Archive | September, 2011

No Sir, I will not go to Biarritz with you…

27 Sep

We all know the equation of: drunk men + liquor + any woman who doesn’t look like a wildebeast = cindy Crawford/megan fox/(insert victoria’s secret model here). We’ve also established that I am decently cute/not a wildebeast. So by the transitive property, drunk men + liquor + me = knockout chrissy.

K, moving on. So at the bar last weekend, I’m talking to a drunk man who was saying he loves traveling and is taking a month off from his ‘baller’ job to travel the world.  Feigning interest but also more engaged by his stories of partying in Ibiza and drinking Kava with island natives inFiji, I sip on my redbull as he chats up a storm.

Finally he starts discussing his future plans for his upcoming France trip. Not really listening, my attention snaps back instantly when I hear, ‘so would you like to accompany me? I would like a beautiful travel companion. And it would be all expenses paid. You would just need to show up with your passport and yourself.’

Hmmm. Interesting. Tempting. But ‘travel companion…?….’ sounds oddly open ended to me.

Pros: free trip to Biarritz!!

Cons: potential hooker situation.

Yeahhh… fail. sounds like a solicitation offer to me. I politely declined. My mother always taught me not to let my whore flag fly.

Sigh. This is what I’m passing up:

It sucks giving up acting like this:

To act like this:

Ha. Who am I kidding. We know I’m no saint. I think this is a little more accurate, no? 😉


um, are you lost?

27 Sep

As I started to write this story, I thought I would do as the subject of this post did: attempt to explain her words through other mediums. So I’m doing the same. With photos. It was easier this way…

So I love the bar where I work. Its amazing. To preface the story, the bar is not at all anything like this:

It feels a little like this:

And all of us who work there look a little something like this:

It’s a dive. But a nice dive. It feels like family.

Last night while working, a teeny drunk girl started dancing with a giant bear of a fat man. As more liquor was consumed, her dancing got a little more, uh, creative.  It went from the standard sort of bump and grind to this:

Interpretive dance isn’t for me… I guess you do it to tell stories?

Well, if that was the case, the story that she was attempting to convey was that her dance partner was about to beat her unconscious, then rape her in a back alleyway, so she was trying to evade him.  It looked like this:

Combined with this:

As she imbibed more drinks, she then changed her dance style yet again.  It then became:

With some of this:

Sprinkled with a little of this:

Full on stripper floor routine, including front splits with the booty shake. And a pole routine up against one of our ceiling pillars…  Which is interesting. On a Monday. In the middle of an empty dancefloor.  Onlookers were watching, mouths agape. I was one of them. A guy even ran up to them and threw down a dollar. It was amazing.

in closing, apparently the following is true (since bearman and hobag left hand-in-hand):


jesus hands, rockstars, and flowers…

27 Sep

Hey sugarbabies

it’s been a while. i’ve been out living life/having fun/working, so i haven’t updated in a while. however, i’ve collected some fabulous new material and done ‘research,’ so i have a LOT to write about. here’s a new one to tide y’all over until i can get my shit together, capture the essence that is my job, and transcribe it all for you to have some cheap laughs.

I’ve written a lot of the weird/funny/offensive shit that I encounter at work. But it’s not all bad. There are a bunch of random acts of kindness directed at me as well. True, they are few and far between. But when they do happen, it blows me away and I am seriously impressed by/my faith restored in humanity.  My most favorite are listed below:

Flowers on car–  so after a long and particularly busy/torturous night, I walk out to my car and see a bunch of flowers attached to/stuck in my rear windshield wiper. Granted, it looked like a drunk someone had ripped a limb off of a flowering tree, but the sentiment was still there.  No note, no idea who could have done it. But it was awesome and put a big old smile on my face.

Flower out of a napkin– I work in the same station all night long. I constantly run back and forth, so I see the same people sitting at the bar all night long.  As I was working, I saw one patron to my left suck back about 7 drinks.  So its safe to say that I saw the progression of his drunk.  When he starts swaying on his stool and leering at me, I get a little wary.  I returned to drop off some cups, and Drunky McDrunkerson hands me a cocktail napkin that he has artfully folded into a rose, origami style.  He slurs at me, ‘pretty rose for a pretty girl.’  Then falls off his bar stool.  True story.

Sweet post-it note- Another patron who’s drunk I see progress over the course of hours.  I see him furiously scribbling over a pad of pink post it notes (pink? Post-its in a bar? Okay… whatever dude), re-reading what he’s just written, then crumpling them up and tossing them in the trash.  This goes on for about an hour.  Finally at about 1 am, satisfied with what he has written, he stands up and hands me a post-it. Then hurriedly walks away. Written down? ‘you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life.’  unless he’s been living in a cave and has not heard of candace swanepoel, he’s lying to me. but sweet nonetheless. Made me smile.

