Buying Drinks Only Make That Girl Drunker

You are out to meet a new "lady friend" (because some of you hate the word girlfriend) at a bar.  But how do you get a girl's attention?  There are so many guys here the phrase sausage fest has never been more appropriate.  Nice, some knockers just walked by, game on.  You need to direct her attention your way.  What to do?

Does this girl want you, or the hot guy next to you?

"Bartender, buy that girl another drink."

Nice work.  Your common sense is on the level with Britney Spears, who thinks Japan is in Africa.  (And I wonder if she can see it from her house?)

Why is this a bad idea?  I mean, why is spitting into the wind a bad idea?  Because it just isn't a good idea.  A girl accepting your drink means she wants alcohol, not that she is interested.


Men, I will tell you something that I feel like you should have known by now, but you haven't caught on yet:  MEN DON'T KNOW WOMEN.  They don't think like you, so don't assume you know ANYTHING when it comes to them.

The reason why she can do this is because there are so many saps out there who see a pair of hoo-hoos and will shell out money to get close to them.

You're trying to bribe her for her companionship.  And what do we call that ladies and gentleman?  A sugar daddy, well, either that or someone seeking the company of an escort.  A $4 vodka cranberry is supposed to make her allegiance to you?

Let's reverse it.  A girl buys you a pack of batteries, does that mean anything to you?  Are you going to drop everything to talk to her?  I doubt it, but you'll probably end up changing the batteries in all of her remotes.

Who makes out on this deal?  The women, because they realize that boobies = booze.  Men just haven't gotten past the boobies part of the equation.  Simple as that.

It's why women can be groupies to a rockstars.  Men see boobies and women get what they want.  Why is this flawed for you?  You should be able to get what you want in this scenario!  Well...  You're not a rockstar.

Buying drinks for women will only get them drunk and your wallet empty.

Guest Post: Hans Fluffernutter

There is currently a drinking commercial that annoys me to no end: 

I'm calling you out DiSaronno.

DiSoronno on the rocks with cranberry, or whatever terrible mixer, is no longer DiSaronno on the rocks, it's your crappy liquor with cranberry!  Amateurs.  IT IS NOT A DRINK ON THE ROCKS IF YOU MIX SOMETHING ELSE WITH IT!


It would be like pouring a can of Miller Lite in a cup and calling it draft beer.  It's a can of Miller Lite poured into a cup.


This blog is about booze and whatnot so I should talk about it.

Note to bartenders - when the place is empty, you act like an idiot and take forever to serve someone, there's a good chance it'll affect your tip.  Not getting tipped at all might be an extreme, but it should be noted.  (Meant for a specific bar in the Burgh, you know who you are.)

Note to patrons - if you like a lot of booze and want extra, just get your drink neat or on the rocks (but not DiSaronno because they obviously don't know about drinking either); don't order a mixed drink and then complain about it being weak.  Also, just order something normal.  Nothing is worse than someone dragging out the bartenders time for some fancy drink.  I just want my booze.

Guys, never buy a girl a drink in a bar if you just met her.  She is just flirting for a free drink.  This is a fact.  If a girl is truly interested, she will buy you a drink.  (I always buy my own drinks.)

Hold off breaking the seal as long as you can.  Those lines for the bathroom can be murder.  But, as much as Billy Madison might have said, "Peeing your pants is cool!", it's really not, so make sure you go before that happens.

Things you should never talk about at a bar: politics, religion, and Boston (because if someone is there from Boston, they are annoying as can be and you'll never hear the end of it).

Don't be mad if you get cut off at a bar.  It's not the bartenders job to babysit you.  It's not amateur hour.  Act like you've been there before.

Any type of whiskey with a meal is a bad idea.  The whiskey kills the flavor of the food on your palate.  Drink beer.  Drink anything else.  As long as it's not DiSaronno.

When at a bar, please do not play death metal.  There's nothing less enjoyable with alcohol than "Kill your mom!  Kill yourself!  Kill your fish!" music.  (Again, you know what bar your are!)


What have we learned today?  Don't be an idiot when you drink.

Keep on drinkin.

D-Bag Alert!

