Duck Farts and Cheesy Fries

Alcohol is a strange and wonderful thing isn’t it? It makes people do the craziest stuff and as a bartender, I have a front row seat to witness people affected by adult beverages. Here’s a little sample for your reading pleasure (or horror).

What ever happened to manners?

A simple “please” and “thank you” goes a long way when you’re trying to get the bartender's attention let me tell you. In fact, when I don’t get these common courtesies the perpetrator will find that the ordinarily exemplary service I provide will dwindle dramatically. So, if you whistle or knock on the bar or snap your fingers (yes, people still do this) or shout in an attempt to get my attention, I might pretend that you’re not even there. Shit, I might even have to explain the rules to you. Here they are:

• If you need me, be patient. I know that if you don’t get another rum-and-coke your head might explode but guess what, you’re not the only one here.
• If you don’t know my name, just ask! Or try one of the following like this, “Excuse me, when you get a minute, do you think I could get another one of these please?” Or, “Sir, my I please have another one?” It’s really not hard.
• Never, ever, ever, refer to me as “Tiger” or “Champ” or “Guy” or some other name you would use on a six year old. I know that my appearance belies my age but I’m forty for chrissake.

I can hear you!

You know the “private” conversation that you’re having with your best friend at the bar? Did you happen to notice that my head is about a foot and a half from your personal space and I’ve been reorganizing the same stack of cocktail napkins for the last fifteen minutes? Yup, I have heard EVERYTHING! Gee, it sure is interesting that you haven’t had an orgasm for two years or that the guy you met on the internet just wanted to have sex with you and he lied about wanting to “find someone” or that you think that the woman at the table behind you looks like a slut or that your last boyfriend had a big one but couldn’t last, or that your jeans cost only $250 but your coat was, like, $750. Or you can’t grow a proper “landing strip”. Yes, I eavesdrop but I can’t help myself. It’s like watching reality TV live and I just can’t resist. What it comes down to is that people are so wrapped up in themselves that they don’t even notice I’m there until they need a drink.

Know when to say when!

When you’re drunk you’re drunk and it’s almost never pretty whether you are male or female. I know it’s not fair, but women for the most part are particularly obnoxious when they are sauced. If you don’t believe me or even disagree, that’s fine, but once you have been a sober witness to literally thousands of drunk people like I have, you might change your mind. It gets particularly tough to watch with older women—it’s just embarrassing. Last summer we had an incident where it was last call on a weekend and my co-worker and I refused to serve a couple of ladies who probably had too much to drink before they even got to us. So we politely cut them off.

Can I just pause here and say how goddamn embarrassing it is to have to tell somebody that they've had enough. For some reason it's harder when they're women and older than me. “I’m sorry ma’am but I think we’ve done all we can do for you tonight” is the nicest way to put it. Sometimes they don’t understand and just stand there swaying back and forth and staring blankly which is always sad. And then, several awkward moments later, the inevitable question, “Why?” Why? Seriously? Well for starters, your fly is unzipped, and your breath smells like someone puked in a litter box and you can barely stand and I don’t think that you are normally cross-eyed…besides that I don’t have a single reason.

Anyway, these ladies decided to stumble outside and came back a few short minutes later thinking that they were in a different bar and attempted to order a drink. Again the answer was no and they left in a huff and tried to get served elsewhere. Well, despite their best efforts, they apparently couldn’t get served anywhere so they came back and parked themselves outside at our patio seating. Mind you, this all took place within twenty minutes while we where closing down and getting everyone out of the bar. I almost forgot about them honestly until I saw that they had a cab ready and waiting but the ringleader refused to get in explaining to her friend that she wasn’t done “partying”. I couldn’t believe it. Getting a cab at any hour in this town is a minor miracle let alone at last call. Finally, in a last ditch effort to redeem herself and keep “partying”, our hero gathered herself together, stood up, steadied herself for a second and headed back in to the bar. As soon as I saw her coming, I exited the bar and let the other bartender deal with her because I could almost not bear to watch. I kid you not this is was what she said: “Could I get a Duck Fart and some cheesy fries?” It was as if she was in a drunken time warp and got zipped back to a place where she was much younger and in a bar where this was a common order. She didn’t even say please…

My Hip Hurts

My hip hurts. Not all the time but lately when I get up in the morning, the left one is sore and it takes a while to work it out. When I sleep on my left side it also hurts and I have to flip over. I run a little which probably isn’t good for it because it’s always worse after. I’m 39 but most people think I’m younger. While bartending the other night, some jerk that didn’t look much older than me actually called me “Tiger”. When I was in my early thirties, people would guess my age to be mid twenties. I would often brag about that. Recently someone actually guessed my exact age and I got a little offended. “Try again,” I said.