Standing in my area and kicking people out- sometimes at the bar, it’s a goddamned madhouse. It gets ridiculously jam packed. Throngs of people crowd my well, and I swear to god, half of the work I do that night is just to pick my way through the crowd.  (did I mention I’m tiny? I’m not even five feet on a good day. Tall shoes are a MUST when I’m working because nobody, especially this girl, likes to be in armpits all night long or get elbows to the face.  ANYTHING BUT THE FACE. That’s my moneymaker. Do NOT fuck with the moneymaker).  So anyway, two regulars in particular have stood in my well with their arm across to the other bar, blocking people from standing there when I return to the well to do my job.  If people happen to be standing there, they will ask them to move (or if drunk, yell at them to move. Ha). God bless them. I don’t name names in this blog usually (to protect the identities of the guilty), but Charlie and ron ron… you guys are rockstars!!

Backrub as im counting out-  After long nights, carrying pints and pints of beer on my tray can make my little tyrannosaurus rex arms tired. I don’t make it a habit to pump iron, so my back and arms are sometimes sore and tired at the end of the night.  One night, I sat down to count out my tips, and a somewhat-regular comes over to say hi. He is visibly intoxicated, and I watch as he sticks his hands out, pulls them back, puts them out again, etc. it is clear he is vacillating on whether or not he is going to touch me.  ‘oh great,’ I think. ‘im about to get molested. Fuckin perfect.’ As it turns out, he reaches out and gives me the MOST AMAZING massage I’ve ever had. And i’m the type of girl that goes to resorts and gets massages in the nicest spas in the nicest hotel on Kauai. He literally has jesus hands. I was melting. Heaven.  Those ten minutes literally made up for the whoooole rest of the night.

point of the story: a little kindness goes a long way. we remember the bad, but ESPECIALLY the good. be nice to your waitress, cuz just maybe you’ll get some recognition for something you thought was no big deal 🙂

choke me, spank me, but do NOT pull my hair

19 Sep

so people can get pretty uncouth at the bar. i understand when liquor is involved, inhibitions drop and people get pretty ballsy.  one such occurrence happened this past saturday. a man i was serving proceeded to get very drunk, very chatty, and very creepy.  as the night went on and i could see the sober disappearing, he definitely started to think he had a chance. as i was running back and forth, he apparently thought the best way to catch my attention was to PULL MY HAIR. and not like a small grab… it was a forceful yank. the kind you might ask for in the bedroom, if you’re into that sort of thing 😉

i turned to look at my assailant, saw the rape in his eyes, and gave him a firm ‘NO’ like you might do to a puppy that’s just peed on your carpet.

if only i’d had a rolled up newspaper with which to smack him.  or a switchblade. whatever; i’ll  take what i can get.

wait, are you talking about your penis?

18 Sep

the bar never really ramps up until about 10-10:30. so that affords me a good hour/hour and a half to stand around awkwardly and hope to god that people order something.  i always feel like i’m irritating the customers when it looks like i watch them like a hawk and RUN over the second i see them take their final sip.  that leaves me no choice but to eye them from afar while talking to Regulars or co-workers.  one particular co-worker and i have not really chatted all that much before.  he and i never work the same shifts, so we know very little about each other.

we start shooting the shit, and i mention that i have a dog (sancho. he’s amazing).  i ask if he has any pets.

‘just one.’

‘oh really? what kind?’

‘it’s a snake.’

‘oh? that’s scary…. what kind?’’

okay, so time out. i forgot to mention a crucial portion that makes this story what it is.  everyone (well almost everyone) i work with is a complete pervert (me included). or at least acts like it the vast majority of the time on the clock to pass the time and keep things entertaining.  we’ve all been known to act completely inappropriately in the name of camaraderie and a cheap laugh. alright, got it? back to the story.

so at this point i am full on expecting him to tell me that he has one pet, the snake, and it is a trouser snake.  i inquire if it has a name, almost EXPECTING to hear something like ‘Big Jim’ or ‘One Eye.’

‘his name? harry.’

should I give him the benefit of the doubt that he means ‘harry’ and not ‘hairy?’

‘the thing about harry though is that he might actually be a girl…. harriet….Because he’s not all that thick even though he is long.’

alright, so by now i’m drawing conclusions that my coworker is letting me know the specifics of harry, the one eyed trouser snake, also known as his motherfuckin dick. wow. you’re trying to woo me with tales of your spaghetti noodle? i’ll pass.

