I have long been a bar person, but not just any kind of bar. Shortly after becoming of legal drinking age my good mate Brown introduced me to two bars that have coloured my perceptions of every joint I’ve entered since. The first was the Rocking Chair Lounge in beautiful downtown Orland Park, one of the more ‘affluent’ (read yuppies, a mall, and for a long time no blacks) suburbs on Chicago’s Southside. In such a surrounding, the Rocking Chair was a bastion of working class sensibility to my otherwise violently cynical visage.
The second, Karl’s Pub, is still standing today and remains my favorite drinking establishment in the world. Why? What make’s Karl’s so special? The people. And that’s that. As I told my younger sister when she turned twenty-one and then again my younger cousin on the same occasion, you can go to all manner of bars and they’re looking for a good time but by nature they are really only as enjoyable as the people there. You could go to the wickedest club in Los Angeles or Rome, Italy for that matter, and if it’s filled with unfriendly, mean or stupid people you WILL NOT have a good time nor a strong desire to return, unless of course you are either a sadist or a person studying human behavior for its own sake. If you are studying human behavior and you find a bar filled with these kind of people, you should probably apply for a job there, because as I’m sure I will reiterate many times here, there is no better place to learn the psychology of the human animal than from the unique vantage point offered serving people intoxicants.
Speaking of pubs and clubs, a large part of this issue of what makes a bar good is obviously personal taste. What I like, you might not like, and vice versa. So how do people find out what they like? How do you look at the phone book for your area, surf through the names of all the drinking establishments possible and pick something to try? Well, for many it’s by what type of bar they are. Let’s go over some of the different genres, if you will, eh?
Bar – This is an obvious general term for an establishment that serves liquor, beer and/or wine for consumption on its premises. The term probably originated as slang by outsiders from the days when public drinking establishments required membership and non-members were ‘barred’ from joining in. This was in contrast to our next division,
Pub – shortened slang for ‘public house’, the opposite of the membership required bar, anyone could drink in a pub. Internally ‘bars’ and ‘pubs’ all have their own layout, specialty and design, but the distinctions between the two exist only in the long ago day that their patronage was different. It is common knowledge that Britain tends toward the use of the word ‘pub’ while ‘bar’ is a slightly more American use for the same basic type of establishment.
Clubs – A club does not necessarily serve alcohol, but most do, unless they market themselves to minors, in which case non-alcoholic beverages often accompany bad dance music. Of course this implies that only minors listen to bad dance music and if you’ve been to only a couple of clubs in your life you can probably atest to this as not being the case. No, bad dance music is a non-discriminating tribulation of modern society and it is my belief that when in the hands of alcohol-swilling adults it poses an even greater threat in that the prefix ‘bad dance’ shifts from an adjective to a verb.
Clubs usually have themes and it is in this way that they target market their clientele and gain a regular following. For instance, just in case you have been living under a rock (as I often would like to) there are Goth clubs with their pseudo-vampire clientele, there are Strip clubs, where, depending on which gender they market to, members of the opposite sex dance naked for show. There are gay clubs and leather clubs, dance clubs and rock clubs and all other manner of themes you can probably imagine. I have even come across ‘fight clubs’ in my day – a bar that houses a large boxing arena and people decide who in the crowd they wish to beat, if the other party is game (which they almost always are – I mean, imagine the social pressure) both sign wavers absolving the club of any responsibilities and then they fight for the amusement of the other patrons.
Taverns – essentially just another word for a bar, although in some areas the distinction of ‘tavern’ is bestowed by tradition or legal license, the term is more closely related to the days when ‘taverns’ were the same or similar to ‘Inns’. Think medieval days when road weary travelers needed places to stop along their arduous journeys in order to replenish themselves with food, beverage and a place to lay their head for rest.
………………..
So there you have it. Distinguishing for yourself what the various monikers of potential hang-outs and watering holes may have in store for you will help you narrow down your search for the kind of place where you can get down to business and do what it is you are traveling there to do, relax, meet people, party and have a good time!
