So, April Fool’s Day. I wanted so badly to do so many things today, but I just can’t bring myself to do them, either for the effort required on my part or for the effort required for clean-up. For instance, I thought about doing something to the site (the one you’re reading now), but I sincerely don’t have the time. Then I thought about the bar — the easy thing would be to shuffle all the beer lines so no one got quite what they wanted, but what a mess that would make. Then there’s the idea of replacing all the liquor with water and sweet tea, but again, a mess — our clientele is mob-like enough as it is sometimes.
The best idea I’ve had in a while was replacing the padlock on the front gates with one of my own, and posting a notice (from either the IRS or the health department — either one would be totally believable) about how we had been shut down for contamination or back-taxes or somesuch. But then I remembered that I’d have to sit by gate so no alarmed phone calls were made to anyone who might realize that, yeah, they had meant to padlock our gates, but someone never got around to it.
So I skipped it again this year.
Or did I?
Moohahaha.
On a related note, if only this were part of a bigger prank, I would be a happyhappy man. (Full artist’s post here).
For the second time in two days, I’ve upgraded Wordpress. You don’t know this this time because I’ve not changed the look. And soon, when I do change the look, you’ll think I’ve upgraded again, but I won’t have. Because I’m crazy sneaky like that.
Time to go hurt myself for a few hours. I’m back playing soccer once a week. I figured out that I can do this, because endorphins are good, and if you’re 36 years old and terribly out of shape, as long as you’re on a team comprised of other bartenders and bar regulars who smoke and drink as much as you, you don’t look or feel as bad as you would if you were on the other team. And going out to the sponsor bar afterwards for beer and burgers makes it all warm and fuzzy worthwhile.
Does this count as upgrading me to a new version?
Now listening to
Saigon Kick The Lizard
(Cleaning out the saved drafts I’ve started over the past six months; this one has the seed of a good idea hidden beneath a lot of mold and a really funky smell)
Of all the bartenders I’ve ever known, the best were the ones that weren’t necessarily good mixologists but were unafraid to use whatever tools they had at their disposal to distract from that.
It’s a lot easier to shortpour a group of frat boys when they’re busy focusing on your cleavage.
Continue reading “Clearinghaus: There’s no crying in bartending!”
If you’re standing on my side of the bar, invariably you hear someone say, “I wish I could do what you do.”
After wincing, my response is usually: “Stick around for a few hours.”
Continue reading “If wishes were fishes, we’d all have some horrible food poisoning”
Working in a dive bar is one of the greatest jobs I’ve ever had. In fact, perhaps even more than playing with the Exhibit(s), I’ve felt like a rock star in my nights behind the bar over the past two years. Working just about anywhere else in the bar industry — clubs, where the bone-dusting thump of techno attracts the lowest common denominator of rednecks and Guidos (sadly, Birmingham and New York City aren’t that different — only the names change at last call), lounges with their pretentions that alcoholism isn’t as sad if it’s dressed up, restaurants where the regulars can blame their daily drinking on the call of cheap wings or the widescreen TVs on the walls — just isn’t the same experience, and never could be.
Continue reading “Where pub meets saloon”
While we’re certain that the local judges who picked the nominees for the 2007 BAMA awards are intelligent and discerning (and quite possibly on our mailing list), we notice that there’s a certain band in which we play that was left off the list. Not that there aren’t many talented and fun (and quite possibly on our mailing list) musicians deserving of nominations on the ballot, but we feel that any ballot is empty and incomplete without the Exhibit(s) there.
Continue reading “Shameless, shameless pandering…”
I sat at the restaurant, one that I’ve frequented for years, and watched the floor manager try to placate the customer who got the new server on Friday night — you know, the one who probably shouldn’t be a server in the first place, but heard that it’s easy money and a good way to score drugs? She’s a little ditzy, definitely not cut out for a high volume weekend night shift, but she’s also a good kid, well-meaning and trying her best. She’s waited on me a number of times, and while I might question her abilities, I certainly can’t fault her attitude.
But this moron — and I say that in the old 1960s way, much the same way that people forty years from now will use the word “retarded” — is apparently suffering an aneurysm over the fact that he got unsweet tea instead of sweet, and that it’s taken five minutes longer than he expected to get his well done steak. His poor kids are shrinking underneath the table, while his wife eggs him on, both of them complaining that they’ve eaten here for a decade, at least, and they’ve never had service this bad, and how that girl doesn’t belong in a restaurant, much less a fine establishment such as this.
Continue reading “Well, someone’s always right. Odds are it ain’t you.”
