bartenderbaby

Another fun filled weekend at the bar. Apparently, it was THE weekend to hostess a bachelorette and/or birthday party complete with party bus and inflatable man doll. There were a total of 5 party buses and 1 party van that stopped in on Saturday night. All of which were…you guessed it bachelorette and birthday parties. Two of the guests of honor were there at the same time and happened to know each other which only gave them another reason to drink “ANOTHER SHOT!!”

These crazy girls were so hammered that my co-workers and I took bets on which one would fall over first. Number one was clad in a mini skirt with high heels and a beautiful tiara which read the words “Birthday Bitch” in multi-hued gemstones. Our second lady’s ensemble was similar in that she had as much, if not more skin showing as the “birthday bitch”. Her headgear was a little more fancy as it had a veil attached, however the tiny penises sewn into the fabric didn’t give quite the glamour as the sparkly dirty worded tiara.

In the end I lost the bet on which girl would fall first. Birthday bitch and penis hair were equally as clumsy as the night wore on and they were neck and neck in the race to face planting on the stairs when they ran into each other. They both held steady but the damn inflatable man flew through the air and tripped good old dirty D. His legs twisted around phallus frank the man doll and they ended up on the floor in a pretty compromising position. At least he still has his dignity.

So I walk into work the other day only to be greeted by yet another drunk, ridiculous, redneck and his “Obama’s taking our rights away” notions. So I voice my opinion (which favors more on the democratic side) and he says that he’s leaving. “I didn’t come in here to listen to this crap.” So I tell him goodbye and thanks for coming in. (my reply, while polite, was actually layered thickly with sarcasm…imagine that)

Now his equally intoxicated lady friend (and I use the term lady loosely) steps in and says to me, or slurs really, “Are you stupid?” Which, coming from this woman caught me completely by surprise. I ignored her but she continues on to say “Yer the rudest waitress I ever had, you fat f***ing cow.” I tell her it’s time to go. We argue a little before she finally pulls herself out of her seat only to reveal a Nascar t-shirt paired with the tightest, whitewashed, high-waisted jeans I have seen since 1987.

They stumble to the door, she turns around, scowls at me for a second, and then flicks me off with both hands… I waved and said “Have a nice night!” Just as she was pulled out the front door.

This is really the only part of the job I absolutely hate. Why can’t everyone just go out and have a good time? What is it about alcohol that makes some people think it’s OK to behave like an asshole? And most importantly, what would make a middle aged woman think it’s OK to wear the same jeans she wore, back when she still lived in her momma’s trailer?

I mentioned in my blog yesterday that some shit went down around home that has taken a toll on my patience and sense of humor. In an effort to turn them around my husband and I took a night for ourselves and went to the bar for a bite and some cocktails.

It was a pretty slow night. Some of our friends were there, and only a few people I didn’t know. One of the kids (who was very obviously drunk.) was intent on playing pool. He swaggers up to the bar and says “Hey, how much are quarters?” to which the bartender replied without skipping a beat “They’re 75 cents for 3.” That conversation in itself was enough to raise my spirits for the evening.

Time flew by for the rest of the night. Toward the end (about two hours later) that same kid who was drunk when I got there, waddles over to our group and says to my friend J (who is also a bartender there) Will you make me a drink? She tells him that she’s not working, but B (who is working) will make his drink. He turns to look at the bar, turns back and says I don’t want B to make it, I want you to. You make them good-er.

No shit. I know I’m not a grammatical genius, but this guy made me laugh. We still joke about it at the bar. 

I made an appearance at an event this weekend held at my old hangout. For the most part I needed a change of scenery and this party seemed like the perfect opportunity. On some level I also wanted a little slice of nostalgia but it didn’t come in the form I expected.

I get there and immediately notice the bar is completely remodeled. Only a vague inclination of what my favorite weekend home used to be. Disappointing, but not intolerable. I settle in and wait for the fun to begin.

I fully expected a great show and great people. What I got was a mediocre performance which included two or three kids singing along to songs played by a DJ. (a.k.a. KARAOKE!) and some real assholes for “fans”.  I have to hand it to the performers, though, because they actually had enough balls to pass off their little “gig” as a real show and even charged a cover!