Single men and women (and sometimes not so single people) are always looking to find a mate at a bar.  (Which is typically a terrible decision, but that's a post for another day.)  It often baffles me when women's radars are tuned to the biggest idiot in the place even if they are amassed in nice guys. The biggest kicker is when they get hurt, dumped, cheated on, or just treated terribly and cry, "I don't know what happened.  I can't believe he did this to me!"

Well, get with it sister, because most of us saw it coming, and all you had to do was ask your bartender.

I'm gonna test you.  These three guys are at the bar with you.  Which one is the d-bag?

via Flickr



via UM News



via pointincase.com

If you didn't guess all three then you were wrong.  Why?  Because it's all about the shtick.

The shtick can be anything that stands out in a crowd; loud clothing to scream attention, sunglasses indoors (and usually at night) because it creates "mystery", the sad guy because it makes people want to talk to him and console him, the muscle shirt to show off his biceps (even though it might be 40 degrees outside), etc. 

Personally, my favorite is the sunglasses man.  I have to fight the urge to sing, "I wear my sunglasses at night... So I can, so I can..."

Speaking of which, Corey Hart, original d-bag.




It's amazing that girls can't see past the rouse sometimes.  What about this gentleman's TapOut t-shirt intrigues you?  That maybe he'll teach you some MMA moves?  Sorry to burst your bubble but he's probably nothing more than a jacked up Daniel-San.

Bartenders have seen every type of distraction in d-baggery known to man:  I have tons of money = My parents still give me an allowance; I have a really nice house = I live in my parent's basement; I like wearing blazers because I'm a refined man = I will be outside your bedroom window later watching you sleep, but it's okay because I'll do it Corey Hart style with my sunglasses on.

If these degenerates were any more obvious they would come with their own neon signs announcing it.  (And I think the men's neon orange Jersey Shore glow technically counts as such.)

What have we learned today?  D-Bags are everywhere.  Beware.

Fifteen Percent, Smifteen Percent

You had a great night at the bar, and buzzed might be a little bit of an understatement.  You check out your bill, and you know it's been a good night.  If you stay any longer, your bartender will probably start to charge you rent.  Time to cash out and tip.  (Okay, carry the one...  Add the two...)  Ahhh, 15%.  You are so impressed you can even do math right now.

Although math skills are impressive, this isn't the SAT.  Whatever bonehead started the 15%-flat-rate-no-matter-what rumor needs a serious Silence of the Lambs muzzle, because that idiot has started a trend to which no diner/drinker should wholly adhere.

Why?

There's nothing more frustrating than working extra hard for a tip and getting next to nothing.  There had to have been too many occasions when I almost grew an extra 5-feet, turned green, and almost ripped someone's face off.  I'd love to let the Hulk out, but I'd also love to have a job the next day.

There are a lot of things that go into tipping other than bill total.  First, if you have put in a longer shift or close to what the bartender is putting in (and I'm not judging), you might want to consider the tushie time you have put in.

If your rear has been parked in the same spot so long that you are almost fused with the bar stool, you need to tip according to time.  You're taking up a spot other people coming through would've occupied and tipped.  Just use the 15% as a guide and not absolute.

I have heard the rule of not leaving coins on the bar for a bartender.  I will say, I'm okay with it, as long as you are leaving bills along with it.  If you leave your dimes and pennies only, you better come prepared with a helmet because I've seen and heard about bartenders whipping the change back at the patron.  You will see the girliest of girls turn into Randy Johnson throwing straight nickle heaters back.

I also want to leave you with a little bit of advice, in case some of you think you're James Bond.  Don't ever not tip a bartender when it is busy because you don't think we notice.  A BARTENDER ALWAYS KNOWS, and we are always willing to help you out with a coin concussion to keep you reminded.

Bumpin' Uglies in the Bathroom

When you love someone, it's inevitable that when alcohol is involved, you tend to show it more; extra kisses, extra hugs, excessive amounts of I love yous.  And why shouldn't you?  Showing those you love is never a bad thing.  So what?  You're in public, as if people haven't seen a few extra smooches before...  And footsies...  And leg touches...  And your tongue in someone's ear...

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I understand that alcohol takes inhibitions away, which could be an excuse for why some people go to bars for picking up "dates", but I don't think I will ever understand the escalation to bumping uglies in the bathroom.

