Tweet
Idiot #1, The Freedom Fighter
So there I am, sitting in World of Beer (shocking, I know), trying a new beer and taking notes about it on my phone, as I often do. Guy next to me, to whom I have given no indication that I wish to strike up a conversation, starts talking to me about what I am doing. Not talking about the beer so much, or even about beer in general, both of which are somewhat standard in a bar devoted to craft beer such as WoB, but quite specifically about my note-taking. Asking if I have a blog, what the notes are for, that I should post these notes somewhere, and on and on. Very annoyingly so.
Now I should point out that I am usually a very social person, and usually have no problem talking to anyone and everyone, especially about one of my favorite subjects, beer. Or even about my habit of taking notes about beer. But this guy was just annoying. The kind of guy that will start talking to you on a bus, or a plane, or a train, or in a bar, just rambling on and on, just so you have no doubt what his opinion on something is...whether or not you wanted to hear his opinion, or even care about the topic upon which he is opining. I think we've all dealt with people like this at some point in our lives. The Annoyasaurus Vex. Harmless, to be sure, but more irritating than the average infomercial.
Well Vex eventually stops bothering me long enough for me to finish my notes and enjoy some of the playoff hockey game on the tv. And I figure I've weathered the storm, and I'll quickly forget about him. I know, I know: silly Jester.
And then Vex gets his bill. And breaks into a virtual tirade about it. Not just to the woman with him. But to me and anyone else that will listen. What was the tipping point that sent him into this rage? Did they overcharge him? Put stuff on his bill that he had not ordered? Snuck in an unmentioned gratuity?
Nope. They taxed his beer. "I can't believe it! They put tax on my beer! Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Tax? On beer?" I simply looked at him as he ranted. Then he directed it toward me. "You should put THAT in your notes! They TAXED my BEER! Can you BELIEVE it?" I'd heard enough.
"Actually, yes. They tax beer. They've doing that for decades, maybe longer. It's nothing new." Well HE had never seen it. "Yes, that's because most bars 'hide' the tax by including it in the cost of the beer. They back the tax out, as it were. For example, if they charge you $5 for a beer, the actual cost is probably around $4.50, with 50 cents tax." (This is simplifying the numbers, of course, but you get the basic idea.) "Well, they don't tax beer where I'M from!" Actually, they probably do. If it's backed out, as I explained, you would never see it. Just as you've not seen it at other bars down here. Doesn't mean it isn't there. "No, no, no, they don't tax beer in New York!" Perhaps they don't. I don't know, having never worked in New York. But I DO know that they tax beer just about everywhere else, including here in Florida, in Arizona, in California, in Louisiana, in Texas, in Ohio, and again, pretty much everywhere else.
Naturally, he continued to go on and on about it. Finally, the guy sitting on the other side of me, who had said nothing this entire time, and had merely sat there drinking his beer, leaned over and said, simply and bluntly, "Uncle Sam's always going to get his cut." Leaving the Man Whose Beer Is Never Taxed slack-jawed and grasping for straws, of which he found none.
Ended up having a great conversation with the other guy for quite some time afte that. Lol!
Idiot #2, The Professional
There are many things one should probably do when applying for a job. The following, all performed by one girl who came into my bar looking for a job, are none of them:
--Show up in short shorts. While they looked good on her, and Key West is a very casual place, it is not so casual that job applicants are not expected to make SOME effort at dressing appropriately. And while short shorts certainly are appropriate apparel for some professions, the food service industry is not one of them.
--After asking if the manager is in, and being told that he was the guy who just went back into the kitchen a moment ago, start heading into the kitchen to talk to him. It was a statement of fact, not an invitation to roam through the back of the house. Sit the fuck down and let me get you an application, genius.
--Ask the bartender for a pen. Job Hunting 101 dictates that you bring your own pen. Smarter applicants will have multiple pens on them, in case one dies. Having a pen indicates you are prepared. Not having one indicates the opposite, and managers are always interested in knowing if someone who wants to work there showed up unprepared.
--Not have a Social Security number. Now, there are many foreigners working in Key West who are "contract labor," i.e., they are employed through a third party. It's not totally illegal (though often a bit shady), but a lot of places, including mine, do not employ contract labor, for a number of reasons. While this form of employment is far from standard, this young woman seemed surprised that we did not engage in it.
