow bartender (another girl) and I watched in amusement as men were shot down one by one as they tried their luck with the ladies. Apparently, even though they obviously wanted to attract attention, it was only acceptable from afar.

I really don't see the big deal. I touched a fake boobie once (again, I'm really not into girls) and they have an indescribable creepy feel to them. But, as they say, to each his own. I did make them a shot though: Chocolate Coffee Cake: 1 part Stoli Vanilla, 1 part Frangelico, 1 part Starbuck's Coffee liqueur. Shake until very cold and serve in a lowball.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Power of Puff

Last night after work I stopped by my local gas station to once again get pissed off at the big 'gas gouging conspiracy' as I put a few gallons in my tank.

I walked into the station and there was this guy working the counter that looked like he could easily be in a bloodthirsty, ruthless street gang. Gold teeth, prison tattoos, hard eyes....he scared the shit out of me. I quickly put my money down and tried not to look up at him, but then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye I noticed something absolutely bizarre.

In the middle of both of his arms were tattoos of, and I kid you not, the POWER PUFF GIRLS. I blurted out: "Hey, are those the Power Puff Girls?!" This guy giggled like a school girl and said. "Yeth, look hereth another one" (he had a lisp) and showed me his third Power Puff Girl on another part of his arm.

Unbelievable. The lesson I learned here: It really can't be said enough times. Don't judge a book by it's cover, 'cuz you just never really know.