Recently I caught a couple trying to sneak into the men's restroom together.  Because nothing screams, "Do me!" like urinals and pee-pee soaked floors.  Next time choose ask the bartender where the bar's dumpster is because you want a cleaner place to play hide the salami.  At least the couple that tried this two weeks before chose the women's room.  Women actually care about aim.  Sometimes I think men try to make a urine mural in a bathroom, and just because you can't see it isn't there.  And there isn't a sanitizer in a bar that gets out the "just peed on" smell you just perfumed your clothes with.

When you drink with the opposite sex, the alcohol produces a Booze Haze that makes you less aware of your surroundings (much like the Alcohol Induced Headphone Syndrome I referred to in "Bar Ears"), i.e.: people who are watching you doing some heavy petting on the bar stool.

You don't have superhero powers that make you invisible.  But, if you think you are super sneaky, think of yourself as Wonder Woman in her invisible jet.  IT'S INVISIBLE, just like the barriers you think are up at the bar.  You can see Wonder Woman, right?  Well, we can see you, too, Mr. and Ms. Crotch Rubbers.

Even paid escorts have enough sense to find hourly rate places that are close.  So take a page from their book and scout the Motel 6s nearby, your bartender will be grateful that customers without public nudity charges patronize the bar.

Cheers to You, Smirnoff Ice Man

Oftentimes this blog takes on mocking many things about the bartending experience, but "Cheers to You" does the opposite.  I toast those who make me think, and that is just plain awesome.

A man's drink says a lot about the man himself.  Cheap beer bought by someone young usually means a college student, martinis usually mean refinement, long islands usually that someone wants some punch in their drinks.  But there is one man that is seldom seen and confuses me enough that I think he is awesome.  The Smirnoff Ice Drinking Man.


Not only are you hard to find, but when you surface, you order that drink with such certainty that I don't even question it.

You don't Bro-Ice your bros because you just don't waste good alcohol like that.  Feeling the burn of "good" scotch or the harshness of beer just isn't what you're into, and you don't think that makes you a sissy.  And come to think of it, other men drink pink mixed drinks or use fruit to make beer taste better; so you're response is, "Who's the real sissy now?"

 So, cheers to you, sir!  You drink Smirnoff Ice because you  like the taste and just don't give a damn about what other people say.

Tobacco, Gum, and Boogers! Oh My!

Ah, finally ushered a few drinkers out.  As a bartender, I know the cleaner the bar, the more likely you are to fill the open spots.  I take the beer/cocktail glasses to the sink, take dishes to be washed, then start clearing away the throw-away stuff...  And as I reach for your napkin, my hand instantly regrets not flipping you the bird before you departed.

"Haha, yeah, I hawked a loogie," said the Mailman from Ohio (and I had complete permission to quote him).

Have you ever heard the term, "...and a cherry on top"?  That cherry is what makes the experience complete.  To ensure a shift will be demanding (to get through without alcohol), leave your tobacco chew, chewed gum, and snot rags behind for us to clean up.

As if dealing with wack-a-doos on a daily basis wasn't enough, you leave us bodily fluids that you have expelled from your body...  As if touching boogers should be a normal part to my workday.

You can't just say, "What?  It's not like you can get my cooties" or "Everyone does it, so it's not that gross."  Well, if this were an Everybody Poops book, that would make sense.  But this situation would be Everybody Poops on My Kitchen Table.

I'll flip it on you:  After a dinner party, you are cleaning up.  You stumble upon something on the floor.  You pick it up and throw it away.  Then a cold realization sets in when you know what it was, and you feel like vomiting.  What was it?  A used tampon (and yeah, I realize, this is gross).  But, I bet you're thinking the culprit is more than a Cootie Queen.

And my response to the bar culprits is more than, "Pickle you, kumquat."

I'm going to tell you about a newfangled invention that bars have, that are really great for things like this.  They are typically round, sometimes ovule, maybe 2-3 ft. high, and are hollow.  They are called garbage cans.  And they are found throughout the bar.

Anything you are pulling out, spitting out, blowing out, etc. from your body, feel free to dispose of it yourself.  Otherwise, being called a "lint licker" will easily be the best moniker you'll be dubbed.

