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Xarpolis
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 15 Oct 2002
Posts: 2884
Location: Philly, PA
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 Posted: 05/02/04 - 19:15 Post subject: The Bar-Tender's Journal: Part 1-3! (5/8/04)
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Originally written by Dave Lawrence.
I woke up this morning, well not exactly the morning, it was four in the afternoon but that’s morning for a bartender, and had a wicked hangover. I fumbled around for a cigarette and lay there next to the open window by my bed and listened to the crackheads shuffle through my building’s dumpster. I had to be at work in a half hour and didn’t have time for a shower so I picked out some clothes that didn’t smell too bad. I decided to go with the shirt I got on the internet that says “POPULAR SPORTS TEAM”. Nobody at the sports bar I work at seems to get it.
On my way out to my motorcycle I saw a pamphlet stapled to a telephone pole. It had a picture of a cat and said “LOST CAT Answers to “kiss my p***y” please call 751-9698. I really wanted to laugh but couldn’t muster the strength.
http://paintedover.com/uploads/1/file0028.jpg
Work was dead when I got there and the only other person in sight was Katie the coctail waitress and my ex-girlfriend. If you’ve never had to work with an ex before let me spare you the suspense, it sucks. Normally after a breakup you can easily avoid the other person by staying away from their hangouts and friends. You’re totally screwed when you have to spend seven hours a day, four days a week not only seeing but talking to that person. Oh f**k. Here she comes.
“Hi, whats up?” She says with a smile. But all I hear is “I broke up with you and told all the other waitresses what you look like naked.” I need some coffee.
The coffee here sucks and I drink too much of it. I need to do something about this hangover and ponder the idea of bitters and soda, an old trick you learn in bartending school, but decide to opt for some “hair of the dog” instead and slip a couple shots of bourbon in my coffee. Just as I’m doing this I notice that I have customers at the far side of the bar. A construction worker and a cop come in from the road work being done outside and sit down together. I ask them where the Indian chief and the sailor are and they stare at me blankly and ask for menus. I don’t know why I try.
The rest of the evening shift begins to roll in. Seven months of working here and I can barely keep these chicks’ names straight. Cryatal, Katie, Karen, Kelly C, Kelly E, Cassie, and Carrie are gossiping at the server station. It doesn’t help that I’m the only guy that works here. Sure at first I felt like a kid in a candy store, but within two months of being hired, Katie had stuck a flag in me and staked her claim. Three months after that things had aparently gotten “weird” and we broke up. Now the rest of the flock is off limits. Date one girl at your work and it’s an office romance, date two or more and you’re a man w***e, it’s just that simple. I think I’d better find a paper and pretend thay’re not talking about me.
I’m too out of it to read about how the world is going to hell in a hand basket so I decide to do the crossword. Hmm… A five letter word starting with L for “One who lacks success”. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
Oh crap. Traci just walked in. Traci is an ex of mine that I’ve been dating lately. We hadn’t seen eachother in three years and ran iinto eachother at a bar a few weeks ago and have been seeing eachother since. She says she’s on her way to school and just wanted to stop in and say hi. We talk for a few minuites and when she gets ready to leave she leans over for the old goodbye kiss. I awkwardly oblige and simultainiously try and scan the bar with my eyes as I do it. When she leaves I see the hens giggling and pointing in the corner. Now I can look forward to “Who was that?” and “Was that your girlfriend?” questions for the next couple of hours. I drink more bourbon.
I have another customer. He orders a Bud and starts yammering on about some sports game. He could be speaking Aramaic for all I know. I’m able to decipher that tonight is going to be rather busy because our local hockey team is in the Super Bowl or some such thing. It’s hard working in a sports bar when you have absolutely no intrest in sports. I guess it’s gotta be like a h**o working in a titty bar, I just don’t get all the hype. Usually you can b******t your way through these conversations with customers with a lot of “yea”’s and “really”’s like you might do on a boring date but when they realize that they distracted me from my dog eared copy of The Sun Also Rises to ask about a basketball score, they realize they asked the wrong person. I swear these morons think that just because I work here that I must be Howard f*****g Kosell. Even the waitresses seem to know more than I do. I hope you never have to go through the demasculating expierience of getting the off sides rule explained to you by a eighteen year old girl applying eyeliner.
The guy at the end of the bar wants a Coors Light. He hasn’t asked yet and I don’t recognize him but I know anyway. After you’ve served a few thousand beers you can just tell by looking at them. Ocasionally you get thrown a curveball. One time I had a guy with a Bud Light running suit and baseball cap order a Heinekin, that one bent my mind for awhile.