‘he’s not much fun to play with, but he’s cool to look at.’


cue my eye roll. He caught on, lightbulb turned on, and he quickly rushed to explain he really DOES have a pet snake.  hopefully harry is a grower (and not a shower).

please don’t shit on my rainbow…

10 Sep

ninety-five percent of the time, the customers are great. most everyone is patient, friendly, and courteous (albeit, most everyone is drunk and not wound too tightly by the time the night is in full swing).  i appreciate that.  however, those 5% of you that do the following things make me wish i could spew lava/spit corrosive acid/shoot daggers out of my faux smile onto your face.

  1. shitty tipper. self explanatory. exception: if i have brought you the wrong thing or taken an extraordinary amount of time to bring it to you
  2. shitty tippers who EAGERLY COMMAND IMMEDIATE ATTENTION BECAUSE ‘BIG TIP WILL FOLLOW.’ And then i get a dollar.
  3. standing in my well
  4. standing in my well and not moving when i ask you to
  5. standing in my well and not moving when i ask you to, and THEN talking back to me/giving me attitude after i’ve been nothing but polite.  i’m rude for softly nudging you out of my way?  no. it’d be rude if i gave you a swift kick to the temple with my spike studded stillettos, but you backtalk me one more time, let’s just see what happens.
  6. taking forever to order a drink. ‘hiiiiii…… I’d like, um…. Uhhh….. ummm… a vodka annnnnnd….. uhhhh…. What sounds good….. uh….. soda? Yeah, a vodka soda.’ Look- I’ve got drinks to sling, tables to clear, and change to be made. HURRY. IT. UP.
  7. ice waters during the busy rush
  8. ice waters for EVERYONE at your table during the busy rush
  9. I’ll come to a table to take an order, and when i come back, more people in the group order, then i’ll come back and MORE people order.  repeat cycle.  i understand people finish their drinks at different paces, but when i see EVERY glass at the table is empty, i assume you might be thirsty.  and what better way to quench your thirst than another cocktail?  why didn’t y’all just speak up when i directly asked you two minutes ago if you wanted anything? it’s not as if you ‘missed’ that i was just right there. i looked directly into your face and asked what i could get you.
  10. talking shit about me as i am RIGHT THERE
  11. asking me to bring x# of shots of ‘whatever. just as long as they’re good.’  i have no idea what you want. straight shots? mixed shooters? vodka? sambuca for gods sakes!? WHAT you order doesn’t mean shit to me. i just prefer when you ACTUALLY PLACE one
  12. paying for your entire drink in mixed change.  nickels…? really?
  13. ordering from me then disappearing to another part of the bar-. Silly me for assuming that you’d be in the general vicinity where you ordered when I return with your alcohol. You wouldn’t order a drink on one side of the bar then expect to pick it up at the other end, would you? Why should it be my responsibility to chase after you to bring you your drink?
  14. thinking you can flatter/compliment me enough that i’ll comp your drink. if you’re going to get a free drink, you at least have to be creative. i’ve yet to hear something interesting enough/worthy of a free drink, but i’m not saying it won’t happen… go ahead, give it your best shot and we’ll see where it gets you.

lesson learned- time is money. you waste my time, you cut into my productivity and the efficiency of my job, and that messes with my paycheck.  it also increases the likelihood that i’ll be ‘soooo busy’ that i don’t make it back to your table all that frequently, thus forcing you to walk your annoying ass to the bar to get a drink before i have the time to make it back to you.

Like I said, most everyone is lovely.  Usually at work I am in the best of moods, loving life.  sorta like this:


however, the above is just an explanation of the small portion who shit all over my parade and make me feel like/threaten to turn me into this:

just sayin. be nice to your waitress. nobody wants ^^this

pickup lines thus far…

7 Sep

i’ll toot my own horn here.  i’m pretty adorable for a cocktail waitress.  i’m cute, i’m charming, and god damn it, i’m basically all around a peach.  so naturally, i look even more adorable when you get to the bottom of your 4th beer.  given that, i get hit on a LOT.  most of the time and with varying amounts of alcohol, i get creepy stares and lame ‘hey, how’s it going?’ or ‘you’re pretty hot.’ yawn.  but once in a while, i get the awesome one liners that make me hysterically laugh in the faces of the men (and women!) that utter them with liquor-fueled misguided confidence.  some of them are listed below for your reading pleasure.

‘hey, you’re really cute. i bet you have cute nipples.’

‘hey baby, i’m going to give you nine inches of fun, three inches at a time.’

‘don’t give him your number. i know he’s asking for it, but what he’s not telling you is that he’s married and she’s at home right now with their three kids. i’m at least divorced.’

‘are you gonna stay here in my dreams, or are you gonna exit like a fart?’

‘if i were an enzyme, i’d be DNA helicase so i could unzip your genes.’

‘your chariot awaits mylady… first stop? Lickalottapuss. second stop? PoundTown.’

thats all i can remember for now. more to come!