I’ll Get You My Pretty…And Your Little Dog Too

Posted: February 23, 2012 by divebardiva in Common Sense ... Not So Common

It has come to my attention that I have been a slack ass in entertaining my fine friends and subscribers with what amounts to an alcohol induced bitchfest…and for this grave injustice I most humbly apologize.

So, this is what the fuck is goin on today peeps…

Okay so I am working on Saturday as is the usual in my little corner of the world. For whatever reason, in the last six years every job that I have ever been hired for has always been a Saturday night. I don’t know why but that is how that bar dice have rolled and I am not one to thumb my nose at the mighty dice. Now as I really only work a couple of days a week and have also been bartending longer than any human should be allowed, I have a tendency to do it up on a Saturday.

Now anyone who knows me or has worked with me knows that one of two things can happen on Saturday nights with either happy results or catastrophic. Saturdays are weird in that they can be busy for dinner and then absolutely die from 9-11. Boredom has it’s drawbacks and one of those would be excessive drinking. Around 11 when people start cramming through the door you may find yourself shit hammered and unprepared for the onslaught that is about to descend upon you like locusts at the apocalypse.

Luckily for me I have worked this shift for quite some time and am well familiar with the potential horrors that await me on any particular Saturday at my particular dive. Now as I said before things can go the wrong way. If the bar is busy but the waitresses are not they may have difficulty understanding why you are pissed when they stand around texting waiting for you to grab something they could easily get themselves. On the same token I have seen bartenders chatting, eating and texting while the drink printer is running like it’s trying to spit out a copy of the Wall Street Journal.

Oddly enough, if everyone is getting their ass handed to them, my peeps have a tendency to work together in a combined effort to keep the bastard locusts at bay. Unfortunately those perfect days of great work and stellar money are very few and far between…however when they arrive – like a perfect dirty Stoli martini- they are like a hug from Jesus. But I digress as the main purpose of this tale is to once again examine how there are some people who have so little common sense they should be banned from eating and drinking out until they either take a class on not being an assclown OR subscribe to the blog and pay attention.

So in the hopes that people who have no common sense will magically be routed to our blog and sign up…I shall just write a little letter to table #3 and hope against all hope that it will get to the people who so desperately need to read it.

Dear Table #3,

We here at our little lake front dive appreciate your business. Although we haven’t seen your particular table of four that we can recall…we are glad you decided that we were the place for you on this particular Saturday night. However, the end of your visit arrives and I notice your waitress asking you if you need anything not once, not twice but thrice. Each time she stops at your table you politely wave her off assuring her that you are in fact, fine.

Now this waitress is one of my faves that I have not quite thought up a code name for as of yet. Now I say this, because to be one of my favorites you need to have an understanding of the somewhat insane person that I am and also that if you are costing me money by forcing me to deal with your customers and not my own, my insanity knows no bounds. Knowing this and me while also working in concert to make everyone happy is a skill that few possess…so the ones that pull that shit off are just plain rockstars in my book. And who doesn’t love a fuckin rockstar?

So, the moment that Rocket goes to pick up a tray of food for her table of 8 in the other room (and she now has a code name) the table comes to the bar.

Bitchy Lady: I need to pay my bill, we need to leave now.

dbd: She is in the back bringing out a large tray of food she will be with you in just a moment.

Bitchy Lady: Listen, I need to leave now…I can’t wait all night.

dbd: Oh I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you were in that much of a hurry when I saw you wave her off when she checked on you, not once, not twice but thrice in the last thirty minutes.

B.L. Well we were fine then…now we are in a hurry.

Rocket was back in a flash and brought the sour pusses their check while they all stood there with a slightly put off and deeply constipated look on their faces. Once again I had to ask myself…why the fuck should poor planning on your part constitute an emergency on mine. I shared my thoughts with Rocket and she concurred.

Were we afraid that telling them how it is would affect Rockets tip? No my friends, cause any server worth their salt knows that much like the Wall Street douche who brags constantly about what a big tip he is going to leave you, anybody who is that bitchy after beers and a great dinner is just miserable and wants nothing more than to spread that misery on you like cream cheese on a bagel.Not to be dissuaded, Rocket and I had a fabulous evening. One that included minimal bullshit and descent tips (not to mention a more than decent buzz) by nights end. We refused table #3’s bitterness bagel and with smiles on our faces and money in our pockets, returned to serve another day.

Well, that is it for today my friends. I hope this foray back into the demented mind of yours truly put a smile on your face and some smartass in your heart.

With love and liquor,


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