Asshole Down!

This is the documentation of my night.

This evening around 9 p.m. a tall bald gentleman dressed in a white dress shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots came into the bar and sat at seat three on the bar. I was not behind the bar when he ordered, but he had Grey Goose with a Chamord float and a twist. He did not appear to be intoxicated when he entered the bar. He got up to use the restroom, which entails walking across the restaurant, and slipped. I did not see it, but another server did and came and told me. I asked her if he was all right and she yes. I asked her if there was anything on the floor and she said no. He returned from the restroom and asked to speak to a manager. I said I could help him. He told me that our floor was ridiculously slippery and he didn't know what kind of wax we used on the floor, but it was unnecessary. I replied that we didn't use any wax on the floor, but we would certainly look into making it less slippery. I never told him that no one else had ever slipped on the floor, although no one ever has. He showed me the bottom of his boot, which was very slick and had absolutely no tread on it. He told me that he did not know what type of shoes we wore here, but he had on absolutely normal shoes and it was ludicrous how slippery the floor was and that he could sue us and take everything we had. I asked him if he was hurt and he said no and that he wouldn't sue the bar anyhow because he was already rich. He then added that he was from New York City and had a sick sense of humor. At this point I figured he was done, he had vented, we had established that he wasn't hurt, and I said that we would look into the floor not being so slippery.

He takes a few steps and then asks me my name. After I reply, he begins to personally attack me by telling me that I need to change it. I replied that I was sorry that he had happened to take a spill in our restaurant, but that was no reason to personally insult me. He then sat down and started rubbing his arm saying that it had pulled out of the socket when he slipped and once again he would sue us. I assured him that if he had hurt himself that we had insurance that would cover his medical bills and asked if I could call him a doctor. He said that he didn't need a doctor and that he wasn't going to sue, that he had all the money he needed. He then proceeded to start calling people on his cell phone. He made a big scene about calling people and telling them where he was, but never said that he was hurt. I had a server make him an ice pack for his arm. He never put the ice pack on his arm. He just rubbed it one more time. He complained again about the slippery floor, claiming he was a hockey skater and a superb athlete, not one to be clumsy or slip on a floor. I left to go to the office and called the owner of the bar, to ask him to come down to talk to this man. The owner said he would be right down. I went back out and told him that the owner would be right down to talk to him. He said that he would not still be in the bar; I told him that the owner was well on his way and would be present momentarily. To that, he got up and left the bar.

He never appeared to be intoxicated, rather an arrogant ass on an ego trip.

1) Here are the other written down statements as to the night.

A man walked by us at the bar, fell and grabbed my arm for support. When he rose he complained about his boots and seemed intoxicated. He carried on about his cowboy boots and the floor. He seemed fine and without injury. And he left the bar.

2) We were having a great dinner. We saw the man next to us walk around and slip on the floor, he appeared to catch himself but was very embarrassed and made a big deal to a couple that was directly behind his slip. When coming back from the restroom, he started talking to a waitress, then accused her of being defensive because her arms were crossed. But he was talking about suing the place. (I personally always cross my arms) He asked her name and then told her to change her name. He had really bad energy. He said a kid was laughing at him. He was very aggressive. Called someone complaining.

On that note, I hope this man dies and burns in hell.

This guy went into a bar and ordered a beer. He happened to look down the bar and see a man sitting there with a head the size of a cue ball. So he walked down and said to the man, “Excuse me sir, I don't mean to be rude but I noticed you have a small head. Is this a birth defect?” The man said “No, I got this in the war. My ship was torpedoed by the German's in WWII. I was the only survivor on the ship so I swam to shore. One day a mermaid swam up to me and said she would grant me three wishes. For my first wish I wanted to return to the U.S. The mermaid granted that wish. My second wish was to have all the money I would ever need. Wish granted. My third wish was to have sex with the mermaid. She said, ‘I can't grant that wish because mermaids can't have sex.’”

So I said, “How about a little head?”

Distill the Distillers

Well, the hiring issues are over. I offered the position of food runner to the girl whose father is a chef. She obviously didn’t take it. The firefighter came back. And for the first time in the history of the restaurant, the staff is good and happy and they all work well together. It is such a relief to go to work and not have any staff issues.