Guest Blogger: Miss Rebecca

There is a moment—frequently reached by many—when you meet your breaking point with a frustrating, impossible person, and you find yourself muttering the all too common question: what makes a person act this way?

Although I am not, and never have been a bartender, I am surprisingly still very much able to share a sober tale in a drunken world. My sober tale does not involve alcohol-induced drunkenness (or so I assume), but rather, it involves movie theater patrons intoxicated by a large dose of poor social etiquette. 

With that said, my past job working as a concession attendant at a movie theater had me asking my aforementioned question by the hour, on the hour. 

When you think movie theaters, intoxication probably does not come to mind.  Popcorn, Raisinettes, Coke and countless others only seem reasonable, but never drunkenness. I am here to tell you, think again.  I’m letting you know now, prepare to wrap your head around a few sober tales guaranteed to be original and unfathomable by a sober mind.

My experiences begin after the movies let out.  All of the movie-goers filter out of the theater, leaving all of their trash behind.  My job is to pick up their filth. 

Encounters with leftover trash in the theaters ranges from popcorn crumbs to rubber gloves filled with mysterious substances, which I still to this day care to know nothing about in the slightest.  I expect to toss cups, popcorn bags, candy boxes, even the occasional fast food bag, but an 18” pizza box?  How did you get that into the theater?  At that point, I’m not even mad; I am impressed. 

Yes, it gets weirder than a pizza box. A co-worker of mine struck gold one night. He was strolling down the aisles and kicked a rotisserie chicken. Plates? No. Napkins? No. Bite marks in the chicken?  Yes.  All I could picture was a ravenous beast pressing the chicken to its mouth, biting and chewing uncontrollably.  What were they thinking?  Are we in the stone age?  (Okay, you snuck the pizza box past me. Kudos to you, but a rotisserie chicken?  How?!  Shame on me.)

M&M’s, sure. A bottle of water, yes.  Hell, I encourage it.  I know how much a bag of popcorn goes for these days: $11.00 and your first born (but don’t forget that one free refill!). 

My discoveries didn’t stop at the mutilated chicken. 

Movie-goers often forget their items in the theater . We’ve all been there.  But the normality at forgetfulness stops with this next one.

I had a customer ask if any sunglasses were found in the theater.  I assured them the theater was combed through with no sunglasses found.  But, they reassured me they absolutely, positively had to be in there, because they distinctly remembered placing their sunglasses on their baby’s dirty diaper.  (You know, naturally, like normal humans do.)   I was beginning to think I was way overpaid at $7.85 an hour, but thank you for the reassurance.

Here comes the big kahuna.  I know you’ve heard of the movie with the blue creatures.  Well, if you haven’t, I know you’ll never forget it or think of it the same again. 

I was in the back room grabbing a few extra rolls of paper towels when a co-worker walked in looking for a mop and sanitizing spray.  She seemed a little frazzled to say the least. 

“Someone left me a little surprise on the floor of theater 8,” she said. “He got a little too excited at the movie.”
Leave it to me to exploit an awkward, humorous situation.
“Was it Sprite?”
“No.”
“Was it pee?”
“No, let’s just say he went up and down and around the mountain.”

You got it, folks, masturbating in the theater. 

I’m sticking with one of my co-worker’s comments. If it takes blue people to get the guy off, at the very least let him finish.

I know, I know. What were they all thinking? They had to have been drunk … or so you would think ... hope.

Crotch Bravado is the Downfall of Your Swag

The doors open, you wonder if the bar is ready for your game.  Looking so fresh...  No, phresh.  Got your flat-brimmed fitted and your swag on.  What's your entrance?  G-Walkin'?  Buck Jumpin'?  Jookin'?  Cue pimp walk.

Great first impression.  Not too many broads in the place tonight.  Female bartender.  Niiiiiiice.  You can hear your theme in your head, "I'm a hustla baby, I just want you to know..."  You sit down.  Say something real smooth.  "Hey mama, I have an 11-inch anaconda...  Nah, I ain't serious baby, it's really only a 10-inch python but you get the idea."


Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?  For her sake, I genuinely hope not, because if there were such a thing as verbal herpes, you'd be spreading it like an epidemic.