Yep, I was right a Coors Light. Damn I’m good. I wonder if I could somehow incorporate that into some kind of drunken magic act? Hey wait. A homeless guy just walked in and sat down. He’s asking for what would obviously be his twelth shot of vodka. I don’t have anything against hobos it’s just that they’re bad for buisness. We cater to a rich c********r season ticked holder crowd that dosen’t like rubbing elbows with tramps. For that matter what the hell is this guy doing trying to buy our overpriced shit for anyway? He’d have to panhandle for months to buy a Smirnoff here. Why not save your money and drink yourself to death on Thunderbird like a normal bum. The girls notice that he’s scaring the customers and as always it’s my job to toss his ass. As politely as possible I scoop the poor b*****d up and escort him out. Afterwards I begin to wonder who the poor b*****d really is.
Shit. Here comes Katie again, this was inevitable. “Who was that girl?” She asks.
I tell her just an old friend. f**k I’m a spineless sack of shit.
“She was really cute.” I take a deep breath and nod.
“What are you doing after work tonight?” She asks as she places her hand over mine on the bar.
I say that I’m not sure and I’ll talk to her after I get off. She agrees, gives me a wink and a smile and walks off. Then I pour some more bourbon in my coffee cup. It’s gonna be a long night.
(Look for my next message for part 2)
Last edited by Xarpolis on 05/08/04 - 15:04; edited 2 times in total
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Yabden
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 13 Oct 2002
Posts: 2485
Location: Ohio
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 19:22 Post subject:
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cliffs notes please
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Paden
RealPoor Master of Posts
Joined: 23 Oct 2002
Posts: 9362
Location: North CAROLINA!
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 19:26 Post subject:
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my mom was a bartender
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Yabden
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 13 Oct 2002
Posts: 2485
Location: Ohio
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 19:33 Post subject:
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you know your setting yourself up right?
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Paden
RealPoor Master of Posts
Joined: 23 Oct 2002
Posts: 9362
Location: North CAROLINA!
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 19:35 Post subject:
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yeah.........
but if you knew me you would know that i don't really give a rats ass
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Yabden
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 13 Oct 2002
Posts: 2485
Location: Ohio
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 20:02 Post subject:
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you know what everyone says on a internet message board gets to you
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Banzai
Guest
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 20:13 Post subject:
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That was actually a pretty good read.
Nice prose old chap.
| Quote: | | I ask them where the Indian chief and the sailor are and they stare at me blankly and ask for menus. |
good times
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-Reneloth-
Toomuchtimeonhands
Joined: 11 Oct 2002
Posts: 959
Location: Dallas, TX
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 20:17 Post subject:
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i want the next installment!
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Paden
RealPoor Master of Posts
Joined: 23 Oct 2002
Posts: 9362
Location: North CAROLINA!
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 21:09 Post subject:
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| Yabden wrote: | | you know what everyone says on a internet message board gets to you |
If that was true then I prolly would of killed my self by now.
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Zwadrich
RealPoor Master of Posts
Joined: 12 Oct 2002
Posts: 5015
Location: The Netherlands
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 21:19 Post subject:
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pop a cap in their asses Xarp!
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Sunkorzien
Sir Postalot
Joined: 14 Oct 2002
Posts: 1443
Location: New Orleans
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 21:32 Post subject:
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You have become better at re-posting stuff from SA! (1)
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Ikkan
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 06 Sep 2003
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 21:37 Post subject:
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Good read.
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Xarpolis
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 15 Oct 2002
Posts: 2884
Location: Philly, PA
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Posted: 05/02/04 - 22:09 Post subject: Part 2
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| Sunkorzien wrote: | | You have become better at re-posting stuff from SA! (1) |
f**k what SA posts. I got it from the Graffe boards.
Anyway, here's part 2:
The place is starting to fill up and the manager just turned off my jazz station to put the pregame on the P.A.. The reason we get so packed on game nights because we’re right across the street from the city’s sports arena. For two hours before and at least one hour after a game, this place is a madhouse but when there’s nothing going on it’s a ghost town. Despite the waitress’ b******g when its slow I kinda like it. I make a descent hourly and even when its busy most of these p****s think tipping is a city in China. The down time helps me relax. I grab a good book, throw on some jazz and put away a stiff drink. You haven’t experienced Steinbeck till you’ve read him good and tight while listening to some Brubeck. This is how I got the rep as the weird guy. I guess these broads, most of whom were cheerleaders in high school, have never met a guy who’d rather dig some Kerouac than watch a bunch of overpaid a******s in silly outfits whack a ball around. That’s what Katie said she liked about me. I guess years of these Neanderthals pinching her ass as she tried to carry a tray of drinks drove her to something different.