Once again I’ve segued away from myself though. How did we get to this mock encyclopedic listing anyway? Oh yes, my favorite watering hole, Karl’s. As I was saying before my digression, Karl’s is my favorite because of the people. The barkeep on Monday (not Tuesday) and Wednesday through Friday is Dee and since the very first time I walked in Karl’s and sat down she has been one of the nicest people I’ve ever known. And the same can be said for the clientele. I love a place where I can go catch a buzz and read or talk all manner of interesting topics with intelligent people. For me, from the perspective of my experiences, that’s Karl’s.
This is what you need to have in your corner if you’re a bartender or waitstaff. It’s like ‘homebase’ where you can recover after your own shift pouring drinks. Clubs tend to have industry nights, and that’s when they have special prices for ‘tenders and wait staff. But while this can come in handy from time to time, do you really want to go to a club to unwind after work? If you do, then that’s all well and good, but if you’re like me and prefer a little more mellow most nights after slingin’ poison and dealing with drunks, find a tavern with good people on both sides of the bar and relax. And for god’s sake, if you’re in the business I shouldn’t even have to tell you this, but treat your waitresses and bartenders right, okay? In my experience, other than it being the right thing to do, there is a kind of slippery Magick to bar life, and one aspect of that is a direct correlation between the way you tip and the way people tip you.
You’ve been warned.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
What You don't do...
...when you walk into a bar, and I can't stress this enough and that's why I'll underline it with profanity, what you do NOT do when you walk into a fuckikng bar is piss off the bartender. Some would say, 'no shit, that's common sense,' but since when has common fucking sense had ANYTHING to do with the real world?
There was one customer, we used to call this guy Quarters. Wanna guess why? This guy would come in every weekend for the band, sometimes on Wednsdays as well (the mid-week band night) with his pig-ugly woman, what I can only assume via the similarities in facial abnormalities was her sister, and then the sister's boyfriend*. These were the most obnoxious people EVER (I'm probably going to say that every time I describe an obnoxious customer, get used to it. Maybe I should hold a contest when this is all written and done and you readers can email in and vote for who you think is the most obnoxious, then I could tally the results, fly back to Chicago and staple a certificate to that person's forehead. What'dya think?). I mean, they would sit at the bar and make out, tell you to 'shoo fly' if you happened to be anywhere near them while this occurred, exchange and inspect 'adult novelty books and items' at the bar, like they had to try and flaunt the fact that their decrepit asses were getting laid - UGHHH! It makes me sick just thinking about it. Quarters was known to have a generally disrespectful presentation to anyone in the service industry. He'd bark out commands instead of requests. He'd finish his drink and pound on the bar to get your attention. He'd holler "YO! Bartender!~ Can I get a Fucking drink down here or WHAT?" across the bar.** They'd order appetizer platters, mixed drinks, martinis, pina coladas, ALL AT IN THE SAME SITTING. Or the sister's boyfriend, he'd just drink tap white zinfindel most nights (yes, I said it, it's not a lie, we had bad white zin on a tap at this bar. You know where the flow originated? a BOX of wine, several hundred feet away in our walk-in cooler. It was hard enough to keep the beer lines running fresh over all that distance, what do you think already shitty wine must have tasted like? Here's a hint - a once watched it drive a grown man to tears).
Quarters would always order shots of Chartreuse, so he could light them on fire and impress his lady friend. I guess he thought this made him look like a bad ass. I don't know about you, maybe my palette just isn't 'cultured' for Chartreuse, but to me it tastes like it looks (the green one at least). Like someone took rotten mouthwash, mixed it with old, untreated pool water, and then filtered that merry combination ever so carefully through their German Shepard's asshole, letting the results collect in a pothole and then submerging the bottle to fill it. Cap that bitch and BOOM! Instant hatred in a bottle.
