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It was a very busy weekend at work. How busy? I bought groceries on Thursday, and didn't even touch any of them until TODAY. Double behind the bar on Friday, double waiting tables on Saturday, watched football and drank beer all Sunday, and while I would have welcomed more money, didn't mind the somewhat slow Monday today. But over that time, dealt with a couple winners.
Drunk Douchebag
So Friday night, Nice Guy Eddie and I are behind the bar, and due to the baseball playoffs, we were rather busy. At one point, later in the evening, an older gentleman sits down near the service bar, and half slurs to Eddie, "Miller Lite." Eddie is a bit uncertain, but figures the guy isn't that bad, and reaches for the beer. Right as he is putting it in front of the dude, he sees that the dude is leaning over, staring right at one of the female server's ass, and slurs, "You'll fucking do." And that is when Eddie decided he wasn't serving this fucker. "Okay, that's it. You're done here." The guy just looked at him through glazed eyes. Eddie repeated it, as he withdrew the beer. "You're done here pal. You're not getting any drinks here. Move along." And Eddie went about working, serving other people. The dude still just sat there. And he started to say various things to Eddie. "You're a pussy." You know, trying to convince Eddie to actually serve him by insulting him. I wheeled around on this yahoo and said, "He may well be a pussy, but it's time for you to go. Get out of here, pal." Just as Eddie was backing up our coworker, I was backing up Eddie. (At the time I did not know what had prompted Eddie to refuse this guy, but if he makes that call, I am with him.) Dude kept sitting there, glassy-eyed, slurring stupid insults, not moving, apparently expecting a drink. Eddie told him he needed to go, or we would call the police. Finally our manager came along and, speaking very sweetly, finally convinced this douchebag to leave. If he hadn't, I have no doubt that she would have called the cops.
Phone Douchebag
And then there was the guy on the phone today. I was not very busy (had two bar customers), so when the phone rang, I got it. It was some dude with some weird foreignish accent, and no brain. The conversation went something like this...
JESTER: "Thank you for calling [The Bar], this is Jester speaking, how may I help you?"
PD: "Yes, is this Rick's?" (Rick's is a major dance club/bar complex on the main drag in Key West. We are NOT Rick's.)
JESTER: "Um....no. This is [The Bar]. How may I help you?"
PD: "Yes, I'm from California, and I'm going to be coming there for the festival."
JESTER: (thinking he's talking about our upcoming Fantasy Fest) "Okay...."
PD: "I'm wondering if you do contests."
JESTER: "What do you mean?"
PD: "Do you do the contests? Wet t-shirt contests and stuff like that?"
JESTER: "No, those things go on during Spring Break. And we don't do that. We are more a restaurant bar, sometimes with live music."
PD: "And when is Spring Break?"
JESTER: (beginning to get annoyed with this guy) "It runs from late February to early April, though the exact dates vary."
PD: "So it's February and April?"
JESTER: (Okay, don't listen to me.) "Pretty much."
PD: "And what are the exact dates?"
JESTER: "I really don't know. It varies every year."
PD: "But when is it?"
JESTER: "Look, I really don't know. Each school has different spring breaks, and I really don't know when they are going to be. Your best bet is checking with the major schools." (I am trying to be helpful to this douchebag.)
PD: "So wait...the dates vary each year?"
JESTER: (That's what I just said, you fucking moron.) "Yes."
PD: "And what bars have the contests?"
JESTER: (Now you're starting to ask me about other bars? Seriously?) "A lot of the bars on Duval Street run various contests."
PD: "Which bars?"
JESTER: (Okay, enough of this shit. I am not doing your homework for you, asshole.) "Sir, I really don't know. A lot of bars run various contests. You would need to check with them. I have a bar I have to tend to here. You are going to have to find this on your own."
PD: "Okay..."
And I think he was starting to say something else, but at this point, I was done with this asshole. I hung up. I mean, really. You call my bar, you think it's another bar, and even when I correct you, you start asking me about what other bars are going to be doing five months from now. How about you do your own research, asshole. There are a million websites about what goes on in this town, and when, and if you have even half a brain cell and some kind of internet connection, you can find it on your own without wasting my valuable time. I am not your personal servant, I am not your butler, I am not your secretary. You don't pay me shit. The Bar pays me, and I will help you to the best of my ability with any questions you have about The Bar, but you are out of your fucking mind if you think I am going to lead you down the garden path and help you find whatever debauchery you are seeking at other drinking establishments.
In short, fuck off. And I question if you are really from California. Are you sure you are not from somewhere further north? Perhaps a cold, frigid places where they love pants, hats, and Pimp Juice? Not that they don't have braindead lecherous zombie twits in California, mind you.
I actually YELLED OUT LOUD when I finally hung up with this guy. My coworker and a bar guest had seen most of this, and were rather amused by it all...and could see the pain on my face.
