IMHO

So I bought this sweet journal today.

I was creepin’ around the mall, specifically for a new nose ring since the little tiny ball on the end of my hoop fell out while I was sleeping. I’m convinced it’s in my brain now; I cannot find this damn thing anywhere. So I found the nose ring and some other jewelry (of course), and wandered into another store where I purchased this gem.

Each freshly lined page is flanked with a quote. Here’s one of my favorites:

“What can we know? What are we all? Poor silly half-brained things peering out at the infinite, with the aspirations of angels and the instincts of beasts.” – Arthur Conan Doyle

I’d love if I could get this printed on the back of a tee-shirt and wear it to work every day. Every blank page is encouragement not just to vent, but to make that day’s “definitive conclusion about humanity” (four boxes with four different pictures below them: thumbs up, peace sign, thumbs down, middle finger). I scrawled a few paragraphs down and quickly checked the “middle finger” box. The top of each page reads like this: “WHY PEOPLE ARE LIKE THAT TODAY:”. I won’t share my writings in detail (they aren’t so nice) but I will share my conclusion:

“People suck. Hell is d-bag customers, morons who act like they’ve never been in public before. ‘People are like that today’ to piss me off.”

Don’t worry, the vino has put me back in my happy place. All hostile-ness aside, this journal is probably a good thing. I’ll jot down what annoys me and attempt to turn it around. Why is that person the way they are? Maybe something happened. Who knows what they’re going through? I don’t know them, they don’t know me. Maybe that woman cut me off because her husband is in the hospital and she’s just trying to get to him faster. Does it make it okay? Maybe not, but it might make me feel better to consider this. I’m still working on deciding why customers flail their hands and demand drinks ahead of others because they have a “plane to catch” in an airport, or why they answer my “how are you” with “HEINEKEN”. No really, I’m smiling right now.

Anyway, I suggest this thing to anyone. Let’s try to channel our anger and turn it into something positive. Plus it gives us some awesome blogging material, right?

r-e-s-p-e-c-t

I found this fitting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As most of you know by now, I work in an airport. More specifically, I tend bar in an airport. My theory is that once the majority of passengers make it through security, they leave a few brain cells back there on the conveyor belt. We see a variety of people pass through our restaurant; some are pleasant (I’ve met some awesome people doing what I do), some are morons, some are rude, and some see that invisible line and hop, skip and jump right over it. I’m talking zero regard or respect for others. They think they can do or say whatever they please. I don’t take kindly to that. 

More specifically – and the inspiration for today’s post – I do not take kindly to grown men who act like scumbags, and/or talk disrespectfully to women. The first thing that comes to mind when I see or experience this: How would you feel if someone talked to your daughter like that? Secondly: How about your wife? Thirdly: Do you even have a wife? I sure hope not. And here, for your personal anger and entertainment, is a prime example.

Saturday night. We’re about an hour into our 8-9 hour shift, the other 2 lady bartenders and I. Things are going smoothly – thank goodness – and a man approaches my bar. I greet him with a menu and he asks for 2 more, as he has 2 friends who will be joining him. Sure thing. I drop another 2 menus on the bar. I knew his friends had arrived when I heard someone yell a greeting across the restaurant, as if they were outdoors or in their own living room. The table I’d been dropping food off to looked up, startled. I gave them an awkward smile and turned to watch the three men greet each other. I approached the bar and took their drink order. Easy enough. I grabbed 3 beers and placed them on the bar. Then things got busy.

When things pick up one of the other bartenders will usually take that little sliver of bar where the three men were sitting. This particular bartender is extremely friendly, even when people are acting like douche-bags. As I was standing at the front of the restaurant, she approached me and gave me their food order, mentioning something about not wanting to deal with them anymore.

“What happened?” I asked.

“They were talking about wanting to buy a t-shirt, then said they wanted my shirt, like, off of my back.”

I could feel my blood starting to simmer. “What?? They said they wanted your shirt?”

They implied they wanted her to take off her shirt. She told them that was inappropriate, and the ringleader replied with “Sorry if I offended you.”

Now my blood was boiling.