--Order food. Not all of my coworkers agree with me, but I think it just looks bad when, after you've filled out the application and are waiting to speak to the manager, you order your lunch. I was frankly surprised she did not order a cocktail.
Idiot #3, The Smooth Operator
Cinco de Mayo. An important holiday on the Mexican calendar. More familiar to most Americans, though, as an excuse for gringos like me to drink Mexican beer, margaritas, and tequila, eat bad Mexican food, and generally act like an idiot. Things I excel at.
So there I am, minding my own business, wearing a ridiculous sombrero and drinking a Negra Modelo at World of Beer (hey, it WAS Cinco do Mayo!), and Beer Babe, one of my favorite WoB bartenders, starts telling me about this fucktard she's dealing with. Seems the guy at the end of the bar had been saying a lot of shit to her:
"Oh, your boyfriend works here? You guys ever do it in the cooler? Me and my girlfriend would do that whenever we could!"
"I'd love to do you in the bathroom."
"You have the most amazing ass."
All this with his girlfriend right there, but either oblivious to it all, or she just didn't care.
So I lean over to Beer Babe and ask, "The guy with the curly hair in the light blue shirt?" Yep, he was the one. "Let me know if he says anything else, or if you need me to take his head off." She just laughed. But she was clearly annoyed with this jackass. But as he had not laid a hand on her, and she clearly could handle the situation herself, however much it irritated her, I let it go.
A while later, I happen to look up and see Baron Douchemunchen himself walking my way. Not a big deal, as he had to walk by me to leave the bar. But then, upon seeing my sombrero, he started to approach me, with his hand up in the high five position.
BARON: "Cool hat, bro. Put 'er there!"
JESTER: (looking at him with a steely-eyed glare) "I don't think so."
BARON: "Wait, what? Why not?!?"
JESTER: "After the disgusting crap you said to my friend? She didn't appreciate it, and neither do I."
BARON: "That wasn't me! That was my friend!"
JESTER: "Riiiight. Whatever dude."
And then I turned back to my beer, pointedly ignoring him. And he did the smartest thing he'd done all night....he left.
Don't ever treat bartenders like that. They are there to serve you drinks, not take your shit.
And don't ever, EVER, fuck with my friends.
Idiot #4, The Killer
As I often do, I was riding my bike into work. Bikes are very common in Key West, so I am in no way an oddity in this. As I was riding down one downtown street, correctly to the right where bikes should be, an SUV driving in front of me suddenly swerved into a metered parking space, nearly hitting me, and forcing me to slam on my brakes, which luckily for me were recently tuned and worked fantastically. Coming to a very sudden dead stop behind his vehicle, I raised my hand and made a "WTF?" expression, but got nothing from the driver. So as I passed his open window on my bike, I yelled, "Are you trying to kill me?!?" To which he apologized--wait, no, he didn't do that. He indicated he hadn't seen me and--no, that wasn't it either. What did he do? Oh, yeah...he yelled something snarky at me, as if it were my fault that he cut right in front of me and almost caused me to slam right into the rear of his vehicle.
My apologies, sir...I should know better than to let my highly visible 15 pound bike get in the way of your 3,000 pound truck, which clearly has the right to go anywhere, no matter the potential danger or harm to others.
Idiot #5, The Imposter
Found out about this guy as I was typing up part of this story at World of Beer. Quick background: at every WoB they have a leaderboard, indicating who of their loyalty club members has tried the most amount of different beers. The Key West WoB lists the top 21 members by first name and last initial, with their tally, updated once a week. Currently I am listed at #5, with 176, as of last Monday, though of course I have added to that total since then. (Currently in the 190s.)
So last night, one of the bartenders told me a story. The night before, some self-important douchepotamus was in with a girl, and he pointed up at the leaderboard, explained what it was to her, and then said to her, "I'm number five."
To which the bartender, who knows me, looks up at the board, sees my name, then looks at the guy in disbelief and says, "No you're not. That's Jester!"
GUY: "But I'm Jester. I'll show you my ID. I'm Jester D.!" Apparently he had the same first name and last initial that I do.
BARTENDER: "You may be Jester D., but you're not THAT Jester D. I know him!"
GIRL, to the guy: "You're such a liar!"
So basically this moron was trying to impress a girl by pretending to be me, and not only failed, but failed miserably, getting totally busted by the bartender. Can't think of the last time someone posed as me to impress a girl. Too damn funny!