Tonight I wanted to strangle one of the most annoying men I have ever met. About two months ago, my husband and I went to dinner with the people who own the bar. We went to a new restaurant in town and were treated extremely well, with a lot of extra attention. The next night, the bartender and owner of that restaurant were in with a man who distills vodkas and bourbon for a living. He asked if I had his bourbon, which I did not but I told him I would bring it in. He gave me his card and I saw that he also had a lot of interesting flavors of vodka, so I decided to try one of those too. Upon arrival of these two liquors, I immediately opened them and found that they were just a fancy label and a nice bottle away from being locally distilled rubbing alcohol. The bourbon I ended up pouring off in the well and I managed to finagle the vodka into a cocktail that includes muddling a bunch of basil, and adding enough lime and sugar to mask any hint of what the vodka actually tastes like.

This evening this man came in and I merrily showed him that I brought in his beloved vodka. He asked me what we used it for and I made him one of these labor-intensive cocktails. He loved it, and then asked me what the story was about the 360 vodka because he hadn’t seen it. I told him that it had an incredible flavor profile and came from a very progressive company. I said it was comparable in taste to a vodka that we carry that has been filtered 100 times and tastes almost like tap water. I said that I had tasted it to the Grey Goose and it definitely had less impurities to it and had less flavor. He then went off on a rampage about how Grey Goose is shit and of course nothing tasted good compared to it. He went off how Grey Goose isn’t really from France and it is really made in Ohio. If I looked at the bottle it would say it wasn’t made in France. I looked at the bottle and it said it was distilled and bottled in France. He continued about the disgrace of Ohio-made Grey Goose and I said, what is the problem with Ohio. It’s in the grain belt of this country, if any place should make vodka, why not where we farm all the grain. He continued on his ridiculous anti-Grey Goose stance for the next 90 minutes. I almost told him he should shut the fuck up since his product tasted like McCormick’s vodka at the price of Stoli, especially after he declared that the other companies distill four times and filter at least twice but he knows that that it doesn’t do anything after two distillings and the filtering is just a marketing ploy. A marketing ploy that sells vodka I guess, since Grey Goose outsells any of my other calls. What a fucking idiot.

Very excited to try Redbreast 12 yr. Irish whiskey. It comes in tomorrow.

I was making love to this girl and she started crying. I said, "Are you going to hate yourself in the morning?" She said. "No. I hate myself now."

- Rodney Dangerfield

What's Your Poison

Oh my little worker bees. I got to work to find that the bookkeeper that my husband fired three days ago is doing the restaurant’s bookkeeping right where I intended to eat dinner. So I ate in the back of the kitchen where the health inspector just hung a new sign about how once upon a time a guy had diarrhea, went to work, didn’t wash his hands, got 256 people sick, shut down the restaurant, and killed a 56 year old woman. I thought it was a little dramatic for a sign above the sink that reminds you to wash your hands. But, honestly it fits right in with the other huckabaloo that unfolds in that kitchen. About fifteen minutes after I finished eating, I walked through the kitchen to find the head-cook coddling the dishwasher, who happens to be his sister-in-law. They have a typical Mexican brother-in-law/sister-in-law relationship in which he appears to always be trying to get into her pants and she always looks willing but afraid. So at first I just thought it was more of their odd flirtations but then I could tell that she was crying and hurt. In turns out she pulled a pan of hot potatoes off of the stove and burnt herself with boiling water. Although I am sure she is going to be fine, I sent her home with an ice pack. Which meant that the head cook had to leave for 30 minutes. So that left the other cook at sauté and me in pantry, and let me tell you -- I make a mean Greek Salad. I am always completely out of my element in the kitchen and I love it because it is a challenge. I also love it because I don’t have to talk to anybody except for the food runner and the other cook. It really is a nice break from the bar.

The new girl I hired, whose father is a chef, is getting freaked out and I can tell that we are too busy for her. I think she knows she is in over her head and I’m not really quite sure what to do with her because I like the run the floor really tight since we pool tips and everyone is good. But there is no way she can be out there in the restaurant, there are 21 tables if they are full that are being serviced by two servers and a foodrunner/busser. Obviously a lot of tables are just cocktailing, but nonetheless is a lot to handle and I can tell that there is no fucking way. Which means I have to sit down with her and figure out how to get her to where I need her, which means I’m going to freak her out. Which means hopefully she toughens up and figures it out. It just freaks me out because it reminds me a lot of the girl I just fired and I really don’t feel like reliving that. At least from the new round of hiring I got one really great girl and now the firefighter is coming back because she wasn’t getting any firefighting work and her crew chief is a crackpot who won’t pay her.

These are my two next choices:

A girl that works on a coffee cart at a golf course. In my ad it says experienced high-volume fine-dining server. What about coffee cart barista is any one of those.