As calmly as I could, I approached the three men. At this point I wasn’t sure of who said what, since apparently they were all involved, so I did it like this:

“Listen, whichever one of you made an inappropriate comment to the other bartender, don’t let it happen again. She was extremely offended and we can kick you out for things like that.” Of course they scrambled to defend themselves, mumbling about just wanting to buy a shirt, blah, blah, blah. A women and her husband next to them stepped in, claiming they did nothing wrong. I then said if that is the case then I am the one who is sorry, but please be careful how you word things. I was looking out for one of my own. “I totally understand,” the woman said. Case closed, right? Of course not.

I continued to take care of the men, a few more minutes went by, then the ringleader spoke again. “Excuse me, are you the bartender?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then why did you come over here giving us shit?”

“You offended one of my bartenders, sir. Then I even made an apology to you saying if you didn’t mean anything by it, that’s fine, but to please watch how you word things.”

He then asked for my manager, complained, tried to get him to take care of the bill. No, no, and no. My manager said once he was close to the man it looked like he’d been drinking before he arrived at our bar. I hadn’t noticed anything more than his stupidity. More time passed,  blah, blah, blah, he rudely asked me if he could pay. “Sure!” I said. Good, get the hell out. Of course I wasn’t expecting a tip after his experience.

But what I really wasn’t expecting was the word “Bitch” to be sloppily scrawled where a tip would normally be. He left before I even had time to see it. Coward. His friends stayed though, and after the ringleader was gone they were all “please” and “thank you” and “yes ma’am”.

I believe in karma, scumbag. And it will come for you. I also believe in standing up for yourself, defending yourself or others you care for. And if that warrants me a bitch, then so be it.

I posted some Stuph!

Good morning, everyone! I hope you’re all having a fabulous, lazy Sunday. I have to go to work. Last night, a customer came in – after we had closed – and said “I’ll tip immensely if you give me a double shot of Jameson”. My coworker agreed and poured her the shot, which she immediately spewed all over the bar and floor. She tipped $20. Oh well!

While I’ve been mostly absent over the weekend, I did stop by my good friend Twindaddy’s place on Friday for a guest post! Twindaddy has been giving several bloggers the opportunity to showcase their work on his page, and it’s a great opportunity to gain a larger following if you’re interested. And if you are, don’t hesitate to contact him. He’s an amazing person, and a hilarious blogger. So after you check out my guest post, please pour yourself a glass of wine or crack open an ice cold brew or get out your juice box and take some time to read a few of his posts. Warning: you may need a box of tissues to dab the tears from your eyes and the juice from your nose. Yes, there will be tears and laughter. He’s that good.

Enjoy!

Living Arrangements

100% safe!

 

 

Well, it’s official. The cat is pissed. As first I thought she was scared. Maybe she is, just a little. But yeah, mostly pissed. I mean, I didn’t expect her to hug the dog as she came barreling through the back door of her new home on Wednesday, but she did react pretty damn weird. Granted I don’t know much about getting cats and dogs to live comfortably together (any animals I had growing up were taken care of by my parents, played with/tortured by me) but Jewel (cat) immediately ran upstairs and slinked across the floor, belly and shoulders low like in hunting stance…and hid in a tight spot behind some boxes we have yet to unpack. Then she was up on my desk, something she never does. No purring, no usual meowing or rubbing her head on every object she comes in contact with.

Blegh.

I was heartbroken. I felt horrible. It’d been about 20 minutes and I was already convinced they’d avoid each other forever. How would we live this way? Forcing Joe and the dog to live in the garage crossed my mind. (Kidding. Not really. Hey, our garage has a loft above it. A loft. It’s pretty epic.) So I immediately took Mr. Calahan’s advice and began treating Jewel like royalty. Of course I played with the dog, pet her, loved her (she’s the sweetest little thing…but I have yet to hear her bark or make anything other than a whimpering noise at the shelter) until she curled up on a blanket in the living room and went to sleep. But then I coaxed the cat out from under the bed and gave her the usual Queen Kitty treatment: snacks, a thorough brushing, some scratches behind the ears, a dollop (Joe’s favorite word) of her chicken flavored anti-hairball stuff. Then she started purring, and I felt a little less like a big jerk.

Jewel did sleep with me that night while Nevada (doggie) slept soundly on her little blanket…but she didn’t bother me so much for drinks from the faucet, and only once she was absolutely sure the little ball on the living room floor wasn’t making any sudden movements did she sneak into the kitchen for some food. Then she’d either hide in the basement for a while, or sneak back upstairs for some more snoozes. (We do have a little kitty hole cut out of the basement door, so she can comfortably go up and down without the door having to be open. And Nevada can’t fit through that hole. Win.)

