THE BARTENDER KNOWS #11
THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE REALLY BAD.
I’ve recently talked a lot of shit about everyone. I’ve talked shit on bar owners (trust me, there’s more to come on that note). I’ve talked shit on drugs (cocaine, yes, you still suck). I’ve talked shit on bad customers.
Now, like any snake eating its own tail, I’m back talking about shitty bartenders. It’s probably part of the top five things I regard as the “banes of my existence”, as the old timers used to say. Bad Bartenders make me feel more lifeless than anything else.
Just the other day — it happened again. I got “strip-clubbed”. Don’t know what getting “strip-clubbed” is? Haven’t been keeping up on your reading, eh? It’s ok. Here’s what happened to me the other night in the East Village. It was a gorgeous Autumn evening and the people were out. It wasn’t even a weekend night, just a simple Wednesday. I’m wandering down Avenue A and I had a crisp 50 dollar bill burning a hole in my pocket. I see a bar I used to love pre-pandemic. For memories sake, I pop on in. There’s room at the bar, there’s Merle Haggard on the jukebox and the bouncer somehow recognizes me and waves me through.
I couldn’t quite tell you what the bartender lady looked like. Why? Because she’s doing what every young bartender now has the bad habit of doing. Her back is to the bar. We were taught early to never put your back to the bar. One, it’s just rude to your customers. Two, you just lost control of what’s going on at the bar. Who’s stealing your cash tips right off the lacquered surface? Who’s walking in or walking out (without paying)? You wouldn’t know, would you? You’re blind to the game.
Listen, I know you have to ring things up on the register. I know you have to slide them credit cards through. But an over the shoulder peer back every 10 seconds could solve that problem. This lady didn’t learn that. Or if she did, she didn’t listen.
It takes about another 7 minutes before she realizes I’m not the other white dude at the bar who just left (we don’t all look alike!). Without a smile, a nod, or even a gleam in the eyes, she strolled over. “I’ll take a Vodka neat and a Guinness,” I ordered. (NOTE: She didn’t even ask what I wanted. I was too thirsty to care).
Boom. Without even serving the drinks yet, she muttered in a raspy, coke head voice: “17 bucks.” I thought: “Jeez, could I get my drinks first before we discuss monetary payment?” The Guinness was simply poured into the glass (she didn’t even know how to pour a proper pint) and the Vodka neat was a one finger pour. 17 — Fucking — Dollars. I know it’s Manhattan, but this place still smelled like 1989 piss and spilled beer (I’ll let New Yorkers try to guess the bar).
“Can I get a lime?” I ask.
Her dead eyes turned black. “We don’t have citrus.”
Don’t have citrus. Hmmm. Anyhow. I saw, I ordered, I paid, I drank. But it felt cheap. That’s “strip-clubbing”. Over charge the customer, make them feel unwanted, take their money and if you complain, they kick you out. That’s how the strippers roll. And that’s how this new breed of ‘bartender’ does too.
But what really are my banes of existence. It’s a good question.
Let’s see. I’ll start backwards. Here are the Top 5 Things that make me want to Self-Delete.
The 5th Thing.
The 5th thing I despise in the world is BAD SMELLS. Allow me to explain. I used to try to hide smoking weed from my mother. That was a big mistake. I used to say it was incense. She smelled her way to the truth. She knew it wasn’t any goddamn incense. Unfortunately, I inherited those same exact nose skills. I can smell everything. I know if you just took a breath mint. I can smell if you washed your hair today. I can smell when you’ve stopped dieting and your cortisone levels are off. It’s a curse. Damn you, olfactory system.
The 4th Thing.
BAD WAITERS. I put you guys on the fourth level because I was once you. I adore your job. I’m serious. I did it for YEARS. I know you’re an actor. Cool. I know you double as a model. Awesome. I know you want to be a writer (ok, we can talk about this later). There’s a lot of things going down — I get it. But please. Do your fucking job. One of my evil bosses once told me: “leave your problems at the door.” He was right. Food is important. We put what you serve in our bodies. Take it seriously. You use condoms with strangers, right? Well, I mean, ok. You get what I mean.
The 3rd Thing.
LIARS. Yeah. We all lie. That’s not weird. Lying is kind of fun. I don’t do it that much. In the scheme of things, don’t we all lie? Luckily, as I slowly age, I realize that a “white lie” is a totally legit way of keeping social cohesion. If we listened to our ID (it’s a Freud thing, you Philistines), then all of human civilization would descend into chaos. But, but, but, but — only amateurs lie about everything. Liars, essentially, are sad people. It’s almost like they can’t help it. It’s almost like they actually believe we don’t know that they are lying. Here’s the news. Just tell the truth. As Mark Twain once said: “Always tell the truth — so you don’t have to remember your lies”.
The 2nd Thing.
BAD BARTENDERS. This is like killing my own kind. Even hungry dogs don’t eat other dead dogs. But in the spirit of brevity, I’ll repeat. Bartending is a personable sport. If you don’t like people, don’t fucking do it. If you’re just in it for the money, admit it. If you really wanted real money, you should become an investment banker. Get a Real Estate License, you son of a bitch. Breed with someone richer than you are. Just please, stay out of our field. It’s not for you. You have to have a certain amount of love for conversations and being cool. You have to understand the plight of the working person who needs a libation. You have to truly, meaningfully, and totally on purpose, ask…”how are you doing?” Either you is, or you ain’t. That’s facts. If you’re not that, well, I feel bad for the shit smell you suffer from that can’t be washed off.
The 1st Thing.
MANNERS. Be cool or be gone. So many of you were raised by wolves and it shows. In NYC, this is a big thing. I’ve had it. The next time someone doesn’t show even the small modicum of manners, I’m going to show them exactly what being rude and cruel really is. Like Patrick Swayze said: “Be nice, until it’s time not to be nice.” So beware — I’m going to start “Roadhouse”-ing around here.
You’ve been warned. So until next time…
Sincerely,
TBK
P.S. What is this column all about? It’s basically saying don’t smell like shit, wash once in awhile, serve the food properly, don’t lie to my face, be a cool bartender and have manners. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Do you?