Or I had a girl come in yesterday who works on a chuck wagon at a horse coral and told me she got 100% on her food handlers permit card, which everyone gets 100% on. They ask you things like, “Do you store ice cream in a freezer of an oven.” I told her, “Impressive. Let me put your resume in a safe place in case something in the food handling department comes up.”

Cheers!

There's a guy sitting at a bar, just looking at his drink. He stays like that for half an hour.

Soon, a big trouble-making truck driver steps next to him, takes the drink from the guy, and just drinks it all down.

The poor man starts crying. The truck driver says, "Come on man, I was just joking. Here, I'll buy you another drink. I just can't stand seeing a man crying."

"No, it's not that. This day is the worst of my life. First, I fall asleep, and I'm late to my office. My boss, in an outrage, fires me. When I leave the building to my car, I found out it was stolen.

"The police say they can do nothing. I get a cab to return home and when I leave it, I remember I left my wallet and credit cards there. The cab driver just drives away. I go home and when I get there, I find my wife in bed with the gardener. I leave home and come to this bar.

"And when I was thinking about putting an end to my life, you show up and drink my poison."

18 vs. 60

Oh what an awful night last night. I got to work knowing that the night before my barback had served underage guys. I was telling my husband about these guys and as I was telling him about them, it clicked that they were probably underage. I then had a panic attack that the liquor police were going to find me, fine me, and make legitimate grounds for me to lose my job. I was a bit off when I got to work. On top of it, the bar wasn’t set up properly and the new bartender has made this system that she thinks is more efficient but really doesn’t work. She has moved around all of the shakers I use and when I’m busy and in a groove I’m not thinking, I’m just reaching and when every time I reach the shakers are not where they belong, it makes for a really hard fucking night. In the middle of the rush, an ex-girlfriend to a 60-year old regular, who happens to be a lawyer, called looking for him and started screaming that I was fucking lying to her when I said he wasn’t there. You would think the drama would lessen with age or you might think the lawyer would put a restraining order against her. But no, the girls that were psycho when you were 14 are even crazier when they are 54 and the boys that dated them then, still do so now. Then the mother of the underage kid called and wondered what the fuck was going on at our bar; I explained the situation to her and told her how sorry I was that this happened and how paranoid I had been all day and night. She was quite forgiving, thank God. She shared that she had tended bar for years and she understood how it happened and also revealed that she has five sons and she knows that boys will try to get away with as much as possible. About ten minutes after that, one of the underage boys showed up. I took him in the hallway and tore him a new asshole for the stress he caused me. At the end of the night I had to fire the nutfuck for having another table walk out because she didn’t deliver their drinks to them on time. It was the third time it happened in two weeks, and it’s never happened at my bar before. The really shitty thing about it is, she left when I was in the bathroom so I had to call her to come back down to work to be fired. Yeah, let’s just say that when I got home this morning at 4 a.m. it was great to think that after serving lamb chops and $30 dollar pours of cognac all night, that I got to live the good life of Del Taco and pink champagne.

Cheers!

A lady at a party goes up to Winston Churchill and tells him, "Sir, you are drunk." Churchill replies, "Madam, you are ugly. In the morning, I shall be sober."

Pissing

It’s been a long exhausting week at the bar. I’ve really been giving it my all and after two long meetings this week, I have decided that I should keep my ears open to someone backing me on my own project. I had talked to the owners of the bar in February about some sort of sweat equity or possibility of ownership if we expanded. We had a long talk this week where I saw that they will probably never give up any ownership of the bar and that I really don’t think I want to be in business with them anyhow.

They didn’t specifically say this, I just saw that they can’t get their shit together to make it happen and more than anything, they don’t want it to happen. They are always starting a project without any follow through, which has been where I really shine. I get the shit done that they started. But they want to open a 2.1 million dollar steakhouse, which I think is fucking ridiculous. Steak has very low markup and a short life. I think it would be better to sell noodle bowls.

Anyhow, I had a bit of an offer a couple of weeks ago from a guy loooking to start a swanky martini bar, he asked me if I would be interested in a sweat equity situation, which is all I’ve got for equity. Then another regular asked me on Saturday if I have ever thought about opening my own bar and I said, “Funny you should ask, because I’ve been thinking a lot about it.” He is an investment banker and is the middle of a big project but said he would be very interested in backing me, but it wouldn’t be for a year or so. So I feel like I am getting some things on the platter, I have started putting together a business plan so when something more concrete starts to happen -- I’m ready. I’ve got a good idea that would be good in this town and is a great concept that could expand if it proved to be as successful as I hope. The swanky martini bar scares me, it might be too hip for Bend. There are not enough young hipsters in this town to pull it off. The bar I work at now looks really swanky, but we still do a lot of food and have PBR on tap! I just don’t have a good feeling about it, but I will see how set he is on the idea and how he sees a sweat equity partnership working.

