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Today was clearly a Fuck You Thursday. We were not amused. And I am not using the royal "we" here, but am referring to my coworker and myself.
I am not talking about the many people who left us crappy tips or no tips at all, which happened WAY too often today. That was just the icing on the cake. The cake was a whole different pile of horseshit.
So, what was the big cake I'm referring to. It was the pub crawl. But first, a bit of background:
There are many organized pub crawls in Key West. Some are just for specific events, such as Fantasy Fest, Fourth of July, or St. Patrick's Day. Some are regular events to give tourists a chance to experience several different bars; the reason an establishment would sign up for such an event is with the idea that the people on the crawl will, at a later date, return to the establishment to actually spend their money. Which, quite honestly, they never seem to do. Some of In the crawls are occasional things sponsored by specific groups that are down in the Keys for some reason. And some are just random organized crawls that happen for, well, whatever reason. As someone who does not organize pub crawls beyond my own random ones, I cannot really say.
In any case, we had an organized pub crawl of approximately 70 people scheduled to come through The Bar today at about 2 pm. So the bartender that would normally have been scheduled at 5 was scheduled to come in at 1, as that is simply too much for any one bartender to handle.
So "Patty" shows up at 1. It's relatively slow. But we're ready. I've stocked, and she and I go about getting even readier and stockeder for the mad rush that will ensue around 2. And we find out that the crawl will come in in two groups, approximately half of the total each time. Awesome. Makes it easier for us to take care of them quickly and efficiently.
2:00 approaches, and we receive word that the crawl is "minutes away."
2:00 comes, and no sign of them.
2:00 goes, and no sign of them.
3:00 comes and goes, and no sign of them.
I should point out that, had it been busy regardless of the lack of the crawl members, Patty and I wouldn't have cared. But...it wasn't. It was dead. How dead? Well, the Undertaker called to chew us out for stealing his business. It was that dead.
3:30 comes along, and we receive word that they are not far now.
4:00. Still no crawl.
Finally, shortly after 4, they show up. Not the first half, mind you, but ALL of them. At once. BAM! Here they are.
Great.
And....Patty and I spring into action, writing down multiple orders each, slinging drinks, doing what we can to keep up.
Not that the crawl members understand or care about this.
CRAWLER: "Can we get some drinks here?"
PATTY: "Ma'am, you all just came in here. We're moving as fast as we can, and will get to you as soon as we can."
Separately from the above incident, I had my own run-in with a crawler. While I am making my first batch of 8 drinks or so, there are a few crawlers seated right by the service bar, looking at me expectantly.
JESTER: (politely) "Ladies, we will be with you just as soon as we can."
CRAWLER 2: "Hurry up! Hurry up!" (This came out half-joking, but half-serious.)
JESTER: (stopping what I am doing, looking the crawler straight in the eye, and pointing at her) "You're last!"
Don't get me wrong, there is some amusement in the crawl.
CRAWLER 3: (indicated a gold dollar coin they've placed on the bar as a tip) "There's a dollar bill for you."
JESTER: "No, that's not a dollar bill. That's a dollar COIN."
CRAWLER 3: ".....good point."
But finally, working quickly, efficiently, and diligently, we get all the pub crawlers their drinks, and they clear out of the bar, giving us a chance to clean up and take care of the (very few) other guests we have. Some of the crawlers tipped us. Most did not. In total, we made about 15 bucks.
Now, the crawlers did not pay us for their drinks. Rather, as pre-arranged, they gave us tickets for each drink. The basic deal is that they pay the crawl organizers for the experience, and the organizers arrange with each bar how it will work at that establishment. At our place, their tickets gave them a choice of A, B, or C (the specifics aren't important for this story.) The organizers, in turn, pay the tab that the crawlers ran up at each bar, usually with some sort of discount. In our case, 50%. So, while the crawlers didn't tip us all that well, we know that the organizers will take care of us, right?
Riiiiiight. Despite Patty telling me that she's worked this crawl before (it's usually a night thing, not a day thing, and not usually with so many people--this time it was a large group off of a cruise ship), and that the organizer always takes care of the staff, it didn't quite work out that way. About a half hour or so after the crawlers have crawled off to their next bar, one of the organizers comes in to settle the tab.
And tips us exactly the same amount that each and every one of you reading this tipped me today. That's right: nothing.
When Patty asked her about this, the organizer said, "Well this time, THEY were supposed to tip." Meaning the crawlers. The ones who, well, didn't. And traditionally don't. After all, in their minds, they've already paid for the experience...why should they have to tip? So, despite being told (allegedly) by the organizers that they should tip their bartenders, only a few actually did so. And Patty and I were left with tips totaling far less than even 10% of the total bill, before the organizers got HALF off.
Yes, the crawlers were supposed to tip.
They didn't.
So perhaps you should be smart and take care of the bartenders that make your job even remotely possibly, you cheapass fucking cow.
Needless to say, Patty and I were seething, as she had come in four hours early, and I had had to split what would normally have been just my tips with Patty for the three hours before the crawl actually arrived. Patty made a point of expressing our displeasure to management, who were rather shocked by the treatment we received, after they had bent over backwards to make sure our bar would be able to accommodate the crawl. I am pretty sure that Boss Man is going to have some words with the organizers. And these are probably not going to be the same words he uses in front of his son.
When Patty related her conversation with the organizer to me (she took the payment from Miss Cow), I told her that she should have said, "Yes, they were supposed to tip. And you were supposed to be here at 2. Isn't it amazing how things don't work they way they're supposed to?"
Thank you, crawl organizers, for fucking over two of the best bartenders in a rather small town. Not to mention two of the most talkative, two of the loudest, two of the most social, and two of the most vindictive.