As they drank, ate, danced (?) and tongue-fucked they would get louder and louder. They'd par off and go out on the dance floor like middle-aged, over weight white people who came of age in the seventies and reached the pinnacle of personal exploration thinking Linda Ronstandt went well with Fondue and Cocaine would and make complete fools of themselves. I mean, here are the people that paid seventy dollars to see Miami Sound Machine at the height of their 'Conga' phase. These are the people that ruined American culture and drove millions of kids in the late seventies to Punk and millions more in the eighties to Satan-metal posturing. I'd imagine their children slipped away on school nights and sacrficed squirrels in the local graveyard, desecrating Baphomet's name just because one of the assholes in a band like Saxon mentioned it in a song.***
All this, and at the end of the night, when the Chartreuse was gone, the lipstick smeared and the hot wing bones left piled high on the bartop and in the ashtrays, do you know what Quarter's left as a tip?
Guess.
TWO FUCKING QUARTERS.
Habitually. Every time. For real. I mean it.
One time one of the other bartenders actually ran after him and said, 'Um, excuse me sir, you left your change on the bar'.
Now, many of you no doubt have had service gigs. This sounds like a nightmare, right? Well, I'd also be willing to bet that there are people out there, maybe people reading this, maybe people the people reading this know or even wait on that do not realize that this is inappropriate behavior. Inappropriate to the people handling the things that you are soon to be consuming, and frankly just downright inappropriate IN PUBLIC, IN GENERAL.
So there you have what not to do. Now I give you 'why'.
Quarters and his friends professed a love for Grey Goose vodka. They ordered it all the time. LOVED the taste of it with cranberry. Guess what? Quarters might have paid the over-inflated price for Grey Goose, but he NEVER drank it. Nope. I believe the brand we used in the well was Barton's. So in a blind taste test, you might say four out of four assholes choose Barton over Grey Goose.
Maybe I should be going to the Barton marketing with this? Oh yeah, the company's probably run out of someone's sister's house, so probably no advertising there.
Gin? Tanqueray? Nope. Barton.
Tequila (and here's where you'd think he'd know the difference, as good tequila, such as the Cazadores he'd order is a world away, no a goddamn UNIVERSE away from the Montezuma he'd get.
Furthermore, guess who never got a clean glass?
I could go on, but use your imagination.
These are the reasons you DO NOT walk into a bar the first time, let alone EVERY SUBSEQUENT TIME, and treat the wait staff there like shit. You WILL pay. They may not be able to laugh in your face, but they will laugh amongst themselves the following week when they here you talking about the terrible diarrhea you had after the last time you went out, and you just cannot figure out why.
....................
*can you still call a fifty-something year old coouple 'girlfriend and boyfriend? I know people who do but their mostly tacky, irritating people who would trade their souls to be able to re-do the younger years they squandered.
**That actually only happened once on Eye and mine's shift, as she had to put up with alot of his shit, but profanity can still get you kicked out of decent establishments you know. Believe me, I know.
***yes, I just dropped a Saxon reference. Deal with it.
There was one customer, we used to call this guy Quarters. Wanna guess why? This guy would come in every weekend for the band, sometimes on Wednsdays as well (the mid-week band night) with his pig-ugly woman, what I can only assume via the similarities in facial abnormalities was her sister, and then the sister's boyfriend*. These were the most obnoxious people EVER (I'm probably going to say that every time I describe an obnoxious customer, get used to it. Maybe I should hold a contest when this is all written and done and you readers can email in and vote for who you think is the most obnoxious, then I could tally the results, fly back to Chicago and staple a certificate to that person's forehead. What'dya think?). I mean, they would sit at the bar and make out, tell you to 'shoo fly' if you happened to be anywhere near them while this occurred, exchange and inspect 'adult novelty books and items' at the bar, like they had to try and flaunt the fact that their decrepit asses were getting laid - UGHHH! It makes me sick just thinking about it. Quarters was known to have a generally disrespectful presentation to anyone in the service industry. He'd bark out commands instead of requests. He'd finish his drink and pound on the bar to get your attention. He'd holler "YO! Bartender!~ Can I get a Fucking drink down here or WHAT?" across the bar.** They'd order appetizer platters, mixed drinks, martinis, pina coladas, ALL AT IN THE SAME SITTING. Or the sister's boyfriend, he'd just drink tap white zinfindel most nights (yes, I said it, it's not a lie, we had bad white zin on a tap at this bar. You know where the flow originated? a BOX of wine, several hundred feet away in our walk-in cooler. It was hard enough to keep the beer lines running fresh over all that distance, what do you think already shitty wine must have tasted like? Here's a hint - a once watched it drive a grown man to tears).
