As soon as a customer demanded to see the owner, I would emerge from the backroom in a tight black leather suit and dressed like a cross between Deter from SNL and Dr. Frankenfurter, carrying a riding crop.
"I am the complaints department. Are you... unsatisfied?"
It's astounding...time is fleeting...madness...takes its toll.
I feel this would be worth a trip from my home just to sit in your bar (with a nice cocktail) and watch you work. What a night that would be...
Honestly, if I OWNED the bar, I really don't think I'd be slaving away BEHIND the bar as much as I do now, if at all. Rank has its privileges, after all. That being said, I would still have great fun dealing with the utter douchebags that we occasionally have to deal with.
Monday was apparently Dumb Bunny Monday at my bar, as the vast majority of the customers were clearly mentally deficient. The kind of people that would ask, while standing next to the stairs, how they would get to the upstairs. Yeah, THAT kind of stupid. All....freakin'....day. No real douchebags, just a whole truckload full of Stoopid.