My Labrador Frank and I are about the same age. In dog years he’s five-ish which makes him around 35 in human years. Not long ago, when we went to the dog park I would open the gate and he’d bolt through at a full sprint, daring any and all comers to chase him. When a dog races into a dog park it’s an invitation to play and almost all dogs stop whatever they are doing and join the chase. The other dog owners would marvel at Frank’s speed. Sometimes they would even whoop and holler when he’d tear into the park. He’d really get the party started. These days he’s slowed down a bit. He had an ACL injury that took him off his game a little. His surgically repaired knee isn’t as good as the real thing and I can tell he knows that he’s not the fastest kid on the block anymore. He still likes to play chase a little but the younger dogs catch up to him quickly and he quits after just a couple of short laps.

I know how he feels. A friend of mine who, by the way, is fourteen years my junior, invited me to play on his indoor soccer team. I thought, why not? I’m in pretty good shape. I’m not talking the kind of shape where I could run a marathon but if a homicidal maniac escaped from the loony bin and was chasing me, I think I could out run him--especially if he was wielding some sort of heavy weapon like a chain saw or a big axe. Besides, a lot of those psychopaths have some sort of limp or other debilitation that would slow them down a little. Anyway, I’d been a good player in high school so I figured it would be a great way to burn some calories, reduce stress, and get a little competition back in my life. I was right on all accounts but I’m not sure I’ll do it again. For starters, I was so sore after the first game, it literally took me a week to recover. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to play the following week because I was having a hard time walking for several days. It’s really a bitch on the ol’ knees too. The field is essentially old Astro Turf covering hard concrete so you can imagine the toll it takes on your joints. I’ve been lucky enough to never have had knee issues, which is rare. I have friends who have had both knees done which has reduced their options when it comes to sports and heavy duty exercise. After two eight week seasons of indoor I had difficulty standing from a squatting position which is no big deal if you sit behind a desk all day but when you’re a bartender, well, let’s just say it’s no picnic.

Plus, when you get a bunch of old has beens running around in a big box and there is a ball involved, there’s always some jerk that takes it too seriously. You know the guy I’m talking about—he’s a little over weight but still wears the jersey he wore when he wasn’t, so it resembles a sausage casing. He’s got Ace knee braces on both knees and an attitude. He makes up for his physical short comings by yelling at the other members of his team during the game and he high fives a lot. I want to win as much as the next guy, but I’m not pretending that it’s the World Cup finals here pal.

Back in my glory days I could play an entire soccer game without a substitution then ride my bike home barely winded. Now I find myself relating to the guy in the Lipitor commercials. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of these complaining types who has to go to the doc every time his back hurts and it’s all doom and gloom. I’ll be forty in a couple of months which means that I have my whole life to live over again plus a few years hopefully. Aging doesn’t have to be a bad thing--I’m just not sprinting out of the gate like I used to.

Everything Old...

I have this old typewriter that my friends gave me. It's a Corona and I think it's around 70 years old. I like to bang out letters on it to friends or family occasionally. I get a kick out of it. I like the feel of the key stroke and the cheerful "ding" sound it makes when you near the end of a line. Advancing to the next line requires pulling the return lever to the right which I find much more gratifying than hitting the "return" button on today's computer key boards. Spell check is out of course, so careful typing is a must (I need to get some of that correction tape).

The comedian Louis C. K. jokes about how everything is amazing but nobody is happy. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8r1CZTLk-Gk) He uses the example of air travel. He talks about people complaining about lines and delays yet they're experiencing the miracle of flight sitting in a chair in the sky! It used to take years to go from New York to California now it takes five hours. His point isn't lost on me. We're so spoiled it's a little ridiculous. Especially kids. Almost every kid at the many schools where I've subbed has either a cell phone or an ipod or both. If they don't get the newest model or, God forbid, it gets taken away, they throw a fit. My dad bathed in a galvanized tub until he was 10 and these kids bitch and moan because they can't get a cell phone. Unbelievable.

Keeping a link to our past and how things used to be makes us appreciate all the incredible things we take for granted. Like banging away on that old Corona of mine. It just feels right.