Not only as a bartender, but as a person, my question to you is, has that actually ever worked before?

I cannot choose which concept is more laughable:  the fact that you think I care what is going on underneath your FUBU pants, or that quoting lines from a pornographic movie is okay in real life.

Dirty talking your bartender is a whole other category of a Napoleon Complex.  Your crotch bravado is setting off serious red flags that are screaming, "Listeners beware!  I'm really hung like a light switch."


Any jokes or statements regarding swimsuit zones are flat-out creepy and there's no loop-hole on this issue.

I can give you one place in America lingual VD is tolerated, Sheri's Ranch Brothel.  But, if you insist on spreading the word, I am bound to call animal control to euthanize your 11-inch issue.

The Cost of Free

If ever there was a phrase that every bartender could erase from a patrons vocabulary because it is our nails on a chalkboard, it would probably be "Can I have a free one?"

Why?  Because you are using profanity.  If this were a perfect world, I'd go old school disciplinarian on you and offer you an Irish Spring cocktail, so I could wash your mouth out with soap.

Let me tell you what I'd like:  a million dollars, to look like a super model, and a Porsche to drive around in, and that isn't going to happen either.

This is neither a flea market nor a mooch market; you can't bargain your way down to $free.99 or get something for the price of on the house.  And since Terminix doesn't work on getting rid of people, your bartender is forced to deal with this pest issue.

When you ask, "Can I have a free one?", this is what I actually hear.  You are essentially branding yourself with a scarlet letter: C for Cheap.

Obviously I need to get the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future to haunt your Ebeneezer keister till you learn some money manners.

If you get cheap on us, we will pull out the inner child on you.  Remember when your mom used to get on your about cleaning your room, and the more she asked, the less likely you were to do it?  Grab a mirror and wave; meet mom.

I also wish asking for free stuff worked in life.  "Hey, sir, no don't order any drinks, can you give me a 20-dollar-bill and leave, please?"  Doesn't sound right to you?  Well, if you aren't willing to give me your money for nothing, don't expect alcohol for nothing.

SIDE NOTE: If you want to learn what else not to say to your bartender (that we hear too often) click here.

Bartering for Beers, Classic

So, a man walks into a bar, and says, "Bartender, I'll have a beer."  Then reaches into his pocket pulls out tons of miscellaneous items.  Counts out all of his loose change and says, "I have $2.41 and some m&ms.  What kind of beer can I get for that?" (True story.)

There are certain things that happen every bartending shift, that no matter how weird your day is, they are guaranteed to happen: customers come in, they receive their goods, they cash out, and then leave.  Literally the ABCs to a bartending shift.

When you bartend, you can usually pick out the people who drink socially, are looking to get sauced, and those who are jonesing for alcohol so bad they would probably suck an alcohol swab dry.

Sometimes I run across Mr. Swab Sucker that must thinks he found a DeLorean and traveled back to the Old West, where the bartering system is still in use.

Not that some things aren't worth bartering for, such as swapping a monetary tip for Steelers tickets, but when your payment offerings are m&ms that are so scuzzy that the red ones have turned pink, I would start to think you are sniffing glue with your alcohol swab dinner.

I can't trade cows and chickens for moonshine.  And this isn't 1864.

Can you imagine if I tendered m&ms for payment?  That would mean I could pay my bills in Twizzlers and Skittles, and maybe buy a house worth 1,000 previously chewed gum wads.

Let me be frank for a moment...  If you are paying in nickels and dimes to begin with, give your couch a shake down and you can probably come up with enough for a bottle of Vlady from the liquor store.  As much as I'd like to entertain bartering as a classic American game, Monopoly money isn't real money, and neither are m&ms.

A Bartender Is Your Friend, Not Your Girlfriend

Jackpot.  This bar has a good looking bartender and she's into you.  Obviously.  You can see all the signs: she keeps smiling at you, keeps coming back and making conversation (mostly about you and what you do), and your beer mug is always full.

Two scenarios can possibly play out:

1)  You don't want to be the cocky d-bag you know she sees on a daily basis, you pull a slick James Bond move.  You get your credit card receipt and you write your phone number on it.

2)  You ask her for her number, and she pulls out a pen and writes a number on the back of a receipt.

