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It takes GK only a week to put together one of his epic posts, but the following is from the last month for me. Part of this probably stems from the facts that (A) I love my job, and (B) GK can turn the slightest thing into an epic story because of his amazing storytelling abilities. I'm a good writer, but I cannot approach his artistry with words. Nor--fortunately--the contempt and disdain he has for his customers.
Double Jeopardy
A youngish couple sits down at my bar and orders drinks. As is my duty, I ask for their IDs. The guy produces a valid ID without a problem. The girl, however, looks me square in the eye and says to me, with a straight face: "I don't have my ID with me. Will you take a photocopy of it?"
No. No I won't. Since, you know, the LAW kind of requires that I see your ID, not a Kinko's copy of it. And by the way, while I can think of several very valid reasons for having a photocopy of one's ID, I cannot possibly think of why anyone would have the photocopy with them but not the ID. Nor can I think of why that person would think the photocopy would be acceptable for the purchase of alcohol.
Oh, wait. I can think of answers to both those quandaries: the girl was a flaming idiot.
So, since I can't serve the girl, the couple decides to seek their liquid libation fortune elsewhere. Probably at a bar that takes photocopies of IDs. Which is probably the same bar where the bartenders and the managers gather in the back room to smoke pipes full of Crayola crayons. There's a rainbow in every box, you know.
But before departing, the guy decides to join his mate in the Pit of Stupid Questions. "Hey, buddy, do you know where I can get some cheap weed?"
*sigh* This again. Okay, let's review, folks.
1. There is no cheap weed.
2. If I knew of a guy who sold cheap weed, or any weed, I would not risk my relationship with him (and his violent friends) by telling you where to find him, since I don't know you, and this type of person tends to get irked when someone they don't know is sent to them to buy illegal substances.
3. I also will not jeopardize my job and my freedom to help you get high, since I don't know you. I doubt you are a cop, based on your girl's utter vapidity, but I can't take that chance.
4. If you must get high on vacation, bring your own fucking weed. Why the hell would you risk your freedom by asking a complete stranger that you have known for 2.4 minutes where to get something that can both of you thrown in the hoosegow?
In the end, I didn't need to lie to him or tell him any of this (though some of it I would have loved to have said). I merely told him the truth: "Sorry, pal. I'm a drunk. My drug is legal wherever I go."
Obviously Not Obvious
Four guys walk up to the bar. One is clearly in his forties. The other three could be anywhere from 16-24, I have no idea. The fortysomething asks, "Can we get drinks here?" Sure, I tell him. But I will need to see the IDs of the other three. He laughs. I look at him with a straight face. He looks at me surprised.
"Seriously?" Yes, seriously. They cannot sit at the bar without IDs. "Well, they're not 21." Then they can't sit at the bar. "Really?" Yes, really. "Well, I'm surprised you even asked for their IDs. They're obviously not 21." And he and his underaged entourage head off to the dining room and (thankfully) out of my life.
A few points here.
First of all, in my line of work, it is NEVER obvious how old someone is or isn't, unless they are pre-puberty or traveling with a walker, a hearing aid, and a colostomy bag. We have a regular customer at The Bar who is 23 but looks about 14. Seriously. Random customers will occasionally pull us bartenders aside to let us know that a "kid" is over there drinking a beer. It usually takes us telling them at least 2-3 times that, no, he is not a kid. Yes, really.
Secondly, no, underaged kids can't sit at the bar. And I KNOW you should know this, since (as evidenced by your hat and the game you were here to watch) you are from the same city as some other folks sitting at my bar, who have just TOLD me that in your city, the same rules apply. So don't stand there and act surprised. This is nothing new for you. And by the way, in what American city CAN underaged kids sit at the bar? Please, tell me. I am dying to know.
Karma Is My Homie
I've said it many times before, but apparently it bears repeating: Do Not Fuck With Jester. Baaaaaad things happen to people who fuck with Jester. I've said it about many people, including my Worst Ex-Girlfriend, aka That Vile Woman. For once, she was not the person that Karma smacked upside the head.
