I Love Regulars

12 Apr

The best part of working at the bar (other than the party, and the music, and the fun, and the dancing, and the people watching, and the liquor…) is making friends with regulars.

I have a new regular that is pretty much amazing 100% of the time.  I actually may have stolen him from one of the other bartenders… Regular used to “belong” to a different bartender, but he’s mine now. Bwahaha.  Anyway, he comes and visits me most Thursdays.

I can’t say that I know too much about him other than he lives in Campbell, is a self-proclaimed computer geek, and has excellent taste in liquor (mmmm crown!!). He doesn’t actually talk about himself, which is rare. If you work in the service industry, you know how customers just LOVE to talk about themselves.  He keeps quiet, practically making him an enigma.

 

IMG_1436

 

Here’s the meat of the story why he’s awesome: he brought me a cake last night.

So a few background details: we’d had discussion of said cake a few days prior, and I didn’t actually think he’d bring one.  I think it is a typical “girl” thing to do to make ridiculous demands and see what will actually transpire.  “Buy me a pony” and “I would like a yellow Lamborghini, please” never really work (not like we ever expect them to).  HOWEVER, women are so used to being shot down, that when we DO make demands, we never believe they will get fulfilled.

Until Regular actually brought me a motherfuckin cake. YIPPIE!

Oh, and did I mention I played hooky from work last night to sit at home in my pajamas? Fail. I wasn’t actually there to receive it, so instead I got this lovely tortuous photo, guilting me and making me feel like crap that I bailed.

 

IMG_1439

 

Lesson learned: regulars are awesome, and it’s always worth it to suck it up and just go into work.

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Happy Birthday, You Old Bitch

22 Feb

I’ve recently developed a complex where I’m afraid that I’m old. Obviously, at the ripe age of 26, I’m not ACTUALLY old. I’m scared that I am mentally old. I’m having a hard time staying up past 11 PM on school nights – I used to stay awake till 4 am like a god damn tweaker, dicking around on the internet and listening to undiscovered bands on their Myspace pages (yeah, so did I mention I’m old?) Now, I’ll pass out halfway through an hour long show taped on the DVR, snoring and even drooling once in a great while.

I’m scared that my dayjob has turned me into a middle-aged woman overnight who complains about the price of cereal in a grocery store (six bucks, really?!) and wears nothing but cardigans and orthopedic looking shoes. I just bought a new car- my first concern was that it would look too much like a “mommy-mobile” for a 26 year old unmarried girl with no kids.

So anyway, last night I’m opening my bar for the shift. A large group of young, extremely pretty girls (all of them blonde- is this some sort of cult?) is anxiously waiting so they can order their juice vodka shooters. It is a birthday party. YAYYYY. They’re drinking and laughing, and the men who adore them are desperately trying to buy them more shots and take them home.

On the third round, one of them proposes a toast.

“As we all know, it’s Amber’s birthday. Since you’re the oldest one here, Amber, we just all want to wish you the best 23rd birthday in the world! Happy birthday, you old bitch!”

Harrumph. Cue eye roll.

Then I make the conscious effort to remind myself that it is all fun and games. I, too, was like that when I was 23.

Lighten up, right?

keep-calm-and-lighten-up-3

 

And then they start squealing.

“YAYYY AMBUUUURRR! BIRTHDAAAAAY! WEEEEE!”

Eyes narrow. Change in mood.

calm slap

 

Way to make me feel like I’m 90 years old… I already carry hard candies in my purse and call young folks “whippersnappers.” It’s just a matter of time before I completely lose it and start buying prune juice in bulk and hoarding Polydent.

What happened to the Chrissy that took shots and danced on the bar? I really am going to make a conscious effort to chill out and have a bit more fun. Like this guy:

lighten up

Get Me Something Disgusting

22 Feb

I had a group of young-ish guys as patrons last week.  Apparently, it was one of their birthdays.

As his good friend, one of the other guys wants to buy him a shot.

“Get me something disgusting,” he says.

 “Like what?”

 “I don’t know. A shot of Crown or something.”

GASP.

Moment of silence here.

 Crown is my DRINK, y’all.  How dare he.

anger baby

The Slow Tongue Kiss

8 Feb

THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, MISTER FOY:

One thing that completely horrifies me and makes my skin crawl is when I have to watch the slow, romantic, gentle tongue kiss.  I see it and I instantly want to rip out my eyeballs, throw them to the ground, and stomp on them.  My disgust is magnified a thousand times over when I see it happen at night at the bar.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much.  But allow me to attempt to explain my frustration and disgust:

As you know, the bar is full of loud music and sweaty crowds.  These are not exactly the things that make a romantic setting.  Not during regular business hours anyway (might I note that I know of two blissfully happy long-term couples that had their first kiss at this particular bar).  I’m sure people have those “all-time-is-frozen-because-we-are-in-love” moments.  Read Another Lesbian Makeout Show (https://ridiculousnessoflife.wordpress.com/2011/11/22/oktoberfest-good-old-fashioned-german-fun/).