So impressive.  There's no way anyone has ever done that before.  We should start calling you Rico Suave (Swav-ayyy).

Really?!  (I kind of feel as if I'm in an Amy Poehler/ Seth Meyers REALLY?! skit.  It's that obvious.)

And one of two things will play out:

1)  She doesn't call you, but you do receive a phone call from someone named Ruth, telling you, "I eat shmart buscuits everwee day."  (Just want to point out that it would probably break some laws about possible identity theft IF WE KEPT YOUR CREDIT CARD RECEIPTS.)

2)  You get the phone number, wait two days and then call.  Three rings.  "Hello, Domino's Pizza.  How can we help you today?"

Let me give you some great advice:  Your bartender is your friend, not your girlfriend.  It's our job to be nice to you.  We work for tips.  Do you have any idea what the hourly pay for a bartender is?  $2.83.  All joking aside.  So when we say, "We work for tips," we legitimately work for tips.  Now, that you are following, let's finish the word problem...  And how do we get good tips?...  We are nice to customers!

Ohhhhhhhhhh! (Light bulb goes off.)

It never ceases to amaze me how many times a patron mistakes niceness for interest.  It is all around you, in several different scenarios. Your grandmother is nice because she wants hugs; your elementary school teacher was nice because she didn't want to be fired; a dairy farmer is nice to his cows because he doesn't want kicked in the chest.  In all these scenarios, there is no charm and attraction.  (If you're disagreeing with me on this, I'm willing to bet you've seen one too many X-Rated movie.)

As much as you gentleman would love to find a significant other comparable to those in chick flicks, we'd love to find Bill Gates as a regular customer.

Just remember that if a bartender is nice to you, he/she is simply good at his/her job.  Tip accordingly.  If you think I'm off my rocker, I hope you like Chinese take-out.

"That Lady"

Since the "that guy" post I've been asked to write about his counterpart.  So, thar she blows!

It's your night out.  Get your hair did, put your face on, and pick out the right outfit.  Time to find yourself a man who will keep the drinks coming.  You open the doors and do your super model strut; Tyra Banks eat your heart out.  And you know you're looking good...

You get your drink and put your radar on, how can any man resist you?

The only problem is the only thing men want to buy you is a full length mirror.

Yes, skin usually equals a man's attention; that's why the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition is so popular.

But, let's get real here, there's only one Tyra Banks in the world, and most of us will never look like her.  So, why would we think wearing a super model size would ever get us free drinks?

"That lady" happens way too often at the bar.  When she thinks her sexy outfit is exuding pure sex, but it exudes desperation/craziness.

I feel like as a woman, it is much easier to get a man to get what you want, versus a man to find a woman to get what he wants.  So, is it necessary to try that hard?

Not only are muffin tops offenders, but I love when a woman sits down and her ENTIRE thong is hanging out of their pants.  Don't you feel the draft?  I'd assume your cheeks might be a little chilly...  And as a bartender, it's not really my job to tell you that you are flashing the innocent bystanders, but I really, really want to.

There are three things on a check list that can help you identify whether you are an offender:

1) Are people around you often in the mood for muffins or baked goods when you are around?
2) Do people often ask if you're a cat owner, without knowing anything else about you?
3)Are you closer to getting your AARP card than your driver's license and shop in the Junior's Dept.? or you borrow your teenage daughter's clothes, because you're the same size?

If you've answered yes to any of these, please, please, please, look at this picture again and take it all in, then cover it all up.  Although I see crazy things at a bar, some can be avoided.

Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, e.g.: Manners!

It's busy, maybe three deep at at bar, and you're thirsty.  You see the bartender through the sea of people, then as if the Red Sea had parted by Moses himself, you see an opening and you dart to the bar hoping you are one step closer to getting your beer.

You aren't noticed right away.  You start flashing your money in the air; that doesn't work.  You start snapping your fingers; the doesn't work.  You start yelling to get the bartender's attention; that doesn't work.  You get impatient.  How long can it possibly take to get a beer?  I mean, you twist off a cap, cash them out and move on.

Obviously this is why you aren't being served.

Remember the everything I need to know, I learned in kindergarten signs?