"Washington" is a guy I've known for years and gotten a long with. A while back, he needed a place to live and Mr. Anti-Social and I needed a roommate to fill the third room. So Washington moved in. He lived here all of four months. In those four months, he paid his rent and bills on time exactly zero times. I had to chase him every time, including after he moved out, for my money. To his (minor) credit, he did eventually pay me everything he owed me. But my buddy Karma is a vindictive fuck. Washington was arrested yesterday on a felony count of causing harm to another. The grapevine says he beat the shit out of his girlfriend. If he wants to get out of jail before his court date, he only needs to come up with a bond of $25K. Poor Washington. He should have known to Not Fuck With Jester. And also to not beat the crap out of a girl half his size. Fucker.
I have regaled this board with the tales of Music Man, aka my Deadbeat Ex-Roommate, who still owes me a good amount of money from rent and bills he didn't pay. Well, Deadbeat and I had gotten on a payment plan where he paid me a certain amount each week, and that was going well. So well that I was not filing the promised lawsuit against him. (Why bother? They would point out that he had been paying, which is all I was seeking to have them tell him to do.) But then, over six weeks time, he paid me only once. I was getting ready to fire up that lawsuit. And that's when my hombre Karma came along. Deadbeat was arrested Sunday on a misdemeanor count of disorderly conduct and a felony count of aggravated battery while using a deadly weapon. Now, this shocked me. Not that Deadbeat was not an upstanding guy, but that he was arrested on a violent charge. Dude is a 250+ pound marshmallow, who is scared of ME, and I am about 100 pounds smaller than him. Beyond that, he is just not a violent guy. Very laidback, very mellow....a pot smoker musician who, even when he is screwing me over, is very chill about it. The grapevine has been rather mum on what, precisely, happened....other than that he was hanging out that night with a bunch of bad dudes with records. I rarely believe the excuse of "I was hanging out with the wrong people," but in this case, it wouldn't shock me if he was arrested for associating with idiots. And he is not getting out any time soon, as his bond is a cool 30 G's. Sure, now I probably won't get my money any time soon. But then, I wasn't really getting it anyway, was I? It's his own fault though. After all, he should have known: Don't Fuck With Jester.
Jester's School For The Deaf
CUSTOMER: "I'll have a Miller Lite draft."
JESTER: "I'm sorry, but our draft system is all wonky, so we don't have any drafts. Will a bottle be okay?"
CUSTOMER: "Well, what do you have on draft?"
JESTER: "Um, nothing. As I told you, our draft system is offline. We have no drafts."
CUSTOMER: "I guess a bottle then."
.................................................. .................................................. .....
JESTER: "Folks, sit anywhere you'd like. We'll be right with you."
CUSTOMER: "Can we get a table for four?"
JESTER: "Sure, just sit wherever you'd like."
.................................................. ................................................
(not a minute later, different group)
JESTER: "Folks, just sit wherever you'd like. We'll be right with you."
CUSTOMER: "So just sit anywhere?"
Customer don't just lack the ability to read signs, they lack the ability to listen to simple straightforward English. And yes, before anyone asks, these were native English speakers, being Americans. I weep for the future of our country. "What?" I SAID I WEEP FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY! "Oh, okay. Thanks."
Return To Management
Well, not exactly. Boss Man is out of town for a few weeks, and rather than make his managers work extra shifts, two of the slower day shifts he is having myself and another bartender, both somewhat responsible people, act as manager. This is not that different, as whenever Boss Man is the MOD, he pretty much just gives us his card and has us do any comps and voids, etc., that need doing. The difference here is that we turn on the music and unlock everything (not the restaurant...the cooks are there long before us). And, if there are any issues with customers, WE are the ones that get to deal with them. The upshot? It's nice to know that Boss Man trusts me and the other bartender that much. And he is paying us a little extra for our troubles. So far, in my first two shifts as "manager," nothing untoward has happened. I haven'tgotten to had to throw anyone out of the building. I was making jokes about throwing people out (which I would have the authority to do), having mass keg parties, making the bar into the Southernmost Diamondbacks Bar, etc. prior to Boss Man's departure. At one point he looked at me and said, "Am I making a mistake here?" Of course I was just joking. One server asked me if I could authorize a shift change, and of course I told her I did not have that authority, she would have to wait for a real manager to come on for the night shift. And I have every plan of telling Boss Man when he gets back how I had to fire three bartenders and hired some homeless guys off the street to replace them.