Smart move.
Let us know how that fucking works out for you.
I am not talking about the many people who left us crappy tips or no tips at all, which happened WAY too often today. That was just the icing on the cake. The cake was a whole different pile of horseshit.
So, what was the big cake I'm referring to. It was the pub crawl. But first, a bit of background:
There are many organized pub crawls in Key West. Some are just for specific events, such as Fantasy Fest, Fourth of July, or St. Patrick's Day. Some are regular events to give tourists a chance to experience several different bars; the reason an establishment would sign up for such an event is with the idea that the people on the crawl will, at a later date, return to the establishment to actually spend their money. Which, quite honestly, they never seem to do. Some of In the crawls are occasional things sponsored by specific groups that are down in the Keys for some reason. And some are just random organized crawls that happen for, well, whatever reason. As someone who does not organize pub crawls beyond my own random ones, I cannot really say.
In any case, we had an organized pub crawl of approximately 70 people scheduled to come through The Bar today at about 2 pm. So the bartender that would normally have been scheduled at 5 was scheduled to come in at 1, as that is simply too much for any one bartender to handle.
So "Patty" shows up at 1. It's relatively slow. But we're ready. I've stocked, and she and I go about getting even readier and stockeder for the mad rush that will ensue around 2. And we find out that the crawl will come in in two groups, approximately half of the total each time. Awesome. Makes it easier for us to take care of them quickly and efficiently.
2:00 approaches, and we receive word that the crawl is "minutes away."
2:00 comes, and no sign of them.
2:00 goes, and no sign of them.
3:00 comes and goes, and no sign of them.
I should point out that, had it been busy regardless of the lack of the crawl members, Patty and I wouldn't have cared. But...it wasn't. It was dead. How dead? Well, the Undertaker called to chew us out for stealing his business. It was that dead.
3:30 comes along, and we receive word that they are not far now.
4:00. Still no crawl.
Finally, shortly after 4, they show up. Not the first half, mind you, but ALL of them. At once. BAM! Here they are.
Great.
And....Patty and I spring into action, writing down multiple orders each, slinging drinks, doing what we can to keep up.
Not that the crawl members understand or care about this.
CRAWLER: "Can we get some drinks here?"
PATTY: "Ma'am, you all just came in here. We're moving as fast as we can, and will get to you as soon as we can."
Separately from the above incident, I had my own run-in with a crawler. While I am making my first batch of 8 drinks or so, there are a few crawlers seated right by the service bar, looking at me expectantly.
JESTER: (politely) "Ladies, we will be with you just as soon as we can."
CRAWLER 2: "Hurry up! Hurry up!" (This came out half-joking, but half-serious.)
JESTER: (stopping what I am doing, looking the crawler straight in the eye, and pointing at her) "You're last!"
Don't get me wrong, there is some amusement in the crawl.
CRAWLER 3: (indicated a gold dollar coin they've placed on the bar as a tip) "There's a dollar bill for you."
JESTER: "No, that's not a dollar bill. That's a dollar COIN."
CRAWLER 3: ".....good point."
But finally, working quickly, efficiently, and diligently, we get all the pub crawlers their drinks, and they clear out of the bar, giving us a chance to clean up and take care of the (very few) other guests we have. Some of the crawlers tipped us. Most did not. In total, we made about 15 bucks.
Now, the crawlers did not pay us for their drinks. Rather, as pre-arranged, they gave us tickets for each drink. The basic deal is that they pay the crawl organizers for the experience, and the organizers arrange with each bar how it will work at that establishment. At our place, their tickets gave them a choice of A, B, or C (the specifics aren't important for this story.) The organizers, in turn, pay the tab that the crawlers ran up at each bar, usually with some sort of discount. In our case, 50%. So, while the crawlers didn't tip us all that well, we know that the organizers will take care of us, right?
Riiiiiight. Despite Patty telling me that she's worked this crawl before (it's usually a night thing, not a day thing, and not usually with so many people--this time it was a large group off of a cruise ship), and that the organizer always takes care of the staff, it didn't quite work out that way. About a half hour or so after the crawlers have crawled off to their next bar, one of the organizers comes in to settle the tab.
And tips us exactly the same amount that each and every one of you reading this tipped me today. That's right: nothing.
When Patty asked her about this, the organizer said, "Well this time, THEY were supposed to tip." Meaning the crawlers. The ones who, well, didn't. And traditionally don't. After all, in their minds, they've already paid for the experience...why should they have to tip? So, despite being told (allegedly) by the organizers that they should tip their bartenders, only a few actually did so. And Patty and I were left with tips totaling far less than even 10% of the total bill, before the organizers got HALF off.
Yes, the crawlers were supposed to tip.
They didn't.
So perhaps you should be smart and take care of the bartenders that make your job even remotely possibly, you cheapass fucking cow.
Needless to say, Patty and I were seething, as she had come in four hours early, and I had had to split what would normally have been just my tips with Patty for the three hours before the crawl actually arrived. Patty made a point of expressing our displeasure to management, who were rather shocked by the treatment we received, after they had bent over backwards to make sure our bar would be able to accommodate the crawl. I am pretty sure that Boss Man is going to have some words with the organizers. And these are probably not going to be the same words he uses in front of his son.
When Patty related her conversation with the organizer to me (she took the payment from Miss Cow), I told her that she should have said, "Yes, they were supposed to tip. And you were supposed to be here at 2. Isn't it amazing how things don't work they way they're supposed to?"
Thank you, crawl organizers, for fucking over two of the best bartenders in a rather small town. Not to mention two of the most talkative, two of the loudest, two of the most social, and two of the most vindictive.
Smart move.
Let us know how that fucking works out for you.
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