There's a reason why this is so popular.  Because small teachings when we were younger still hold true when we are adults.  Remember, "what's the magic word?"  Yes, please and thank you go a LONG way when you want something.

Personally, if you want a bartender's attention, learn their name, say, "Excuse me", and know what you want.  There is nothing worse than an impatient bar patron flashing money, like it's bait for a fish.

WE'RE NOT STRIPPERS.  If we were, we'd have names like Cherri Pie and come with bios about how many golf balls we can fit in our mouths at the same time.



Also, if you think we're all motivated by money, ask yourself this question:


Are you this guy:

My guess is no.  But, if you think that you're just as good as him, you're probably this guy:

Remember:  Your money is just as good as the next guy's, whose money we will also be glad to take.  But you are probably looking to get boozed up, and we'll make you the soberest person in the place, and then you won't have an excuse as to why you are an idiot.  So learn your manners, and then you can blame it on the alcohol.

"That Guy"

The ideal bar for most is what was depicted in Cheers, "where everyone knows your name."  But do you really want your name to be "that guy"?

We all know who "that guy" is.  It's the one that most people don't know by birth name, but by some distinguishing characteristic; usually one no one says to their face because it's mocking or making-fun of them.  Such as, "Do you know Dave So-and-so?...No?  Oh, I mean Drunk Dave."  i.e.: the guy who brings a case of beer with him wherever he goes, for no other reason than because he wants to make sure no one else drinks it.  "Ohhhh, that guy."

There are many other "that guy" qualifications, such as "creeping", where you just say creepy things and weird everyone out, "scrooging", where the terrible tipping rumor spreads like wild fire and you hear "Bah, humbug!" way past the Christmas season, and "excessive blasting", where your bodily functions (like chair rumbling) will get you permanently labeled as "Toots McGoots" for life.
NOTE:  These are real things, inspired by real life.  If you think I don't know a "Toots McGoots", think again.

Everyone has their nights; drunk nights, sick nights, bad nights, and embarrassing nights.  They key is to be normal every once in a while (with the exception of the creeping, scrooging, and blasting, which are pretty permanent labels).

You don't need a gimmick other than normalcy.  We relish in the idea of having regular people who don't cause problems or make us reach for our pepper spray at the end of the night.  Don't be "that guy".

Bar Ears

You had a crazy weekend.  Filled with drinking, people, and some fuzzy details that you can't wait to divulge to your closest friend.  You make your plans: meet at a bar, drink, and maybe eat in between revealing your juicy weekend excursion.

Pinky promises, blood vows, promising of one's first born, etc. if details are repeated are exchanged and then you start spilling your guts because no one is listening.  Your secrets are safe.

Wrong.  Your bartender is always listening.  It's called "bar ears".  And we hear EVERYTHING.

The reason?  Any bartender is taught to be tentative in order to get bigger tips.  Which is why you get drinks in a timely manner, get your check quickly, or get your food order in ASAP.  We aren't eavesdropping on your convo, but although we'd like to have selective hearing, we can't flip the switch to that setting.  It would be like telling a genius to choose to selectively be smart, or a comedian to selectively be funny.  With those restrictions, you're paying for mediocrity. Who does that?

Moreover, let's look at the situation:  people talking about secrets + in public + alcohol = you might as well have posted it on Facebook.

I liken this to wearing earbuds/headphones and listening music loudly, then trying to talk to someone in the same room.  It often ends in Earbuds screaming the conversation.  That is EXACTLY what happens after a few drinks.  You get Alcohol Induced Headphones; your outside voice is now your inside voice, and it just keeps getting louder after every shot of tequila.

I know you are thinking, what could a bartender actually hear?  Couples discuss intimacy, friends talk about hook-ups, people talk smack, patrons describe criminal acts, couples cheating, and this is the proverbial tip of the iceberg (minus the juicy details).

I'm not complaining.  Bartending wouldn't be fun if there wasn't entertainment.  And that's exactly what people provide when alcohol becomes part of the equation.

However, if you want to avoid the public alcohol megaphone effect, grab your favorite bottle or case, and invite your BFF over.  Otherwise, be assured that your secret will be safe between you, your pal, bottle of Jack, and your bartender; and while the first three might not be talking, sometimes what we hear is just too good not to repeat.