I did end up seeing a couple of people I hadn’t seen in a long time, but they were both the type of acquaintance that you wouldn’t approach right away because you can’t remember exactly how you know them…By the end of the night I witnessed two blood spattered people being escorted out and three police officers wielding mace and big black batons just waiting for an opportunity to use them. Hardly the nostalgic fun filled night I was looking forward to.

I went parking lot sledding again this weekend. It snowed some more since the last time so our mountain had some new (more dangerous) dynamics. We started down the opposite side because the original path dead ended on direct pavement and since I’m pretty attached to my front teeth we decided not to risk it.

J and I started out ourselves and were later joined by a couple of onlookers who were then joined by a few more spectators. After they saw how much fun we were having everyone decided to have a go. J got down to the bottom and instead of carrying her makeshift sled (a.k.a. serving trays from the bar) back to the top she just winged it like  a Frisbee to one of our bosses who was a little on the tipsy side anyway. He caught it right in the manhood and fell backward to roll/fall right down the back side of the hill.

I wish I wish I wish I had caught it on video so you would have a visual to this story. I have never laughed so hard in my entire life. This poor guy gets up all snow covered, hands cupped over his injury and without saying a word, limps back into the bar.

The rest of us went down a few more times. I crashed on a ride toward the end and bashed my head into a big rock of ice/snow. It was funny to be sure but not nearly as funny as D getting his rocks bashed and falling down the snow mountain. Ahhh….winter fun.

During the cold months you can usually find me bundled up in a blanket sipping hot chocolate with my thermostat set around 73 degrees. I don’t even hate winter, I actually like it for the most part, I just try to avoid things like frostbite and chapped lips. This year, however, I’ve been venturing out into the snow for some winter time fun. I take my son out to play, we throw snowballs, build snowmen and forts, sled and drink hot chocolate. I even went ice fishing with my dad for the first time last week.

The snow plows in town pile up all the snow from the town square in one corner lot and with all the snow we got the last couple days, that pile turned into a mountain. Last night after work, J and I decided to take couple of the huge serving trays out of the kitchen and went sledding. It was crazy fun. I think the bottoms of the trays were all greased up because they really fly in the snow. I got all banged up from hitting the pavement pretty hard a couple times and J took a good blow to the knee, but we still had an awesome time. I think there might be a repeat performance again tonight.

Pretty much I’ve just been enjoying myself this season. That is until this morning. On my way to work I slid off the road and got stuck in the snow. My 4 wheel drive (which I swear by) wasn’t even enough to save my ass from the ditch. Fortunately for me two very nice gentlemen in a sturdy truck stopped and pulled my car out. Before that I called my hubby to come rescue me and when I called to tell him not to worry about it he informed me that on his way to my aid he had gotten stuck in our driveway. HA. I turned home to help him out and when I got to the driveway I proceeded to turn in and got stuck right beside him. Ahh what a morning.

We both got out unscathed eventually, but it was enough. I’m ready for a few beers and looking forward to tearing up a steep parking lot mountain.

Karaoke. That’s right, karaoke. A bartender’s worst nightmare. There’s nothing I dread more than being sober and listening to twelve barely legal little girls screaming into 3 microphones to some insanely annoying song like Love Shack by the B52s. Or better yet, there are the karaoke kings who follow the DJ every week to a different bar to sing the same songs they’ve been singing for the last 10 years. Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks, that Kid Rock song that everyone hates, or some other sappy country crap (take your pick). These guys make me want to pull my hair out. They’re local celebrities (just ask em they’ll tell ya).

Last week was my week to work karaoke night. All the kings were there and so were the girls. I listened to their rendition of Love Shack twice and Friends in Low Places a record number of six times! There was also a highly intoxicated woman in her early thirties that sang Crazy Bitch by Buck Cherry. (if you know the lyrics to this song you can imagine the response she got from all the single horny karaoke kings.) That was the highlight of my night. I got 3 1/2 minutes of amusement out of her.

The best (and by best I mean not awful.) performance of the evening belongs to a gal that came in, ordered a scotch on the rocks, (already I can tell I like her.) and goes up to the DJ to whisper in his ear. He hands her the wireless microphone, she shuts her eyes and sings Don’t Stop Believing by Journey. (This is my favorite song to sing along to and when it comes on the jukebox I belt it out as loud as I want and I don’t care who hears.) The mystery girl finishes my song, brings her empty glass to the bar and leaves. She didn’t even take her coat off. 

