THE BARTENDER KNOWS #10
WE HAVE TO TALK ABOUT COCAINE.
We have to talk about cocaine.
I have never seen more people, either men or women, completely and absolutely destroy any positive version of their own existing personality than with cocaine. I’m sure this happens in any bar room in America, but it’s a scourge here in NYC. Why do I call cocaine “personality remover”? It’s because it’s SO obvious how much people change when they take it. Like scary obvious.
I can already hear the criticisms. “Well, Mr. Bartender Knows, don’t you think alcohol changes the personality of the person using it? Defend that!”
Of course, I gladly answer. Here’s the facts: Alcohol either accentuates or de-emphasizes already present personality traits. If the person is angry just underneath the surface, a half a bottle of whiskey will do the trick and release Mr. Hyde. If the person is shy but loves social interaction, alcohol can free them from their shell. Most natural psychological defenses go right out the window with each drink. Can bad things happen drunk? Of course. There’s just something more honest about alcohol — people can take off the mask. Plus, booze has been with us since the Egyptian Pharoahs, so yeah, alcohol has got staying power. And when you do get drunk, it wears off after a good nights sleep.
Cocaine, conversely, does exactly the opposite — especially when you’re using the shitty, highly contaminated rat poison that passes for cocaine around these parts. Fentanyl deaths aside, modern cocaine is part cleaning product, methamphetamine and baby laxative. It’s gross. And slamming rails of this into your face all night? Not a good look. In the spirit of simplicity, let’s break all this down by gender, shall we?
MEN AND COCAINE
In my time tending bar, I’ve seen all sorts of odd behavior from guys that live in the world of cocaine. We can start with the basics. Pretty much every coke head dude I know is a total flake. They keep secrets for no apparent reason, they are by nature sneaky and habitual liars, and, most of the time, always conveniently broke (because they spend all of their money on drugs). Second, 98% of the women I have talked to about this issue share the same experience: Coke Dick. I know there’s some fucking sexual Tyrannosauruses out there that actually get harder the more coke they do (and god bless them). But, most of the time, they are busy jack hammering away at the poor girl and inevitably have trouble climaxing. That’s sounds like dick hell. Plus, these guys are high as fuck and disconnected. There’s no way they can read the social and physical cues that would make a woman feel good sexually (unless the women, too, are blown out of their fucking minds, see below). Let’s say there are no women around. I can see you grinding your jaw. I can hear you from across a loud bar. You can’t read the social cues in a room either. You’re not as funny as you think you are and when you finally start coming down, you get this scary 100 yard stare going on. Frankly, it’s kind of demonic. I know you don’t know this, because of course, you’re high as fuck, so why would you. But I know. The bartender knows.
WOMEN AND COCAINE
Ladies, ladies, ladies. What is going on with you? You LOVE cocaine, just admit it. Maybe because it’s a stimulant that lets you drink for longer periods of time? Maybe it makes you feel more confident? Maybe it makes you horny? I don’t know. I do know that it’s fucking cat nip for y’all. So much so, that I personally know men who buy cocaine only to give it out to snare women at bars. Do you ladies not know this? Or do you just not care? It’s crazy. (NOTE: I hate these sorts of men. I think they are roving sex predators that should be arrested or at least publicly shamed. You’re welcome.) Now look, I’ve done real cocaine only once in my life. It was in Los Angeles in 1996 when I was hanging around Colombian drug dealers. They offered me a bump. I told them I don’t like uppers. They all laughed, shared some insults about me in Spanish and held the key bump up to my nose.
“Come on, holmes, you gonna dig this, white boy.”
I said fuck it and did it. HOLY SHIT. It was probably only a dab of this stuff and my whole body went numb. I felt 100% euphoric, got really horny and after about 40 minutes, finally came down with no side effects and no bad ju-ju. It was awesome. Now I understand what the hell was going on in the 70’s and 80’s. The shit was pure. It was delicious. So yes, in a way, I am admitting that I would probably be a coke head in 1979. But it’s 2022, people. And the coke you girls are doing now is disgusting. You’re fidgeting, grinding your gums, doing that weird neck stretch thing, and frankly, talking absolute fucking nonsense to us bartenders that have much more functional human beings to talk to.
IN FINALE
If you’re new to New York City and you’re this little hip chick or dude ready to take on the Big Bad Apple all on your own, fine. But if you’re over 35 and blowing lines in the bathroom on a week day — I think you seriously need to reevaluate what parent fucked you up some much that you’d waste your money on chlorine smelling, rat poisoning, laxative-addled powder posing as a good time.
And ewww, you took that person home? As the bartender watching you stumble out of the door at 3am on a Tuesday, my heart truly goes out to you.
In the meantime, maybe just stick to Red Bull or a rigorous work out routine. You’ll live a lot longer and save money on the rehab facility in the mid-west where you’re most likely headed — trust me.