Katie, the only girl to drive me to sobriety. I swear I went on a week long bizarro binder after she gave me my walking papers and let me tell you it was hell. For some reason after she left, the hooch just didn’t taste as sweet anymore. It was the longest I’d been on the wagon since I was fourteen. Slowly a healthy surliness set in and I was back off the wagon and into the gutter where I belonged.
A guy in a t-shirt and a sport coat just sat down with a woman with enough collagen in her lips to raise the Kursk. She wants a cosmo and he asks for a rusty nail with a d*****t grin. I know these guys. They buy a bartending bible and think they can impress a date my stumping the bartender with an obscure cocktail. This guy’s barking up the wrong tree. Growing up with my father, the only two liquors in the house were scotch and Drambuie, the only two ingredients in a rusty nail. If I wanted to tie one on as a shaver I had to learn to appreciate the libation. I ask the guy how he likes his rust and he goes from cocky to stumbling moron in about a tenth of a second. I explain that I’m asking how much Drambuie he wants and he says not too much. f****r wound up not tipping but damn it was worth it.
The coffee’s getting cold so I decide to switch to rum and coke in a soda cup. The trick with doing this at work is choosing a dark rum so the boss doesn’t notice the pale complexion of your beverage and tip her off that your boozing on the job. I find Myers does the trick. It’s also a good idea to keep some strong mints handy. I swear Amber, god bless her for having a name starting with an A, the manager must thing I brush my teeth five times a day.
Katie comes behind the bar to sneak herself a shot of Vodka. I swear she executes this move like an expert pickpocket. First she pours the shot under the bar, then she examines some tickets for upcoming drinks, then she drops one and in one swift move grabs the shot and downs it while going to pick up the ticket. Now that’s a girl you bring home to mom. On her way out to the floor she runs her hand across the small of my back, a move that two months ago was a signal for a quickie in the beer fridge. I almost drop two pilsners of Guinness as she does this and make the save just in time to see her shoot me a wink on her way out. I can tell that this encounter wasn’t an invitation to please her up against a case of Corona but rather a display of intent. Kind of like a peacock displaying her feathers just to let the poor male peacock know the score.
My cell phone is ringing and it’s Traci. I hope God is enjoying this. I duck into the broom closet where it’s quiet enough to talk. She wants to know what time I’ll be off. I tell her, knowing damn well that I’ll be off as soon as the game starts and the bar clears out, that I may have to close and that I’ll call her later. There is a special place in hell for idiots like myself.
I can see some dirt bag trying to hit on Katie at one of the cocktail tables. She’s got blowing these guys off down to a science. Just as the b*****d crosses the customer-drunken guy hitting on you line she’ll either spill a drink in his lap or if she’s dying for a tip tell them she’s a l*****n which typically results in a bigger tip.
It’s a half hour till they drop the black thing on the ice and the customers are antsy to buy drinks for less than eight bucks before they get to the game. I actually went to a hockey game once when a scalper that frequents the place gave me ice tickets. The experience was fun enough but when I ordered two Coors’ and the beer peddler told me fifteen bucks, I knew I couldn’t make a hobby out of being a sports fan.
Drunk guy in the jersey wants to buy me a shot. Apparently because I’m the man. Drinking recreationally on the job is a no no but if a customer is buying it’s encouraged. Strange how that works. He asks me what I want and I tell him we’re doing a round of Jacobs Ladders.
Jacobs Ladder
Pint glass half full of lager
Shot glass with
¼ Bacardi 151
¼ Mellonball
¼ Bacardi Cranberry
¼ Triple Sec
Splash of Pineapple
Drop shot in pint and drink
Let me tell you, this shit is like Ambrosia. Jersey guy puts his down and within two minutes I see him make a b-line for the bathroom, mission accomplished.
The bar is starting to clear out. Tabs are settled and barstools empty as the morons pile out to watch a bunch of figure skaters with mullets try and convince America that Canada has something to offer the civilized world. I settle the last of my tabs and tally up my tips. 125.67, I might not have to hit the ATM at the bar tonight.