All in all, while this is amusing, I don't miss being in the management ranks at all. See below for a great example of why that is.
Waaaahhhh......
So last night I was on the roof deck. Thankfully! Because in the main dining room downstairs, there was an infant that was screaming and crying its fool head off. Which is annoying, no question. But the infant was not the Bad Guy in this scenario. Apparently a couple guys at another table were getting annoyed by the infant. Did they say anything to the kid's mom? Noooo....that would be too easy, intelligent, and straightforward. They asked to see the manager. So Rockin' Manager went over there to talk to them. And they asked her when she was going to ask the group with the kid to leave. The punchline? They were serious.
RM looked at them and asked them what, exactly, they wanted her to do. They told her they wanted her to go tell the woman to get out. RM told them in no uncertain terms she would NOT do that. This was not some 8 year old running around causing havoc, which she would absolutely talk to the parents about, without any other customer asking her to. This was an INFANT. No matter how good or bad parents may be, infants are not always the most reasonable when it comes to listening. Because, you know, they're INFANTS. She told the guys that if THEY wanted to talk to the mother, they were perfectly free to do so. SHE, however, had experience in such attempts and knew they were futile.....or worse. So the guy who initiated all this basically just stopped talking to her, and was a complete ass. Idiot.
Bumper Cars
Honorable Mention: So I'm driving to work one day in my beloved Jestermobile. As I an in the right turn lane to, you know, turn right, I notice a car in the lane to my left drifting very close to my truck. I figure there are a couple possibilities here: they aren't paying attention, they are trying to get into the right turn lane, they are drunk, or they are idiots. Or some combination thereof. No matter what it is, though, I figure it is in my (and my truck's) best interests to alert them of the situation. So I do what any other driver would do to alert another driver. I toot my horn. Not obnoxiously, not a lot. Just a friendly "Hey, I'm here, don't hit me!" What do these intrepid drivers do? A friendly and sheepish wave, as if to say "Sorry about that"? A quick course correction to get back in their lane where they belong? A "holy shit, what are we doing here" panic attack? No, of course not. They start yelling at me, vulgarly, and acting like I am to blame for....what? Being an asshole by alerting them to an impending collision, apparently. Wow. How rude of me.
Winner: Mr. Anti-Social and I went to the grocery store the other day. (Since he does not have a vehicle, it benefits him to go with me.) As we are coming out of the grocery store with our cart of foodstuffs and heading to the Jestermobile, we start crossing the trafficked part of the parking lot in the crosswalk. Now, I could be wrong, but I am pretty sure that in the state of Florida, if a pedestrian is in a crosswalk (not counting crossing against a red light, of course), cars have to stop for them. Well, as me and the roommate were crossing within said crosswalk, a vehicle was slowly approaching. Did it slow down? Stop for us? Wave us by? Nooooo....of course not. The driver, before she even got to the crosswalk, indicated that she had seen us by yelling in a highly nasal voice, "Look out!" And she continued to yell at us to "Look out!" as she continued driving right through the crosswalk. As if, somehow, we were in the wrong by, you know, crossing in the crosswalk in a supermarket parking lot and expecting her to, you know, FUCKING STOP! Luckily for the two of us, we have had much experience with the moronity of humanity, and we did not continue to cross in front of the Whiner's vehicle in the knowledge that she had to stop. Because people don't always DO what they HAVE to do.
Apparently Not Obvious To Everyone
Three people come in and sit at the bar. While the two parental types are clearly more than of age, their daughter (female companion? niece? concubine?) is of carding age. As they settle in, I ask to see the young one's ID. "Oh, she's not drinking." That's fine. However, if she is sitting at the bar, I have to see her ID. "But she's only drinking Coke." I understand. But (again), if she is sitting at the bar (which she so clearly is), I still need to see her ID. She is more than welcome to sit at the tables by the bar. The group can sit in the dining room without any trouble. But if you are sitting AT the bar, you have to be of age, with ID. I have explained all this to them very politely. Do they do what others have done in the past in the same situation? Such as rationally accept this and either all move to an off-bar table or have the youngster move? No. They get up and leave, heading (presumably) to another bar, where either they will get the same exact treatment, or the other bar just doesn't give a shit about their liquor license. Once again I need to point out that these were Americans, and that in my (and my friends' and acquaintances') experience, in just about every bar in the U.S., you cannot sit at the bar if you are not of legal drinking age.