Thank goodness most of the rest of the people were cool. Or I might have to invest in a sniper rifle, some fragmentation grenades, and randomly placed landmines.
Drunk Douchebag
So Friday night, Nice Guy Eddie and I are behind the bar, and due to the baseball playoffs, we were rather busy. At one point, later in the evening, an older gentleman sits down near the service bar, and half slurs to Eddie, "Miller Lite." Eddie is a bit uncertain, but figures the guy isn't that bad, and reaches for the beer. Right as he is putting it in front of the dude, he sees that the dude is leaning over, staring right at one of the female server's ass, and slurs, "You'll fucking do." And that is when Eddie decided he wasn't serving this fucker. "Okay, that's it. You're done here." The guy just looked at him through glazed eyes. Eddie repeated it, as he withdrew the beer. "You're done here pal. You're not getting any drinks here. Move along." And Eddie went about working, serving other people. The dude still just sat there. And he started to say various things to Eddie. "You're a pussy." You know, trying to convince Eddie to actually serve him by insulting him. I wheeled around on this yahoo and said, "He may well be a pussy, but it's time for you to go. Get out of here, pal." Just as Eddie was backing up our coworker, I was backing up Eddie. (At the time I did not know what had prompted Eddie to refuse this guy, but if he makes that call, I am with him.) Dude kept sitting there, glassy-eyed, slurring stupid insults, not moving, apparently expecting a drink. Eddie told him he needed to go, or we would call the police. Finally our manager came along and, speaking very sweetly, finally convinced this douchebag to leave. If he hadn't, I have no doubt that she would have called the cops.
Phone Douchebag
And then there was the guy on the phone today. I was not very busy (had two bar customers), so when the phone rang, I got it. It was some dude with some weird foreignish accent, and no brain. The conversation went something like this...
JESTER: "Thank you for calling [The Bar], this is Jester speaking, how may I help you?"
PD: "Yes, is this Rick's?" (Rick's is a major dance club/bar complex on the main drag in Key West. We are NOT Rick's.)
JESTER: "Um....no. This is [The Bar]. How may I help you?"
PD: "Yes, I'm from California, and I'm going to be coming there for the festival."
JESTER: (thinking he's talking about our upcoming Fantasy Fest) "Okay...."
PD: "I'm wondering if you do contests."
JESTER: "What do you mean?"
PD: "Do you do the contests? Wet t-shirt contests and stuff like that?"
JESTER: "No, those things go on during Spring Break. And we don't do that. We are more a restaurant bar, sometimes with live music."
PD: "And when is Spring Break?"
JESTER: (beginning to get annoyed with this guy) "It runs from late February to early April, though the exact dates vary."
PD: "So it's February and April?"
JESTER: (Okay, don't listen to me.) "Pretty much."
PD: "And what are the exact dates?"
JESTER: "I really don't know. It varies every year."
PD: "But when is it?"
JESTER: "Look, I really don't know. Each school has different spring breaks, and I really don't know when they are going to be. Your best bet is checking with the major schools." (I am trying to be helpful to this douchebag.)
PD: "So wait...the dates vary each year?"
JESTER: (That's what I just said, you fucking moron.) "Yes."
PD: "And what bars have the contests?"
JESTER: (Now you're starting to ask me about other bars? Seriously?) "A lot of the bars on Duval Street run various contests."
PD: "Which bars?"
JESTER: (Okay, enough of this shit. I am not doing your homework for you, asshole.) "Sir, I really don't know. A lot of bars run various contests. You would need to check with them. I have a bar I have to tend to here. You are going to have to find this on your own."
PD: "Okay..."
And I think he was starting to say something else, but at this point, I was done with this asshole. I hung up. I mean, really. You call my bar, you think it's another bar, and even when I correct you, you start asking me about what other bars are going to be doing five months from now. How about you do your own research, asshole. There are a million websites about what goes on in this town, and when, and if you have even half a brain cell and some kind of internet connection, you can find it on your own without wasting my valuable time. I am not your personal servant, I am not your butler, I am not your secretary. You don't pay me shit. The Bar pays me, and I will help you to the best of my ability with any questions you have about The Bar, but you are out of your fucking mind if you think I am going to lead you down the garden path and help you find whatever debauchery you are seeking at other drinking establishments.
In short, fuck off. And I question if you are really from California. Are you sure you are not from somewhere further north? Perhaps a cold, frigid places where they love pants, hats, and Pimp Juice? Not that they don't have braindead lecherous zombie twits in California, mind you.
I actually YELLED OUT LOUD when I finally hung up with this guy. My coworker and a bar guest had seen most of this, and were rather amused by it all...and could see the pain on my face.
Thank goodness most of the rest of the people were cool. Or I might have to invest in a sniper rifle, some fragmentation grenades, and randomly placed landmines.
The fact that we don't have to deal with more of the drunken idiots is not a problem for me!
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