condescending bartender

condescending bartender


i’m over it

So, I know this isn’t exactly general bartender/restaurant related, but…

I have pretty much checked out of this job in my head.  It’s not a business.  It’s a place for the owner to drink with his little douche canoe friends.  It’s a place for the little work clique to just hang out and drink.  Listen, I’m not stuck up.. I’m very friendly and social.  But, I want so badly to be a restaurant owner that it disgusts me when I see the employees and bar owner just drinking the place into fucking bankruptcy.  And then he goes bananas over the most insignificant fucking things like BEVERAGE NAPKINS.  And the favoritism here is fucking outstanding.   How many vacations can one person take?   What in the actual fuck??  Must be nice when the person who does the scheduling is your sister, or your girlfriend’s sister.  The whole thing is a fucking joke.  The owners are on a permanent vacation, leaving half-assigned “managers” to run the place, who cater to themselves and their friends.  And I’m outside that little circle, so it fucking sucks for me.  Sorry… I don’t drink like a 21 year old idiot anymore.

That’s probably because I’m 29.  And some of you are older than me!  Get on my level.


Telling me that maybe I have arthritis in my hand because your drink isn’t “strong enough” is a sure fire way to not get a strong drink from me.  Maybe you have a tumor in your fucking head, because I’m not sure what kind of strategy that is?


No Napkin Left Behind

So I threw a stack of bev naps at the owner of the restaurant yesterday.  Yep, all up in his face.  Napkins everywhere, slow motion, fluttering around like little square paper butterflies.

This was only in response to the stack of napkins that spun around like a skipping stone, past my face and onto the bar in front of the customer I was chatting with.  I thought it was Chris, the other bartender.  So, barely turning around, I grab them and throw them back and say “Who are you throwing napkins at??” and just as I finish my sentence I can see the irate face of the bar owner.  Comically, he starts grabbing the still floating sheets of paper and slams it back on the bar.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry..I thought you were Chris!”

So then, he invites me to listen to a question.  “Where do you think you’re working tomorrow?”

Hmm..  Sounds like a problem that is yours and not so much mine. But I think it might be time for a haircut.