As I was getting ready to leave for the always dreaded morning shift yesterday I was happy to see the cat in the kitchen, crunchin’ on some food. Then I left the room for a moment and when I returned she was chompin’ on the dog’s food….and before I could control myself I made some sort of disturbing flailing hand motion and told her to knock it off, instead of gently pointing her in the right direction (big jerk), so of course she darted down the basement, once again. Ugh.

So I headed down there, already running late (at 4 AM, mind you), to try and make amends, which I figured she wanted nothing to do with when I reached down to pet her and she said something like “MrrrEeooOWWWWWAaaaa!!!”, cat for “go away, you asshole!”. Sigh.

Thursday afternoon. Enter: Catnip. 

After another tiring morning shift –

Customer: (5:30 AM) Can I get a Heineken?

Me: I’m sorry, we can’t serve alcohol until 7. State law.

Customer: UuuUUuuuggHh! (He sounded much like Jewel did that morning.) ::puts head on bar::

Me: ::stone face:: Sorry.

Customer: Well, can I get an ice water?

Me: I’m sorry, but you have to buy something in order to sit in here. (We. Are. A. Restaurant.)

Customer: I’d still give you the dollar.

(Well golly gee, in that case!)

Customer: Well, can I sit there and get an ice water? ::points to a table behind him, literally 2 feet away::

Me: That’s still inside of the restaurant, sir.

Customer: Ugh. Give me a menu then. ::looks:: Let me get a milk.

– I stopped at the local Acme for some dinner ingredients (seriously, try this recipe…amazingness) – Acme is kinda expensive by the way – and decided to grab the cat a small , over-priced toy as a sort of peace offering. My choice: a little fuzzy mouse that gets stuffed to the brim with catnip. Score. 

I brought it home, filled that baby up, and watched her go absolutely nuts for a while. It was great. It worked so well that while the dog lay sleeping in a ball on that same spot, I was able to coax her downstairs with it. She’d stop every few feet, looking from her kitty drug to the dog, to the kitty drug again. Her need for a fix was much stronger than her fear of the dog so she chased that baby all the way into the kitchen! Then she ate. Then she batted it down the basement and played with it down there. Uuuuuggghhhhh.

So while they aren’t the best of friends yet, napping and plotting my demise together, they did spend a lot of time staring at each other this morning. The cat has been slowly closing the gap between herself and her not-so-little sister, sneaking up more and more basement stairs to get a better look. And I think she dog is more afraid of her than she is of the dog! Nevada’s back legs shake every time the cat stares deep into her soul. Those cat eyes are no joke. So hopefully – while Nevada is a hound – she won’t want to eat the cat. I think she’s afraid the cat might eat her, anyway.

I’m hoping to come home one day to find the cat riding the dog around like a pony. That would be awesome.

Does anyone have any advice in this area?

Regardless, our shelter rescue is healthy and happy, and I’m looking forward to many play dates and movie nights curled up in little balls together.

Hey, just a quick reminder.

Well, three.

#1) If you want quick service, get off of your cellphone.

#2) If you need me for anything, get off of your cellphone.

#3) Then, when I don’t seem friendly enough for you and you feel the need, especially being a male, to call me a d*ck head (or rather, mumble half to yourself half to me, “Thanks for being a d*ck head for no reason”)….you should have gotten off of your cellphone.

 

Pathetic.

 

Rant-tastic Monday!

Le sigh. While Mondays are normally my day off, I’ll be picking up a shift this afternoon; and what better way to begin the day but with blowing off some steam from the weekend!

Joe always says, “I think when people enter an airport, they lose half their brain cells”.

I think I agree. Yes….yes, I do agree.

The airport brings with it a whole new kind of rude. I’ve worked in a corporate owned steakhouse, a ’50s themed diner, an Italian restaurant…how could serving cheese steaks and fries leave something even more for people to complain about? Well, they certainly find a way.

A quick recount of my fantastic, stress-free weekend:

Customer: “Can I have a Manhattan, on the rocks? Make it a double.”

Me: “Sure!” ::makes drink in front of man, tips measured pour spout twice::

Customer: ::five minutes later:: “Um..is this a double?” ::twists face as if smelling something foul::

Me: “Yes, it is, everything is measured.”

