Being a bartender can be very rewarding. I have made lifelong friends, and the money's not bad either. However, I need to vent a bit about some things that have really been bothering me.
1. Old dudes that think they have a shot with me.
Now, I am not a pretty young thing anymore. I'm in my thirties, and I'm sure that out there somewhere there are women in their thirties who welcome advances from retirees. However, I do not think those women are typical. I do not date men old enough to be my dad. Nor should you assume that I might. Especially if you are in my bar more than once a week. It puts a strain on our friendly barmaid/alcoholic relationship. Perhaps by the standards of your generation, a thirty-something single mom bartender is "damaged goods." My generation thinks I'm a catch, because I have no diseases, addictions, or debt. I appreciate the compliments, but I can only hear you tell me I am "cuter than a speckled pup under a little red wagon" so many time before my smile begins to feel a little tight. So please don't ask me out to dinner or bring me gifts. It will only cause us both discomfort, because I probably like you, and don't want to hurt your feelings.
2. Toothless meth addicts who think they have a shot with me.
Please read the above paragraph, especially the part about me being a catch. Now apply that reasoning to your own situation. Are you a catch? No you are not. If you are debt free, it is only because nobody would extend you credit. Now get out of my bar.
3. People who don't tip.
I realize that not everybody is made of money. Nor is it your direct responsibility to support me. But hear me out. If you are paying high prices to drink in public rather than picking up a six-pack on your way home, you aren't really that broke. Especially if you are drinking top shelf liquor and sucking it down as if it were Gatorade. Even if you just stick a dollar or two in the jar on your way out the door, that's fine. I just like to feel appreciated, because it is insulting to know that a person is able to tip, but chooses not to. It makes me wonder what I did wrong, and why you are reluctant to bring it to my attention. I also would like to point out that after you and all your drunk buddies leave to go to Jimmy's, I get to start cleaning up after you, so you aren't just giving me money for making your drink. More about that later.
4. People who think I should come out from behind the bar and wait on them on a busy Friday night.
I can serve five people in the time it takes for me to walk over there, find out what you want, come back, obtain it, bring it to you, get the money for it that you inconsiderately failed to give me when you placed your order, go back, ring it up, come back, hand you your change, get stiffed because I wasn't fast enough for you, and go back behind the bar. It means less money for the bar, and less money for me. So unless you tip me at least fifty dollars up front, get off your fat drunk ass and walk to the bar like everybody else.
5. Customers who sit at the bar and demand my undivided attention.
I have stuff to do. I can't sit and talk to you all night. There are other people here with empty glasses who are irritated with both of us. The well is out of ice. The phone is ringing. I have to pee. For the love of GOD shut up. I shouldn't have to stand in one spot and listen to you tell me about your medical issues, the pills you take for them, and their side effects just because I am being paid to be here. It's not my fault you came by yourself. Nor do I want to politely shoot you down repeatedly because you are too shy to talk to any of the other women in the bar. A friendly reminder: they are drunk and I am sober. A captive audience is not necessarily a good thing.
6. Women who puke in the ladies bathroom.
Go outside. That way, there isn't a line of women waiting on you to finish deciding whether or not you're going to puke again. Plus, I don't have to clean it up.
7. Men who put foreign objects (cigarette butts, chewing tobacco, discarded beer bottles, etc.) in the urinal.
You are disgusting. I am the one who has to clean that shit up. I do not want to touch something that was first in your mouth, then peed on by every man in the bar twice. And if you even think about puking in the urinal, so help me God I will find out it was you and put deer guts under the hood of your truck. You'll remember the shame every time you turn on the heater.
8. People who behave as though they were at a livestock show.
You know who you are. You spit on the floor. You put gum in the ashtray. You strew trash and cigarette butts like you're Johnny Appleseed, and Cheetos and Marlboro Lights will magically appear in their place. You think it's cute to get people's attention by throwing coasters at them. You break a glass and kick the pieces into the corner. You get two out of every ten grains of salt actually INTO the beer. You leave large chalk hand prints on the pool tables, and my ass if I'm not careful. Every weekend I spend at least two hours after the bar closes cleaning up after you people. I am not paid for it. It's just part of my duties. I sweep, mop, clean ashtrays, empty the trash, wash glasses, clean bathrooms. It sucks. It wouldn't suck so bad if it weren't for the fact that some people think it's a luxury to go somewhere and be a complete asshole and there's nothing anybody can do about it. Like it's a perk. Yay, I get to grind my cigarette butt out on the floor and not get in trouble! It's almost like finding a mint on your pillow, or having a nurse bring you a bedpan. Lucky you.
9. People who tell me to smile.
Yes, I have dimples. But I don't always feel like smiling. Especially when someone says, "Smile! It can't be that bad!" It is similar to how I imagine Canadians feel when Texans ask them to say "house." You see, I am at work. I know you are having a good time, but I am in the process of bringing home the bacon. If I am not smiling, it is because I am worrying about things I have been too busy to do, or because my feet and back hurt, or because I simply don't like you.
10. People who insist on starting conversations about my breasts.
Do you do that to the lady at the bank? Your waitress at IHOP? Your divorce lawyer? I know they're there. I am aware of what they look like and what you would like to do with them. I don't need you to articulate it. Just put some money in my jar. That's why I wear low-cut tops.
Now that I think about it, most of this stuff wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have to turn down romantic advances from Paw Paw every day.
'k
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