“Why Don’t You Just Go *@#$ Yourself?”

Posted: March 30, 2012 by divebardiva in Daily Ramblings

Okay peeps, this is what the hell time it is today. As I was perusing through some of our older posts –enjoying them and giggling to myself as to how funny I am sometimes — I came upon this little gem that I forgot to share with the rest of the class.

Now the divebardiva has had to take on another job and now find myself working 12 days at a clip, some days both jobs, some days just one or the other.

I’m not going to lie to ya peeps: It’s been brutal and is really fucking up my “lunch/day drinking schedule” once a week. I mean, the divebardiva needs her release or somebody is gonna get hurt. So here I sit, preparing for yet another shift when I thought, “I need some laughs before I get going on to this other business.”

A few weeks ago, as I was working at my fine little dive, I happened upon an anomaly I like to call “Duck, Duck, Douche.” It’s sort of like that game you played as a kid but instead of “Goose” (you know, the one that has to get up and run around like a dumbass) it’s “Douche.” Clever, right? It’s the same concept, my friends … but with slightly different results. Especially for this particular Douche — who may very well have been campaigning for Douche of the Universe on this particular night.

What I now see as a grave error on my part (mostly due to complaints from people who love my bitchiness), I had decided for New Year’s to be nicer to people who happen into my crosshairs on a Saturday night. On this particular Saturday, I was killin’em with kindness even though my knee-jerk reaction was to punch some bitches in the throat.

I was being so nice, in fact, I was kinda makin myself a little ill. And like every time I’ve been overly nice to people who didn’t deserve it, it backfired like a bitch. Here’s the 4-1-1:

This gentleman comes up to the bar and orders eight drinks. And by gentleman, you all know by now that I sincerely mean Douche. Anyway, I politely inquire as to his waitress situation, and he tells me in no uncertain terms that he has been waiting for 20 minutes for someone to come over. Although I know that this is a complete lie, I stick with my zen plan and placate this bastard like my life depends on it.

dbd: I would love to give you your 8 drinks, sir. However, I’ll need to see IDs from the people at your table. I would be happy to give you one, as you’re certainly over 21. However, I need a waitress to come to your table and make sure the rest of your party is over 21.

DBag: Listen, I’ve been waiting a fucking hour. Just make my fucking drinks.

Sidenote: Notice how the first lie of 20 minutes was not causing enough alarm on my part so he upped the lie ante to 1 hour? Classic douche.

dbd: Sir, I understand your frustration. But it’s our job to card anyone who may be underage. I would be happy to buy your cocktail while I make this happen.

DBag: Why don’t you just go FUCK yourself?

At this point DBag storms out of the restaurant, and I notice that the table right next to the bar watches him leave. I also notice that they look a tad confused by this turn of events.

Now I need to mention at this point that ALL of the people at the table were at least in their 40s and all that DBag would have had to do was point at said table he was buying drinks for, and I would have made their drinks lickety split. He did not do so, however. Instead, told me to go fuck myself.

Realizing that one douche does not always mean a bag o’ douches, I calmly walked to their table and — without preamble — told them the story ending with the now famous line, “Why don’t you just go fuck yourself.”

A very striking lady looked absolutely humiliated as I informed them I would be happy to get them anything they like but that the “gentleman” in question would not be served. The nice lady put her hand on mine and looked up into my face apologizing for her dumbass husband’s extremely poor manners. I put my other hand on hers and knelt down beside her…

dbd: You have nothing to apologize for, and it is I who feel bad for you.

The table all got up and left, and I kept thinking to myself, “What the hell did being nice get me on that one?” It actually got me a lot. Once I realized that it was the lady who I was nicest to, and she truly deserved it.

With that being said, however: If I see that dick face again, a pencil stab to the neck is on his agenda! Hopefull,y he is insured up the wazoo — and me and his nice wife can both get some satisfaction outta the deal.

Well that’s it for today, folks. Just a little sharing from me to you on this fine Friday afternoon. Let us hope we all have a wonderful weekend where the booze and the cash flow like water. I am looking forward to spending a little ladies’ night with the Drunken Whores and the lovely M&M who is visiting from the beautiful south for the weekend!

With love and liquor,


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