~ What else do I say to this? Yes, it’s a double. Want a third shot? You’re paying for it! He just went back to his drink. This wasn’t rude, just sorta dumb.

A customer a fellow bartender had last weekend:

Bartender: “Hello! How are yo-

Customer: “Yeah yeah yeah, cut the small talk, do you have…” blah blah blah

And another one of mine:

::I’m washing dishes::

Customer: “Ma’am? Hello?”

::I turn around to find him knocking on the bar in my direction. This was his way of getting my attention.::

And now on to the theme of the weekend (and a scene from last week’s crowd).

~ On Saturday night I had two minutes of down time to get some glasses washed behind my bar, after checking that everyone was alright to be left alone for 30 seconds. When I had made it to the last two pilsners, my peripheral vision gave way to something waving around frantically to my left. I slowly looked over and saw the woman at the far end of my bar – who had asked for a drink by handing me a piece of paper with “Grand Marnier” scribbled on it – throwing her hands in the air as if trying to catch my attention stranded-on-a-desert-island style. When she saw me looking her way, she brought one hand down and curled one long finger on the other in a I’m-your-mother-get-your-ass-over-here-because-you’re-in-trouble style. I don’t take kindly to that. I made my way over.

Customer: “I was trying to get your attention.”

Me: “I know, but you do not have to do this ::makes get-over-here motion:: to do so.”

Customer: “I want to pay.” ::pays:: ::leaves::

Me: “Have a great day!”

::no tip::

::whatever::

About ten minutes later I had a couple do the same crazy waving arm thing. I ran over thinking someone may have needed an ambulance. They only needed two Bud Lights.

~ Last week a table of two polite older gentlemen and their wives sat with me, and everything went smoothly. When he was ready to pay the bill, I saw him doing the arm jiggle as I made my way to their table, check already in hand because I knew they’d be close to finishing up. “I see you!” I said, as he continued to do the dance after we’d made eye contact. He mumbled something like “we have a flight to catch” (never would have guessed) as I put the check in front of him and leaned over to give the table next to them their –

“NO! DON’T GO ANYWHERE!!!!!! I’M READY TO PAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY………”

“Sir, I was just leaning over to table 2 here to give them their check as well. I have not moved from this spot.”

Happy. Monday.

Restaurant Blues

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just another week in the life of a bartender.

A few days ago:

A woman was determined to steal the tall Blue Moon glass she was drinking out of.

First drink (22 oz.): “Do I get to keep this glass?”

Me: “I’m sorry, you don’t.”

Customer: “Is this 22 ounces?”

Me: “Yes….”

Customer: ::goes back to texting; ignores me::

About 15 minutes goes by….customer orders another drink (a 16 oz. this time).

Me: “Would you like another?”

Customer: “Yes! A small one. But I want to hold onto this glass.” ::claws wrapped around 22 oz. glass::

Me: “Okay….”

::Another 15 minutes or so; she orders another small beer::

::As I place the new beer in front of her, I take the 22 oz. glass that is now empty and off to the side::

Customer: “Are you sure I don’t get to keep that glass?!” ::wink::

Me: “I’m sorry, you really don’t get to take the glass…”

Le sigh.
And then, there’s today.

A young man comes in, orders a vodka and cranberry alongside a shot of vodka. He rejoices over the price, apparently significantly less than what he paid for the same order in another restaurant in the same terminal.

I check on him, he’s doing well, I go off to take care of other customers; when I return, his shot glass is empty, his glass is sucked down to the bare cubes, and he is gone. I peer out of the glass and see him standing in line, waiting to board his plane.

I casually walk out into the terminal, and up to said customer, check in hand.

Me: “Excuse me, were you coming back?”

Customer: “No…”

Me: “Were you going to pay this?” ::I hold up check::

Customer: “I gave you my card!”

Me: “I really don’t think you did. If you did, and I forgot, I apologize. Let me check.”

::Customer follows me back into the restaurant::

Customer: “I had two slips, and a pen, and everything. I signed something!”

::I check computer. No payment was ever received.::

Customer: “I signed something.” ::”Searches” pockets::

As he continued to protest, he handed me his credit card anyway.

If you’re so convinced you really did pay..why are you handing me your card “a second time”?

Slip signed. No tip.

I’m drained. Oy vey.

 

Happy Tuesday, friends! -_-