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......

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.

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.

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.

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.

Maliboobie

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.

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.

Code Red

I have different levels of assholes that come in on any given night. They have color codes, just like the terror alert system.

Code Red was my very first customer yesterday.

Often, the first couple of people who come in can set the mood for the entire evening. I was determined to not let Code Red wreck my night. It went like this: Code Red cruises in the door for Happy Hour and sits down at the biggest table, even though he's one guy: "Hey, get me a Dos Equis". Notice, there's no please or thank you involved. This is when one of the wisest things my dear mother ever has told me pops into my head. Mother: "If you kill them with kindness, they can't do anything else".

I prefer to think of it another way. I get this sweet syrupy lilt to my voice and this ridiculously fake smile and I respond back to Code Red: "Sure thing, I'll be right back". Being disengenuous makes me feel above his bullshit for some reason. (I know, I know....it's an ego thing, but can you blame me?!)

I'm not two steps from him when he starts yelling what he wants to eat to the back of my head as I walk away. I swear I want to stuff a dirty bar towel down his throat. Shockingly, he actually has a very nice girlfriend. When I ask him about her (he's never been in on his own before) he says, and I quote, "She's not really my real girlfriend. Just someone I hang out with."

Interesting, I bet she doesn't know he feels this way considering I know they LIVE TOGETHER. Code Red has one of those Asian-style lettered tattoes running down his inner forearm. I like to believe it says, "I'm a complete and utter Asshole" in Chinese, except he doesn't even know. Lesson for anyone who cares: Here's what I've learned about guys after seeing them in action night on end, if they think there is ANY chance at some play with a girl, they will lie their faces off about having a significant other.

Welcome.....

So, who am I? and in a world clogged with blogs what's this one about? Pretty simply, it's about spirits, sex, sin and servitude. Basically, a normal night tending in a trendy bar in Hollywood.

Slinging drinks is in my blood. I've been at it off and on for more than 10 years in places a far flung as Geneva and as boring as Ohio. I worked the club scene in New York and the rave scene in Paris. There's not much I haven't seen or heard, or at least I think so until someone shocks me with yet another bizarre transgression.

Here's the way it'll go...
All names, places will be changed to protect the not so innocent and other than that everything else's an open field.
It's not important who I am. Just consider me your personal fly on the wall taking it all in.

For now, grab a stool and I'll pour you the best Patron Silver with a splash of cointreau and fresh lime floated with raspberry liquer Margarita you've ever had.

Let the games begin......