Great. Fine.  But how the hell does that happen when people are ramming into you, sloshing their beers on you, screaming off-key karaoke into a microphone that blasts out over the speakers?  I don’t know. I just don’t see it.

THIS

party

DOES NOT EQUAL THIS

old love

So last night was no exception.  I saw a young couple have the lingering gaze.  Slowly pull each other in.  Breathe each other’s breath.  Then sensually kiss, tongues probing.

frenchkiss

That’s the part that kills me.  I’m terrified, eyes locked on the trainwreck in front of me, and I see the dude SLIP HIS TONGUE INTO HER MOUTH. Like a LOT of tongue.  AND SHE’S INTO IT! Barf.  I can’t look away.  The whole time I’m watching with horror.

The Kubler-Ross model explains the five stages of grief as being: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.   I too feel five symptoms.  However, my grief is better described as being:

WTF

wtf

Disbelief

kidding me

Anger

anger

Disgust

honeyboo boo

oh, what the hell.  one more for the cheap seats in the back:

pirate

Contempt

contempt

This cycles through rapidly every time I see people doing this.  I have the amazing ability to experience all five within the span of ten seconds…

C’mon.  You’ve seen it. TELL me I’m not the only one that hates this…

I Pledge Allegiance to the Bar

25 Jan

As some of you may know, I only moonlight as a Bar Wench.  When I’m not serving your beer with a smile and a side of titties, I’m clawing my way up (or using a life preserver to survive) the corporate ladder.  The two jobs could not be more different; other than the obvious, I’d like to break down to you exactly WHY I keep working the bar, much to the puzzlement of many.

In the two years I’ve been lucky enough to be an employee of the greatest little bar in the cutest little town, there have been some ups and downs.  I’ve threatened to quit more times than I can count.  I took a sabbatical.  I thanked my employer for the opportunity and then moved on.  Or so I thought.  But every time, I’ve come back.  The place sucks you in and keeps you indefinitely.  Turnover among staff is VERY low (not counting the revolving door of some of the waitresses). The place is great; it’s like family, complete with the creepy uncle.  Just kidding!

There are pros and cons associated with each of my jobs.  Assessing each one and pitting them against each other leads to some interesting insight…

Ready, Set, FIGHT!

Brainpower Required: Tie

Dayjob requires expertise in programmatic HR operations.  This leads to many reports and thorough organization of analytics.  I am up to my eyes in Excel functions that I never even knew existed (COUNTIF is now my best friend).  The job has expanded my knowledge in general and given me the ability to perform day-to-day tasks with foresight to trends and strategy.  I am ridiculously thankful for this.

Both jobs require an expertise in interpersonal skills and critical thinking.

Believe it or not, there IS a lot of thought that goes into work at the bar.  You may think that your local bartender or waitress just serves you drinks, no questions asked.  This may be true.  What also may be the case is that your bartender/waitress is observing your behaviors and reactions and tweaking action based on what they see.  It is a strategy game with variables.  Essentially: what can I change only slightly to maximize patron good time, my own level of fun, maximize profit for the bar and my own tips?  I certainly am honing my ability to pick up on social cues!

Management : Bar Wins

My Bar management is awesome.  Hands down winner. No comment necessary (for any of you close to me, you know why this is)

The coworkers:  Close, but Bar Wins

I love some of the folks at Dayjob.  They are caring, intellectual, innovative, witty.  But the operative word is “some.”  Also, corporate environment = formal environment.  It is hard to let your hair down.  Nobody at Dayjob knows who I REALLY am and what my personality is really like- they get a “watered-down” version for sure.  Ho-hum.

On the flipside, ALL my bar coworkers rock.  It’s nice to have the casual dynamic where you can hear ridiculous stories of sexual escapade and catch up on the scandalous gossip about in-common acquaintances. Plus, I get to be my sassy self and say things that shock people. MEOW.

The people: Bar Wins

I’m referring to “people” loosely to encompass “customers.”  At the Bar, I have the autonomy and freedom to exercise my own judgment when handling any and all situations.  If a customer is rude to an extreme, I can take appropriate measures to herd their behavior back to normal and acceptable.

At Dayjob, I get penalized for trying to put fellow employees in their place when being caustic or out of line with me.  Apparently the only appropriate response in those situations is to bend over and take it.  At least buy me a drink before you fuck me. Ugh.