Quarters would always order shots of Chartreuse, so he could light them on fire and impress his lady friend. I guess he thought this made him look like a bad ass. I don't know about you, maybe my palette just isn't 'cultured' for Chartreuse, but to me it tastes like it looks (the green one at least). Like someone took rotten mouthwash, mixed it with old, untreated pool water, and then filtered that merry combination ever so carefully through their German Shepard's asshole, letting the results collect in a pothole and then submerging the bottle to fill it. Cap that bitch and BOOM! Instant hatred in a bottle.
As they drank, ate, danced (?) and tongue-fucked they would get louder and louder. They'd par off and go out on the dance floor like middle-aged, over weight white people who came of age in the seventies and reached the pinnacle of personal exploration thinking Linda Ronstandt went well with Fondue and Cocaine would and make complete fools of themselves. I mean, here are the people that paid seventy dollars to see Miami Sound Machine at the height of their 'Conga' phase. These are the people that ruined American culture and drove millions of kids in the late seventies to Punk and millions more in the eighties to Satan-metal posturing. I'd imagine their children slipped away on school nights and sacrficed squirrels in the local graveyard, desecrating Baphomet's name just because one of the assholes in a band like Saxon mentioned it in a song.***
All this, and at the end of the night, when the Chartreuse was gone, the lipstick smeared and the hot wing bones left piled high on the bartop and in the ashtrays, do you know what Quarter's left as a tip?
Guess.
TWO FUCKING QUARTERS.
Habitually. Every time. For real. I mean it.
One time one of the other bartenders actually ran after him and said, 'Um, excuse me sir, you left your change on the bar'.
Now, many of you no doubt have had service gigs. This sounds like a nightmare, right? Well, I'd also be willing to bet that there are people out there, maybe people reading this, maybe people the people reading this know or even wait on that do not realize that this is inappropriate behavior. Inappropriate to the people handling the things that you are soon to be consuming, and frankly just downright inappropriate IN PUBLIC, IN GENERAL.
So there you have what not to do. Now I give you 'why'.
Quarters and his friends professed a love for Grey Goose vodka. They ordered it all the time. LOVED the taste of it with cranberry. Guess what? Quarters might have paid the over-inflated price for Grey Goose, but he NEVER drank it. Nope. I believe the brand we used in the well was Barton's. So in a blind taste test, you might say four out of four assholes choose Barton over Grey Goose.
Maybe I should be going to the Barton marketing with this? Oh yeah, the company's probably run out of someone's sister's house, so probably no advertising there.
Gin? Tanqueray? Nope. Barton.
Tequila (and here's where you'd think he'd know the difference, as good tequila, such as the Cazadores he'd order is a world away, no a goddamn UNIVERSE away from the Montezuma he'd get.
Furthermore, guess who never got a clean glass?
I could go on, but use your imagination.
These are the reasons you DO NOT walk into a bar the first time, let alone EVERY SUBSEQUENT TIME, and treat the wait staff there like shit. You WILL pay. They may not be able to laugh in your face, but they will laugh amongst themselves the following week when they here you talking about the terrible diarrhea you had after the last time you went out, and you just cannot figure out why.
....................
*can you still call a fifty-something year old coouple 'girlfriend and boyfriend? I know people who do but their mostly tacky, irritating people who would trade their souls to be able to re-do the younger years they squandered.