It was one of those weird moments where you feel like you could be living in a scene of a movie. I mean it would probably be one of those tragically sad indie films with a stupid ending that makes you wonder why you just wasted two hours of your life watching trash….but a movie nonetheless.

A few weeks ago I was called to give testimony on an incident that happened nearly two months ago. Today I woke up at the ass crack of dawn after a long night of work and made my way down to the county courthouse. I arrived at 8:00 am and waited for an hour for someone to come out and say it would be at least another two hours before they needed me. Annoying, but not unbearable.

The rest of the witnesses and I went down to the local cafe for a bite and a bev. We waited our allotted time and arrived back to court bellies full and ready to start. I sat down and watched the clock tick…I watched the clock tick by 60 times. That’s right I waited another hour. Then they started calling in witnesses. I was the last to go (of course!) and by the time I had finished I was nearly five hours into my day.

They asked us to wait until they had reached a verdict to leave and how long did it take them? Another hour. That’s right. I spent a total of 6 Fing hours on a hard bench in the courthouse to give 5 minutes worth of testimony which ended up making not one bit of difference anyway. Where’s the justice in that?

Is there a lesson to this story?  YES. Do not wear loud shoes. Nothing is more annoying than the clickety clack of some perky little receptionist’s heals as she flits from one office to the other on the hideous marble floor put there for the sole purpose of making me CRAZY!

January has brought a bout of winter weather to the area that has been unmatched for the last 10 years. We have snow, below zero temperatures, and winds that are strong enough to knock the wind out of you. The perfect combination of elements to bring out all the snowmobilers in the area.

 There are dozens of these guys riding over the terrain and at the end of the day(light) they ride themselves up to the back door and stop in for an ice cold beverage. (The laws on recreational vehicles aren’t particularly enforced to the letter around here.) On nights like these, snowmobilers are the only customers I have because nobody else wants to brave the wind chill for a beer. (Not that I can blame them.)

In walks 10 wind beaten, snow covered, tired and thirsty little riders. They all order the same kind of tall draft beers. As I scramble around to deliver their drinks, everyone pays for his own beer and not one single asshole tips me. (If any of you jerks are reading this please refer to my previous blog entitled “Nightlife etiquette”.)

Anyway, right after they leave I hear some commotion outside and go to the door to check it out. I see some idiot doing some doughnuts in the town square on a snowmobile with the town cop sitting directly across the street. Sure enough the lights flash on and the rider takes off down the middle of the street. He cuts over the sidewalk, slams into some snow-covered obstruction and flies from his seat over the front of the sled. He scrambles back into place and takes off like a bat out of hell into the dark.

Obviously the cop didn’t catch him. He didn’t really care I don’t think, he just wanted to scare the little jerk. Is there a moral to this story? Always tip your bartender. You never know what sort of karmic retribution awaits…it may be a mouthful of snow. 

If you have ever been to a bar I’m sure you’ve seen the golden tee machine in the corner. (there’s one in every establishment.) If you haven’t played the game, you should. Not only is it fun, but it’s funny to watch other people play.

You can tell the difference between an experienced “player” and a novice almost right away. The experienced golden tee’r will change clubs twice, take into account the direction of the wind, the slope of the green, and even change their players clothes. Then they tee off so vigorously, the machine will shake on impact. The not-so-experienced players will use whatever club was given them and just spin the ball. (This is how I play.)

I was working the other day and a group of guys were playing this game. They were drinking draft beer, watching football, and all were wearing a sports jersey of some kind. They were the epitome of manly men, jocks, or whatever else you want to call them. All were “experienced” golden tee’rs and as one guy in particular tee’d off, I noticed he really whacked the ball every time. No sooner had I made my observation did he tee off and as his hand came into contact with the screen, he cried out…nothing discernible but some mild profanities.

I took a closer look after he calmed down and I had gotten him some ice. His hand was on it’s way to being twice the size of the other and a definite shade of purple was starting to spread across the heel. I felt a twinge of pity for the guy as his taunting friends tried to get him to shake it off and stay. I have to admit it was pretty funny at the time, but now I just feel bad for the poor guy that got his ass kicked by a video game.