So there I am, sitting in World of Beer (shocking, I know), trying a new beer and taking notes about it on my phone, as I often do. Guy next to me, to whom I have given no indication that I wish to strike up a conversation, starts talking to me about what I am doing. Not talking about the beer so much, or even about beer in general, both of which are somewhat standard in a bar devoted to craft beer such as WoB, but quite specifically about my note-taking. Asking if I have a blog, what the notes are for, that I should post these notes somewhere, and on and on. Very annoyingly so.
Now I should point out that I am usually a very social person, and usually have no problem talking to anyone and everyone, especially about one of my favorite subjects, beer. Or even about my habit of taking notes about beer. But this guy was just annoying. The kind of guy that will start talking to you on a bus, or a plane, or a train, or in a bar, just rambling on and on, just so you have no doubt what his opinion on something is...whether or not you wanted to hear his opinion, or even care about the topic upon which he is opining. I think we've all dealt with people like this at some point in our lives. The Annoyasaurus Vex. Harmless, to be sure, but more irritating than the average infomercial.
Well Vex eventually stops bothering me long enough for me to finish my notes and enjoy some of the playoff hockey game on the tv. And I figure I've weathered the storm, and I'll quickly forget about him. I know, I know: silly Jester.
And then Vex gets his bill. And breaks into a virtual tirade about it. Not just to the woman with him. But to me and anyone else that will listen. What was the tipping point that sent him into this rage? Did they overcharge him? Put stuff on his bill that he had not ordered? Snuck in an unmentioned gratuity?
Nope. They taxed his beer. "I can't believe it! They put tax on my beer! Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? Tax? On beer?" I simply looked at him as he ranted. Then he directed it toward me. "You should put THAT in your notes! They TAXED my BEER! Can you BELIEVE it?" I'd heard enough.
"Actually, yes. They tax beer. They've doing that for decades, maybe longer. It's nothing new." Well HE had never seen it. "Yes, that's because most bars 'hide' the tax by including it in the cost of the beer. They back the tax out, as it were. For example, if they charge you $5 for a beer, the actual cost is probably around $4.50, with 50 cents tax." (This is simplifying the numbers, of course, but you get the basic idea.) "Well, they don't tax beer where I'M from!" Actually, they probably do. If it's backed out, as I explained, you would never see it. Just as you've not seen it at other bars down here. Doesn't mean it isn't there. "No, no, no, they don't tax beer in New York!" Perhaps they don't. I don't know, having never worked in New York. But I DO know that they tax beer just about everywhere else, including here in Florida, in Arizona, in California, in Louisiana, in Texas, in Ohio, and again, pretty much everywhere else.
Naturally, he continued to go on and on about it. Finally, the guy sitting on the other side of me, who had said nothing this entire time, and had merely sat there drinking his beer, leaned over and said, simply and bluntly, "Uncle Sam's always going to get his cut." Leaving the Man Whose Beer Is Never Taxed slack-jawed and grasping for straws, of which he found none.
Ended up having a great conversation with the other guy for quite some time afte that. Lol!
Idiot #2, The Professional
There are many things one should probably do when applying for a job. The following, all performed by one girl who came into my bar looking for a job, are none of them:
--Show up in short shorts. While they looked good on her, and Key West is a very casual place, it is not so casual that job applicants are not expected to make SOME effort at dressing appropriately. And while short shorts certainly are appropriate apparel for some professions, the food service industry is not one of them.
--After asking if the manager is in, and being told that he was the guy who just went back into the kitchen a moment ago, start heading into the kitchen to talk to him. It was a statement of fact, not an invitation to roam through the back of the house. Sit the fuck down and let me get you an application, genius.
--Ask the bartender for a pen. Job Hunting 101 dictates that you bring your own pen. Smarter applicants will have multiple pens on them, in case one dies. Having a pen indicates you are prepared. Not having one indicates the opposite, and managers are always interested in knowing if someone who wants to work there showed up unprepared.
--Not have a Social Security number. Now, there are many foreigners working in Key West who are "contract labor," i.e., they are employed through a third party. It's not totally illegal (though often a bit shady), but a lot of places, including mine, do not employ contract labor, for a number of reasons. While this form of employment is far from standard, this young woman seemed surprised that we did not engage in it.