**That actually only happened once on Eye and mine's shift, as she had to put up with alot of his shit, but profanity can still get you kicked out of decent establishments you know. Believe me, I know.
***yes, I just dropped a Saxon reference. Deal with it.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Welcome, what's your poison???
So, I was a bartender for five years. Ahh, five of the best years of my life. Worked about ten hours a day, three days a week, made more than I made at UPS before that (having been there 6 years by the time I jumped ship, so hourly the big brown was giving me somewhere around $15 an hour, but at three, maybe four hours a night, well...) and more than I make now as a full-time supervisor at a corporate book giant. Imagine that. Yeah, so like I said, five of the best years of my life. So, while it was all happening I kept a log. Not from the beginning, but about half way through the second year I just started writing down random incidents because IT WAS SUCH A STRANGE FUCKING JOB. I mean, really, sex, drugs, maybe not rock and roll, but live lounge bands three times a week, so, you know...
But I digress. So as I wrote this stuff down, more and more I wanted to turn it into a book, or a comic or something. I still tell people these stories all the time and they still laugh their asses off. There's just something about the life of a bartender. For one it makes you into a barfly, and barflys always have stories to tell. But when your on the serving side, you get a special view that no one else in the joint gets - they all see cross sections - you see the whole story. You see everyone come in sober and leave stoned. Or you see everyone come in stoned and leave, well, more stoned. Or in a paddy wagon.
So this is going to be a running attempt at putting these stories down. Hopefully it'll get me a book deal or something. Then maybe Oprah will read it, recognize it for the triumph of human spirit it is (really!) and pimp it in her book club, then I'll get rich and open my own bar. I always said, if I ever had my own bar, two rules: 1) Tuesday, Wednsday and Thursday I'd be behind the bar with my old partner in crime 'Eye'. 2) Every single employee there would get the same start-up speech, "If anyone disrespects you, other customers, gives you shit or just generally acts like an asshole, THROW THEM THE FUCK OUT. Or better yet, call me and I'll THROW THEM THE FUCK OUT.*
There, introductions forthcoming, lets move on to the first entry.
Thanks for reading.
*Yes, I know its somewhat hard to believe, but some people do act like assholes in bars. Hijinks are one thing, but mean-spirited dirtbags who like to pick on those of us in the service industry? Cannon fodder as far as I'm concerned. You'll get a much better idea of who does and doesn't fall into this category as we continue on.
But I digress. So as I wrote this stuff down, more and more I wanted to turn it into a book, or a comic or something. I still tell people these stories all the time and they still laugh their asses off. There's just something about the life of a bartender. For one it makes you into a barfly, and barflys always have stories to tell. But when your on the serving side, you get a special view that no one else in the joint gets - they all see cross sections - you see the whole story. You see everyone come in sober and leave stoned. Or you see everyone come in stoned and leave, well, more stoned. Or in a paddy wagon.
So this is going to be a running attempt at putting these stories down. Hopefully it'll get me a book deal or something. Then maybe Oprah will read it, recognize it for the triumph of human spirit it is (really!) and pimp it in her book club, then I'll get rich and open my own bar. I always said, if I ever had my own bar, two rules: 1) Tuesday, Wednsday and Thursday I'd be behind the bar with my old partner in crime 'Eye'. 2) Every single employee there would get the same start-up speech, "If anyone disrespects you, other customers, gives you shit or just generally acts like an asshole, THROW THEM THE FUCK OUT. Or better yet, call me and I'll THROW THEM THE FUCK OUT.*
There, introductions forthcoming, lets move on to the first entry.
Thanks for reading.
*Yes, I know its somewhat hard to believe, but some people do act like assholes in bars. Hijinks are one thing, but mean-spirited dirtbags who like to pick on those of us in the service industry? Cannon fodder as far as I'm concerned. You'll get a much better idea of who does and doesn't fall into this category as we continue on.
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