Too bad they didn't have a photocopy of her ID with them.
Double Jeopardy
A youngish couple sits down at my bar and orders drinks. As is my duty, I ask for their IDs. The guy produces a valid ID without a problem. The girl, however, looks me square in the eye and says to me, with a straight face: "I don't have my ID with me. Will you take a photocopy of it?"
No. No I won't. Since, you know, the LAW kind of requires that I see your ID, not a Kinko's copy of it. And by the way, while I can think of several very valid reasons for having a photocopy of one's ID, I cannot possibly think of why anyone would have the photocopy with them but not the ID. Nor can I think of why that person would think the photocopy would be acceptable for the purchase of alcohol.
Oh, wait. I can think of answers to both those quandaries: the girl was a flaming idiot.
So, since I can't serve the girl, the couple decides to seek their liquid libation fortune elsewhere. Probably at a bar that takes photocopies of IDs. Which is probably the same bar where the bartenders and the managers gather in the back room to smoke pipes full of Crayola crayons. There's a rainbow in every box, you know.
But before departing, the guy decides to join his mate in the Pit of Stupid Questions. "Hey, buddy, do you know where I can get some cheap weed?"
*sigh* This again. Okay, let's review, folks.
1. There is no cheap weed.
2. If I knew of a guy who sold cheap weed, or any weed, I would not risk my relationship with him (and his violent friends) by telling you where to find him, since I don't know you, and this type of person tends to get irked when someone they don't know is sent to them to buy illegal substances.
3. I also will not jeopardize my job and my freedom to help you get high, since I don't know you. I doubt you are a cop, based on your girl's utter vapidity, but I can't take that chance.
4. If you must get high on vacation, bring your own fucking weed. Why the hell would you risk your freedom by asking a complete stranger that you have known for 2.4 minutes where to get something that can both of you thrown in the hoosegow?
In the end, I didn't need to lie to him or tell him any of this (though some of it I would have loved to have said). I merely told him the truth: "Sorry, pal. I'm a drunk. My drug is legal wherever I go."
Obviously Not Obvious
Four guys walk up to the bar. One is clearly in his forties. The other three could be anywhere from 16-24, I have no idea. The fortysomething asks, "Can we get drinks here?" Sure, I tell him. But I will need to see the IDs of the other three. He laughs. I look at him with a straight face. He looks at me surprised.
"Seriously?" Yes, seriously. They cannot sit at the bar without IDs. "Well, they're not 21." Then they can't sit at the bar. "Really?" Yes, really. "Well, I'm surprised you even asked for their IDs. They're obviously not 21." And he and his underaged entourage head off to the dining room and (thankfully) out of my life.
A few points here.
First of all, in my line of work, it is NEVER obvious how old someone is or isn't, unless they are pre-puberty or traveling with a walker, a hearing aid, and a colostomy bag. We have a regular customer at The Bar who is 23 but looks about 14. Seriously. Random customers will occasionally pull us bartenders aside to let us know that a "kid" is over there drinking a beer. It usually takes us telling them at least 2-3 times that, no, he is not a kid. Yes, really.
Secondly, no, underaged kids can't sit at the bar. And I KNOW you should know this, since (as evidenced by your hat and the game you were here to watch) you are from the same city as some other folks sitting at my bar, who have just TOLD me that in your city, the same rules apply. So don't stand there and act surprised. This is nothing new for you. And by the way, in what American city CAN underaged kids sit at the bar? Please, tell me. I am dying to know.
Karma Is My Homie
I've said it many times before, but apparently it bears repeating: Do Not Fuck With Jester. Baaaaaad things happen to people who fuck with Jester. I've said it about many people, including my Worst Ex-Girlfriend, aka That Vile Woman. For once, she was not the person that Karma smacked upside the head.