Just as I’m making sure the bar is nice and tidy for the closing girl I get another ring on my cell phone. Of course it’s Traci. She wants to know the score because she’s got a line on a good jazz club tonight. Just as I’m trying to think of a good way to blow her off Katie comes over and wants my ear. She asks if I want to grab some drinks downtown because she’s getting off the same time as me. I ask for a sec and duck back into the broom closet and ask Traci if she wants to grab some dinner. She says that she’d rather skip the dining and get straight to the wineing and go back to her place and s***w. Phone in hand I pontificate on this dilemma for a couple of moments and tell Katie I have plans and I’ll see her tomorrow at work. I then tell Traci that I’ll meet her at one of my favorite hangouts in forty five minutes.
Did I make the right choice? Only time will tell. All I know is that I’m gonna get lit with a beautiful girl who’d rather get tight and f**k than go through the romantic rigamoround. Katie says for me to call her this weekend. All I can think is that the shortest distance between me and happiness is a stiff Jack and Coke.
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Xarpolis
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 15 Oct 2002
Posts: 2884
Location: Philly, PA
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Posted: 05/03/04 - 18:40 Post subject:
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bump ^
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Buntz
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 13 Oct 2002
Posts: 3342
Location: Banner Elk, N.C.
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Posted: 05/03/04 - 22:31 Post subject:
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MORE! I WANT MORE
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-Reneloth-
Toomuchtimeonhands
Joined: 11 Oct 2002
Posts: 959
Location: Dallas, TX
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Posted: 05/03/04 - 23:21 Post subject:
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me 2222222222222222222222
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Kylroi
Rookie
Joined: 01 Feb 2003
Posts: 89
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Posted: 05/08/04 - 12:38 Post subject:
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Wher is this journal coming from? is there any more to htis?
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Xarpolis
RealPoor Guru
Joined: 15 Oct 2002
Posts: 2884
Location: Philly, PA
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Posted: 05/08/04 - 15:02 Post subject: Part 3!!!
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Still drunk, I don my leathers and ride down to the hospital. It turns out that The Captain had a bedsore that got infected and spread to the bone. The stubborn SOB didn’t think to go to the doctor until it leaked so much blood that his blood pressure got dangerously low.
Now there’s a few things you should know about The Captain. First, he’s about the toughest b*****d on the planet. We call him The Captain because that was his rank in the Air Force. He graduated from the Academy first in his class and later went on to serve as an attack pilot in Vietnam. His job was a Forward Air Controller or FAC. Not many people know this but FAC’s had the highest casualty rate of any job in Vietnam. Worse than radio man or tunnel rat. The reason for this was that their job was basically to get shot at. They flew these planes called OV-10’s, the predecessor to the A-10 Warthog, low over enemy territory and tried to get antiaircraft emplacements to fire on them. The pilot would strafe the target with rocket and minigun fire while the BIB or b***h In Back targeted them with a laser guided bomb. Doing this usually allowed the enemy to attain missile lock, hence why so many of them got blown out of the sky.
Growing up my dad would put me to bed with stories of the war. My favorites were the ones involving a guy named Crazy John. Crazy John was one of the pilots in The Captains squadron who regularly earned his namesake. One story involved the night of the Tet cease fire. The NVA broke the truce by launching a multi front blitz on the American line. The Captain and his buddies were drinking in a bar they had built on base when Crazy John decided to go for a walk in the jungle. So he leaves, p**s drunk, wearing nothing more than boxer shorts, combat boots, a bandolier of magazines, and carrying an AK-47 he bought on the black market. On his nature walk he decides to take a p**s and half way through relieving himself realizes he’s p*****g on the head of a VC scout. He then drops one weapon for another and fills the poor p**s soaked gouk full of holes. He then notices black clad figures on the tree line. Running back, in his undies mind you, Crazy John fires wildly into the air while screaming “We’re under attack!”. About this time the perimeter alarm goes off and The Captain and the rest of his squadron suit up to get briefed by the Colonel. Colonel Clean, as he’s called due to his resemblance to Mr. Clean, tells them that they need to get their planes in the air because the VC’s are firing RPG’s at them but first, they need to do something about Crazy John. He’s apparently on top of a bunker firing wildly into the air and has already hit one friendly helicopter. The Captain’s squadron is just in time to drag his ass to his plane so they can all take off before the VCs overrun the base.