--Order food. Not all of my coworkers agree with me, but I think it just looks bad when, after you've filled out the application and are waiting to speak to the manager, you order your lunch. I was frankly surprised she did not order a cocktail.
Idiot #3, The Smooth Operator
Cinco de Mayo. An important holiday on the Mexican calendar. More familiar to most Americans, though, as an excuse for gringos like me to drink Mexican beer, margaritas, and tequila, eat bad Mexican food, and generally act like an idiot. Things I excel at.
So there I am, minding my own business, wearing a ridiculous sombrero and drinking a Negra Modelo at World of Beer (hey, it WAS Cinco do Mayo!), and Beer Babe, one of my favorite WoB bartenders, starts telling me about this fucktard she's dealing with. Seems the guy at the end of the bar had been saying a lot of shit to her:
"Oh, your boyfriend works here? You guys ever do it in the cooler? Me and my girlfriend would do that whenever we could!"
"I'd love to do you in the bathroom."
"You have the most amazing ass."
All this with his girlfriend right there, but either oblivious to it all, or she just didn't care.
So I lean over to Beer Babe and ask, "The guy with the curly hair in the light blue shirt?" Yep, he was the one. "Let me know if he says anything else, or if you need me to take his head off." She just laughed. But she was clearly annoyed with this jackass. But as he had not laid a hand on her, and she clearly could handle the situation herself, however much it irritated her, I let it go.
A while later, I happen to look up and see Baron Douchemunchen himself walking my way. Not a big deal, as he had to walk by me to leave the bar. But then, upon seeing my sombrero, he started to approach me, with his hand up in the high five position.
BARON: "Cool hat, bro. Put 'er there!"
JESTER: (looking at him with a steely-eyed glare) "I don't think so."
BARON: "Wait, what? Why not?!?"
JESTER: "After the disgusting crap you said to my friend? She didn't appreciate it, and neither do I."
BARON: "That wasn't me! That was my friend!"
JESTER: "Riiiight. Whatever dude."
And then I turned back to my beer, pointedly ignoring him. And he did the smartest thing he'd done all night....he left.
Don't ever treat bartenders like that. They are there to serve you drinks, not take your shit.
And don't ever, EVER, fuck with my friends.
Idiot #4, The Killer
As I often do, I was riding my bike into work. Bikes are very common in Key West, so I am in no way an oddity in this. As I was riding down one downtown street, correctly to the right where bikes should be, an SUV driving in front of me suddenly swerved into a metered parking space, nearly hitting me, and forcing me to slam on my brakes, which luckily for me were recently tuned and worked fantastically. Coming to a very sudden dead stop behind his vehicle, I raised my hand and made a "WTF?" expression, but got nothing from the driver. So as I passed his open window on my bike, I yelled, "Are you trying to kill me?!?" To which he apologized--wait, no, he didn't do that. He indicated he hadn't seen me and--no, that wasn't it either. What did he do? Oh, yeah...he yelled something snarky at me, as if it were my fault that he cut right in front of me and almost caused me to slam right into the rear of his vehicle.
My apologies, sir...I should know better than to let my highly visible 15 pound bike get in the way of your 3,000 pound truck, which clearly has the right to go anywhere, no matter the potential danger or harm to others.
Idiot #5, The Imposter
Found out about this guy as I was typing up part of this story at World of Beer. Quick background: at every WoB they have a leaderboard, indicating who of their loyalty club members has tried the most amount of different beers. The Key West WoB lists the top 21 members by first name and last initial, with their tally, updated once a week. Currently I am listed at #5, with 176, as of last Monday, though of course I have added to that total since then. (Currently in the 190s.)
So last night, one of the bartenders told me a story. The night before, some self-important douchepotamus was in with a girl, and he pointed up at the leaderboard, explained what it was to her, and then said to her, "I'm number five."
To which the bartender, who knows me, looks up at the board, sees my name, then looks at the guy in disbelief and says, "No you're not. That's Jester!"
GUY: "But I'm Jester. I'll show you my ID. I'm Jester D.!" Apparently he had the same first name and last initial that I do.
BARTENDER: "You may be Jester D., but you're not THAT Jester D. I know him!"
GIRL, to the guy: "You're such a liar!"
So basically this moron was trying to impress a girl by pretending to be me, and not only failed, but failed miserably, getting totally busted by the bartender. Can't think of the last time someone posed as me to impress a girl. Too damn funny!
Comment