"Washington" is a guy I've known for years and gotten a long with. A while back, he needed a place to live and Mr. Anti-Social and I needed a roommate to fill the third room. So Washington moved in. He lived here all of four months. In those four months, he paid his rent and bills on time exactly zero times. I had to chase him every time, including after he moved out, for my money. To his (minor) credit, he did eventually pay me everything he owed me. But my buddy Karma is a vindictive fuck. Washington was arrested yesterday on a felony count of causing harm to another. The grapevine says he beat the shit out of his girlfriend. If he wants to get out of jail before his court date, he only needs to come up with a bond of $25K. Poor Washington. He should have known to Not Fuck With Jester. And also to not beat the crap out of a girl half his size. Fucker.
I have regaled this board with the tales of Music Man, aka my Deadbeat Ex-Roommate, who still owes me a good amount of money from rent and bills he didn't pay. Well, Deadbeat and I had gotten on a payment plan where he paid me a certain amount each week, and that was going well. So well that I was not filing the promised lawsuit against him. (Why bother? They would point out that he had been paying, which is all I was seeking to have them tell him to do.) But then, over six weeks time, he paid me only once. I was getting ready to fire up that lawsuit. And that's when my hombre Karma came along. Deadbeat was arrested Sunday on a misdemeanor count of disorderly conduct and a felony count of aggravated battery while using a deadly weapon. Now, this shocked me. Not that Deadbeat was not an upstanding guy, but that he was arrested on a violent charge. Dude is a 250+ pound marshmallow, who is scared of ME, and I am about 100 pounds smaller than him. Beyond that, he is just not a violent guy. Very laidback, very mellow....a pot smoker musician who, even when he is screwing me over, is very chill about it. The grapevine has been rather mum on what, precisely, happened....other than that he was hanging out that night with a bunch of bad dudes with records. I rarely believe the excuse of "I was hanging out with the wrong people," but in this case, it wouldn't shock me if he was arrested for associating with idiots. And he is not getting out any time soon, as his bond is a cool 30 G's. Sure, now I probably won't get my money any time soon. But then, I wasn't really getting it anyway, was I? It's his own fault though. After all, he should have known: Don't Fuck With Jester.
Jester's School For The Deaf
CUSTOMER: "I'll have a Miller Lite draft."
JESTER: "I'm sorry, but our draft system is all wonky, so we don't have any drafts. Will a bottle be okay?"
CUSTOMER: "Well, what do you have on draft?"
JESTER: "Um, nothing. As I told you, our draft system is offline. We have no drafts."
CUSTOMER: "I guess a bottle then."
.................................................. .................................................. .....
JESTER: "Folks, sit anywhere you'd like. We'll be right with you."
CUSTOMER: "Can we get a table for four?"
JESTER: "Sure, just sit wherever you'd like."
.................................................. ................................................
(not a minute later, different group)
JESTER: "Folks, just sit wherever you'd like. We'll be right with you."
CUSTOMER: "So just sit anywhere?"
Customer don't just lack the ability to read signs, they lack the ability to listen to simple straightforward English. And yes, before anyone asks, these were native English speakers, being Americans. I weep for the future of our country. "What?" I SAID I WEEP FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR COUNTRY! "Oh, okay. Thanks."
Return To Management
Well, not exactly. Boss Man is out of town for a few weeks, and rather than make his managers work extra shifts, two of the slower day shifts he is having myself and another bartender, both somewhat responsible people, act as manager. This is not that different, as whenever Boss Man is the MOD, he pretty much just gives us his card and has us do any comps and voids, etc., that need doing. The difference here is that we turn on the music and unlock everything (not the restaurant...the cooks are there long before us). And, if there are any issues with customers, WE are the ones that get to deal with them. The upshot? It's nice to know that Boss Man trusts me and the other bartender that much. And he is paying us a little extra for our troubles. So far, in my first two shifts as "manager," nothing untoward has happened. I haven't
All in all, while this is amusing, I don't miss being in the management ranks at all. See below for a great example of why that is.
Waaaahhhh......
