You Ask, We Answer: Bad Tippers and Good Tequila

Posted: May 3, 2011 by divebardiva in Q&A: Ask Your Bartender

Okay people, we’ve come to yet another segment of Ask Your Bartender! I think that after this week we are in need of new questions.  So please feel free to add your query to the comment section of this post.

Sidenote: Anyone who has not shamed all of their friends into joining our foray into drunken debauchery needs to get on that shit. If Vodka Toxic’s mom can be our biggest fan and share with her scrapbooking peeps then the rest of you can do your part. We need 100 subscribers by June 1, and I want as many more as possible before we hit the bartender expo in the Keys in August. Thank you for your support!

So I’ve waited on folks all over the planet. Even when we were in Greece — and no one could understand that I wanted tequila — they made me come behind the bar and make drinks for me and all my friends.

In other words, I get it. I understand people and all the weird shit they bring to the table, drunk or sober. It’s behavioral analysis drunken-style. And after this long my friends, I am a master.

But it wasn’t always this way. I was once just a young grasshopper trying to snatch the pebble from the master’s hand. It was the douchebags that taught me the lessons I required. Much like getting your hand smacked with a ruler over and over again, sometimes learning just ain’t pretty.

So, here we go.

Q: Have you ever had a tip that was so bad you confronted the customer?

A: This is a tough one because, normally, it is really bad form to say something. My dad always told me that you take your chances being a bartender. Sometimes it’s worth it, sometimes it’s not.

I’ve always found things to even out. I try to pass that wisdom on to my waitresses when they get in a bad mood about one jackass or another. There is usually someone out there who will make up for the douches. It’s the way of the world.

When I first started bartending, I was also waitressing at the very same J.J. Whispers. We were located right by the airport and had an influx of different airport personnel and also large groups of bikers. Now the weirdness of this situation was that the girls I worked with were always so freaked out about waiting on the bikers — but were more than happy to wait on pilots. I was the opposite and for good reason.

Now, I have to say at this point and time, that I grew up around flight people. My mom was in the biz since I was born, and I have had more than one friend who flew the friendly skies as well. However, I’m confident in saying that — with a few exceptions — pilots are generally arrogant assholes.

This really became a sticking point for me one sad Saturday night.

I was running my ass off with a 10-table station and doing pretty well for myself in the grand scheme. J.J.’s had a prime rib special on Saturdays, and it was good food at a great price.

Near the end of the special, a group of pilots came in and sat down in my section. At first meeting, they all seemed very nice and were quite well behaved. They all ordered the prime special, and then the douchebaggery began.

First, they commented as they ordered that I wasn’t writing anything down. Now when I was 17 I had a memory like Rain Man. I could remember drinks and food for a table of 10 people without a second thought. (I can’t do it for shit now but I have bigger boobs, so I consider it a fair trade.)

Then they made a few less-than-classy remarks regarding my age and jail bait and the like. I did what I always do and laughed it off, pretending like their degrading asshole behavior was exactly what I was used to. I brought a few rounds of drinks for them, and about that time, their primes were ready to bring out as well.

Now, back in the day, I was the same way about meat temps as I still am about drinks. To me, I can look at someone and see a drink. Names, no way. Drinks, all day. So when I walked up to the table with the extremely heavy tray I noticed right away that someone had moved seats.

I set all six dinners down on the table as they ordered them — and not as they were currently seated. I then looked at the dumbass who clearly thought he was ever so funny and said, “If you’d like the medium rare you ordered instead of the medium well that is in front of you, I suggest you go back to your seat.”

All the other guys laughed but pissy pants took it as a personal insult. Which to be quite honest it was…but also one that was well deserved by his dumb ass.

After several more hours of pedestrian jokes and general douchery, they asked for their tab. Now please understand that this is back in the day, and dinner for the five of them came out to about 40 bucks. Drinks and such for a few hours added another 38 or so.

I brought them the tab, and the head dumbass gave me $80. Now I was trying to give them the benefit of the doubt and brought back the .68 change. (I was hoping for at least a $5 from them even though that wasn’t even 10 percent.)

To my amazement, they had already sprinted from the table and were on their way out to a large BMW sedan in the parking lot. I sauntered out behind them as quickly as I could.

As they were all getting into the car, I slammed the .68 on the trunk and simply said, “Thanks for thinkin of me guys, but I’ve already got bus fare.” I then smiled a big smile and shook my ass the whole way back into the bar.

Q: Have you ever really seen anyone do a barmat shot?

A: Yes, a few times, and every time it was stupid and disgusting.

Q: You’ve said you love tequila. What’s your favorite?

A: I do love tequila and have tried lots and lots of kinds. I had a few in Mexico that I am pretty sure had some kind of peyote in it (but loved them as well).

I had mescal once and ate the worm, then proceeded to pass out for maybe 12 or so hours after pulling some shenanigans I am still not 100% sure actually happened. But if they did…damn.

Cuervo, Patron, Herradurra and Tres Generations are all good choices, and I like Sammy Hagar’s Cabo Wabo as well.

I will say that I have searched and searched for a tequila that my good friend Carrie served me at the now closed Stein Club in Atlanta, when I happened in there on a two-week east coast road trip. It came in a triangular cobalt blue bottle, and although I don’t take training wheels with my tequila, we had this particular one with blood grapefruit and sugar.

All I can tell you is that it was so damn good, I would never drink another kind if I could just find out what the hell it was. Oh, where are you Carrie girl?

Anyone familiar with this tequila? Tell us! And don’t forget to subscribe to the blog by entering your email at the bottom of the page.

  1. Pretty says:

    Don Julio! Best tequilia EVER!!

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