Never a Dull Moment

My wife. She'll tell you that she's not picky, she just "knows what she likes." She likes nuts but only certain kinds and never ever in baked goods. Don't even think about it. When she's really desperate or when it's a baked good that she particularly likes, she will squeeze or pinch the nuts out of it and set them aside. It's a messy affair but it gets the job done. Nuts in salad she likes but only certain types like the candied kind--but never walnuts. She Loathes walnuts. Cola has to be Coke NEVER Pepsi. One time we'd stopped at a fast food place that didn't have Coke so I got her Pepsi thinking that she wouldn't know the difference. Boy was I wrong. She took one sip, paused, took another, then looked at me like I just ran over our dog. I'll never make that mistake again. Cantaloupe? Yes. Honey Dew? Never. No watermelon either. (Who doesn't like watermelon?) Before we met I guess it was worse. She didn't eat pizza for several years because she got sick from pepperoni once. She ate chicken but never on the bone. She said it made her "gag". Wheat bread is ok but not multigrain. Those little crunchy seeds and things in there are too much like nuts.

She has these funny other little quirks too. She loves a good cheese burger for instance and there's a drive in burger joint in her home town that has been around forever. She must have been to this place dozens of times over the years and when we were dating she took me once. It was my first time and I wasn't sure what to order. There are at least ten different variations of a burger on the menu so I asked the expert which one was her favorite. "I don't know about the burgers, I always get the grilled cheese." This place is called BURGERVILLE by the way, the grilled cheese is just something they put on the menu for the occasional vegetarian that is foolhardy enough to dine there. It's world famous for it's burgers but my wife who, as I previously stated, loves burgers, has no idea how good they are because she has never had one. Not one! How strange is that?

Here's another good one. The rigors and stress associated with being a Realtor are, at times, almost too much for my wife so it's customary for me to make her a drink after a long day. She likes a good cosmopolitan which is traditionally served in a martini glass. Well, the other night after finishing her adult beverage, we moved on to wine with dinner. This is where it gets weird. Instead of getting up and getting a wine glass, she went ahead and poured that wine right into her martini glass like it was a perfectly normal thing to do. In all my years as a bartender, I had never seen wine in a martini glass before. I didn't know what to do. She just looked at me and shrugged as she took a careful sip and said, "See, tastes the same."

Now don't get me wrong, all of these quirks and peculiarities as crazy as they may seem are, oddly enough, endearing to me. Because just when I think I've got them all figured out, she throws another one into the mix just to keep me guessing. But that's one of the reasons we're so good together--never a dull moment.

Drink Recipe

This post is devoted to my friend Leslie. On her birthday, a bunch of us made up cocktail recipes that were supposed to capture her personality--here's my entry.

“Malibu Leslie”

Ingredients:

1 ounce Malibu Rum

1 ounce Mandarin Vodka

½ ounce fresh lime juice

1 ounce pineapple juice

1 ounce orange juice

Directions:

1. Go to liquor store. Search for the rum and vodka. Ask yourself why they can’t be right next to each other or at least in the same isle! I mean they’re both clear right!? Ask clerk for help. Go to pay for booze. Search in bag for wallet and ID. Remember to brag later about getting carded. Keep looking for ID in vain. Apologize to clerk who is now busy trying not to look pissed and wondering why he even carded you in the first place. Remember that you left your ID in your running pants. Explain to clerk your predicament and realize that it doesn’t matter because he has already given up and rung in your order and is now just waiting for you to pay. Be thankful that you didn’t forget your debit card.

2. Go to grocery store. Search for other ingredients. While shopping, wonder why you set out on this mission in the first place. Call Beth on one phone and text No Smell on the other phone simultaneously to ask them if they want to do happy hour somewhere convenient for everybody but HAS to have outdoor seating that preferably is not close to a noisy road and has both shade and sunny areas plus cheap drinks. Try to remember what it is that you’re looking for. Wonder why you’re in the paper products isle. Remember that you need toilet paper. Be sure to get the softest yet most economical brand possible.

3. Once you find the produce isle, ask yourself how many limes you will need to produce a ½ ounce of juice. Forget the real lime and just grab one of those little plastic limes that have the juice already conveniently squeezed inside it. Stop and ponder three things: (1) can you recycle this little fake plastic lime? (2) Does it need to be refrigerated after opening? (3) Why don’t these stupid things come with directions?

4. Spend the next half hour gathering the other two ingredients.

5. Once in checkout line, notice the cute sling backs the woman in front of you is wearing. Wonder where she got them. Consider asking, but then don’t.

6. Head outside and wonder where you parked. Call Pistol Pete and suggest that it might be a perfect evening for a fire out back. Hope that he invites you over for dinner and martinis. After arriving at Pete and Beth’s, hand over ingredients and let the expert take over.

Sit back and enjoy!