So last night I was on the roof deck. Thankfully! Because in the main dining room downstairs, there was an infant that was screaming and crying its fool head off. Which is annoying, no question. But the infant was not the Bad Guy in this scenario. Apparently a couple guys at another table were getting annoyed by the infant. Did they say anything to the kid's mom? Noooo....that would be too easy, intelligent, and straightforward. They asked to see the manager. So Rockin' Manager went over there to talk to them. And they asked her when she was going to ask the group with the kid to leave. The punchline? They were serious.
RM looked at them and asked them what, exactly, they wanted her to do. They told her they wanted her to go tell the woman to get out. RM told them in no uncertain terms she would NOT do that. This was not some 8 year old running around causing havoc, which she would absolutely talk to the parents about, without any other customer asking her to. This was an INFANT. No matter how good or bad parents may be, infants are not always the most reasonable when it comes to listening. Because, you know, they're INFANTS. She told the guys that if THEY wanted to talk to the mother, they were perfectly free to do so. SHE, however, had experience in such attempts and knew they were futile.....or worse. So the guy who initiated all this basically just stopped talking to her, and was a complete ass. Idiot.
Bumper Cars
Honorable Mention: So I'm driving to work one day in my beloved Jestermobile. As I an in the right turn lane to, you know, turn right, I notice a car in the lane to my left drifting very close to my truck. I figure there are a couple possibilities here: they aren't paying attention, they are trying to get into the right turn lane, they are drunk, or they are idiots. Or some combination thereof. No matter what it is, though, I figure it is in my (and my truck's) best interests to alert them of the situation. So I do what any other driver would do to alert another driver. I toot my horn. Not obnoxiously, not a lot. Just a friendly "Hey, I'm here, don't hit me!" What do these intrepid drivers do? A friendly and sheepish wave, as if to say "Sorry about that"? A quick course correction to get back in their lane where they belong? A "holy shit, what are we doing here" panic attack? No, of course not. They start yelling at me, vulgarly, and acting like I am to blame for....what? Being an asshole by alerting them to an impending collision, apparently. Wow. How rude of me.
Winner: Mr. Anti-Social and I went to the grocery store the other day. (Since he does not have a vehicle, it benefits him to go with me.) As we are coming out of the grocery store with our cart of foodstuffs and heading to the Jestermobile, we start crossing the trafficked part of the parking lot in the crosswalk. Now, I could be wrong, but I am pretty sure that in the state of Florida, if a pedestrian is in a crosswalk (not counting crossing against a red light, of course), cars have to stop for them. Well, as me and the roommate were crossing within said crosswalk, a vehicle was slowly approaching. Did it slow down? Stop for us? Wave us by? Nooooo....of course not. The driver, before she even got to the crosswalk, indicated that she had seen us by yelling in a highly nasal voice, "Look out!" And she continued to yell at us to "Look out!" as she continued driving right through the crosswalk. As if, somehow, we were in the wrong by, you know, crossing in the crosswalk in a supermarket parking lot and expecting her to, you know, FUCKING STOP! Luckily for the two of us, we have had much experience with the moronity of humanity, and we did not continue to cross in front of the Whiner's vehicle in the knowledge that she had to stop. Because people don't always DO what they HAVE to do.
Apparently Not Obvious To Everyone
Three people come in and sit at the bar. While the two parental types are clearly more than of age, their daughter (female companion? niece? concubine?) is of carding age. As they settle in, I ask to see the young one's ID. "Oh, she's not drinking." That's fine. However, if she is sitting at the bar, I have to see her ID. "But she's only drinking Coke." I understand. But (again), if she is sitting at the bar (which she so clearly is), I still need to see her ID. She is more than welcome to sit at the tables by the bar. The group can sit in the dining room without any trouble. But if you are sitting AT the bar, you have to be of age, with ID. I have explained all this to them very politely. Do they do what others have done in the past in the same situation? Such as rationally accept this and either all move to an off-bar table or have the youngster move? No. They get up and leave, heading (presumably) to another bar, where either they will get the same exact treatment, or the other bar just doesn't give a shit about their liquor license. Once again I need to point out that these were Americans, and that in my (and my friends' and acquaintances') experience, in just about every bar in the U.S., you cannot sit at the bar if you are not of legal drinking age.
Too bad they didn't have a photocopy of her ID with them.
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