Another one I like takes place earlier in the war when The Captain was attached to the CIA’s Air America program in a commando unit. You may have seen the Mel Gibson movie, it was horseshit. The Captain and Crazy John had just been stationed at a small base in Korea where they could patrol the DMZ. The first briefing the Pilots had was from the base General who explained that the neighboring village’s main infrastructure was from a banana plantation next to the airfield. He said that under no circumstances were they to mess with those bananas. That night, The Captain and Crazy John were getting lit on Afterburners.
Afterburner
Brandy Snifter
Fill with Bacardi 151
Ignite
Drink while afire
The two of them were going off about the General when one or the other of them said “f**k the General, and f**k those bananas.” Later that night they snuck back on base and headed over to the General’s quarters and stole his personal jeep. This alone is an offense that could land them a court marshal but what they did next was pure brilliance. They drove to the plantation and mowed down every god damned banana tree there. They then returned the jeep full of empty liquor bottles and half a banana tree in the grill. An investigation was launched but the culprits of what became known as “The Great Banana Massacre” were never found.
After the war, The Captain went back to the world and became a fighter pilot instructor on a base near Laredo Texas. He told me countless stories of having to pull the stick from some white knuckled rookie but my favorite tale from this period involves a crooked Sheriff from a small town between Laredo and the base. All pilots drive flash cars and they stuck out like a sore thumb to the law out in the Texas countryside. If the Sheriff caught one of them going even one mile over the speed limit, he’d impound their car and make them spend the night in jail. The Captain avoided this fate for months but one afternoon while on his way to see a girl he was dating, he got nabbed and thrown in the slammer. When he was released and got his cherry Jaguar XK-E out of impound he found a broken tail light and a the hood keyed. This was the last straw.
The next morning the townsfolk heard a strange sound coming from the east. The sound got louder and to their horror they saw a T-38 supersonic jetfighter flying at rooftop level break the sound barrier on the main drag. The ensuing sonic boom broke all the glass on main street. The Mayor demanded the culprit be brought to justice so The Captain and four other pilots that were in the air during the incident were brought to the base commander. He explained to them that he told the Mayor that they couldn’t be sure who was flying and as a result, unless someone came forward, he couldn’t reprimand them all. He also said that he told the Mayor that he’d be on time paying for the speeding ticket he’d gotten a few weeks earlier.
A few years later, The Captain was a B-52 pilot in charge of a tactical nuclear bomber wing. It was then that one of his secretaries caught his eye. A beautiful young Mexican girl straight out of high school. Within months my mom had a ring on her finger and along came I. We spent my childhood running across America to the dozens of airbases that scatter the country. When I was about seven The Captain developed an unexplained limp and was unable to fly. He retired and took up a career as a programmer. A few years later his condition worsened and he was stricken to a wheelchair while my mom ran off and married my babysitter, a man eighteen years her junior. We spent the next few years taking care of each other in a living situation that was more like roommates than father and son.
Due to his still unexplained condition, trips to the hospital were frequent but it was on Christmas eve my first year of college that I got a horrifying call. The Captain had gone to the hospital to complain about indigestion and found out he’d had six heart attacks in the matter of an hour. Talk about a tough b*****d. They had to remove what was left of his heart and replace it with some Geiger inspired pump that pulsated from his chest. Looking at him in this condition was horrifying. The summer before I’d worked for a morgue picking up bodies and saw a guy who’d ate the end of a shotgun and a fifteen year old girl whose head was crushed by an eighteen wheeler but this was the first time such a sight made me physically ill. He spent six months waiting for a heart transplant, during which time the doctors told me not to hold out much hope and to get our affairs in order. That summer a nineteen year old kid was killed in a drunk driving accident and twenty four hours later The Captain was on his way to recovery.
Tonight is the first time I’ve gotten a call from the hospital since that Christmas eve. As it turns out he’ll only have to spend about a week in the hospital with about two months outpatient care after that. When I got there we shot the shit and exchanged old stories. I asked him what he thought about the rape scandals at the Academy and he said “I think it’s awful. When I was there we had to go off base for our rapes.” Damn I love this man.
After running some errands for him, I told The Captain that I had to get a haircut and buy some new clothes, Katie and I are going out tonight. The Captain told me not to forget to check my six.
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Paden
RealPoor Master of Posts
Joined: 23 Oct 2002
Posts: 9362
Location: North CAROLINA!
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Posted: 05/08/04 - 17:13 Post subject:
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some of those stories smell like shiet!
but i could be wrong
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