The benefits: Corporate Job Wins

The corporate job offers health benefits.   For a single young lass like myself, the company shells out over $7,100 a year just to keep me alive.  Pretty damn cool.

The perks: Bar Wins

Need a shot of whiskey to take the edge off? Want to dance and shake your ass while you work? Too bad drinking is frowned upon at Dayjob. I might be a nicer person there… “You’d like me to go back and correct your mistake? Sure, hold on, I have this flask right here…. Okay, as you were saying?”

The Dress Code: Bar Wins

Big shocker, right?  I can look all hot secretary in a pencil skirt, but dressing for Dayjob is awkward.   I have to try my hardest to pretend I am a grown-up and LIKE cardigans/tweed/shoes so ugly they are practically orthopedic.  For some reason, I am more comfortable in my skin with big Texas hair, fake eyelashes, and a low cut top.  Feels natural (although the amount of war-paint I slap on before every shift is ridiculous and very, very unnatural).

 

The atmosphere: Bar Wins

You’ve read the blog. You know the crowd watching is parallel to none.  There is loud music, sexy hormones flying around, and scantily clad people. It’s awesome. Every day at the bar is a party.

FINAL ROUND- The working style: Bar Wins

It all boils down to what makes me happiest.  When I leave the bar at night, there is a smile on my face every single time. I’ve been continually happy the whole 6 or so hours I am there.  Wish I could say the same for Dayjob every day, which is more of a mix of highs as well as lows.

“But what about career!? What about aspirations?” you all shout.  Yeah, yeah. I’m working on it.

Wouldn’t you rather see me with a smile on my face?? Plus, what would I write about if I ever left the Bar and y’all? 🙂

Stay Classy, Campbell: The Adventures of “Fingerbang”

25 Jan

I know I’m not the only one who has a hard time remembering names. My friends and I commonly come up with nicknames for people we meet associated with stories we tell and laugh about. I’ve dated guys with boring names: Dave, Mike, John. “Remember the time I went out with John?” Um, no. Who the hell is that? “Remember the time I went out with Hamburger Tongue?” Ah, yes. Much more of a mental trigger.

 

So anyway, let me tell you about “Fingerbang.”

 

Last week at the bar, there were a couple different groups of people standing next to the bar. In one group, a semi-shy but sweet guy was with a girl (perhaps on a date?) sitting on stools at the bar. A hot guy from another group sits down and starts taking interest in the girl. Throughout the course of the night, Hot Guy keeps trying to talk to her and get close to her. Through his wit and charm, he manages to get his hands on her. And when I say that, I mean he got his hands ON her. IN her. Up in her. In certain inappropriate orifices. WHAT WHAT, IN THE….

 

Moving on… I was not the only one who noticed, which is good (means I wasn’t just hallucinating). SHE EVEN NOTICED. AND DID NOTHING. Well, she did smile slyly at Hot Guy. She continued her candoodling with Shy Guy, all while enjoying the backdoor tickle.

 

WHAT. THE. FUCK.  Has social grace and modesty DIED?

 

Be on the lookout for Fingerbang. I’m wondering when she’ll strike next… Let me know if you catch a glimpse!

Overheard at the Bar

15 Oct

There’ve been a lot of great nuggets of hilarity that I’ve collected over the past few months.  Chances are if you’ve ever watched me at the bar, you’ll notice me scribbling furiously on my trusty notepad. 

Let’s take a poll, shall we?   Am I:

A) Writing down orders

B) Hand-totaling all of my sales for the night

C) Eavesdropping on your conversations and writing down the funny bits

D) Writing down my number to give to hot boys

E) All of the above?

Trick question HA! The answer actually varies by night and/or season.

Generally (and let’s be honest here), I’m spying on you.  On slow nights especially, observing patrons is the best part of the job and gets me through the nights.

And now for your reading pleasure, Overheard at the Bar:

“God, I feel like my colon is going to fall out.”

“You’re right, I AM a little like a rapist right now.”

“I watch SO much porn. Since I’m not getting laid, you know, I’m SUCH a masturbator.”

“I was falling from the stratosphere.  True story.  This was right before I got to ride the mammoth.”

“So that guy in the corner staring at us is creeping me out because he looks like Natalee Holloway’s murderer”

“She totally has a front-butt.”

“She likes to get drunk and try to stab people”

“That guy over there looks like Mr. Burns”

“I feel like a little squirrel.  I’m like ‘I want more nuts!’”

“I totally just got mouth raped…”

“He looks like a buff dwarf!”

“Well as you know, meth and porn go hand in hand.”

“Me and Sarah were gonna go home together to bang the whale, but she left.”

That’s all for now 🙂 More to come soon, my lovelies…