Otherwise, life at the bar this week really wasn’t all that much different than the week before. We were hoping to fire the dimwit on Tuesday, but the fill-in girl (she works at our other restaurant) gave her notice and is moving back to Maine. So, that means I have to keep the dimwit. It’s hard to have her around, because I know her time is so limited. She is such a fuckup, I feel like every Saturday night we sit in the office and go over the million things that we went over the week before. Anyhow, I hired a new girl who I am very excited about. She is a super hard worker, very smart, and very wise in the industry. She is going to do really well.

I still need one more server, but I have a promising lead since the bar down the street got bought out and it put a lot of servers out of work. I recently saw the owner of that bar and asked her if any of her good servers were out of work and she is sending me one of her best girls. I meet her tomorrow, so I hope I am impressed.

Otherwise, the highlight of the week was on Friday night. I was sitting with my friend confiding in her that I needed to make some decisions about how much of me I was going to put into the bar, because if I started a new bar I would want my cocktail list and a lot of my ideas that I’ve implemented where I work now. I could feel that I was about to get a migraine headache, so I wasn’t in the best mind set when I looked out the window and saw that some drunk was about to piss on the building. I unlocked the door, ran over to him and asked him if he was about to urinate. He didn’t seem phased, so I grabbed him by his hoodie, told him to put his little dick away, and to stop pissing on the fucking building. He asked me why I was enraged at him, simply put it is not o.k. to piss on buildings. If you want to start eating puppy chow then we can talk but otherwise such rights are solely for animals on four legs and red penises.

I would never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a memeber.

- Groucho Marx

Fat Dogs

Sweet, the night is over. The bar is clean and looks like it has never been used. If only my house could get that type of attention just once a week. I had a hell of a time getting to work today. The entire downtown was blocked off for a cycling criterium race. My dog, Sierra, had a playmate over today and I didn’t have time to walk them, so I decided that I would take them downtown and drop them off at my husband’s office. That way they could go for a bit of a jaunt. My dog’s friend, Drake, is definitely the most out-of-shape doggy heart attack waiting to happen in a country riddled by canine obesity I have ever seen. By the time we reached downtown, fifteen minutes after we left the house (I can do the ride without an obese dog in six minutes) he was heavily panting and twice decided to just sit, all 110 pounds as I propelled myself forward on my bicycle. This tug of war continued until we reached the point where the street was blocked off. Sierra was not on the leash but was at my side, when this crazy fat policewoman started screaming at me that no dogs were allowed. I could see my husband’s office building on the other side of the street, but it looked like an island a mile away where I had to jump into shark infested waters to swim to it. My dog ran up to her and she grabbed the dog screaming at me that I had to come and get her, so I told Drake to sit and then I went to get Sierra. But that wasn’t kosher with the fatass Gestapo bitch since I didn’t have both dogs in tow. It wasn’t like Drake was going anywhere, it was the first time in fifteen minutes that I hadn’t whipped him to move. I had a plastic bag of dog shit in my hand and I seriously considered winging it at her, but I remembered then that I live in a police state and at that point I could spend the next two years playing doctor with Bertha in a prison cell somewhere in East Texas. So when she wasn’t looking and no bicycles would take me out, I snuck across the street.

I got to work and the woman who owns the bar was in a complete tizzy. A couple had called in and reserved all eight tables outside and hadn’t arrived yet. The reservation had been held for an hour, which I thought was fucking ridiculous so I told the girls to put the chairs out (we kept the chairs in so no one would sit on them, since there was all of this mayhem with the race). The owner was a bit livid when she saw the chairs go out, but I was pissed that we were still holding tables for people that didn’t show up. She didn’t want to offend them since she felt they were good customers. Hours later, when the reservation holder came in to justify her fucking us over, I was able to put a name with a face. And yes, she is a regular of sorts, but one of the most annoying people I know and shit ass tipper. Good riddance I say.

Otherwise, slammin jammin busy all night. We hired a food runner about a month ago, thinking that we could staff less wait staff and see our dollar stretch a little further (we pool tips). But the girl we hired is a fucking idiot. She just graduated from some $40,000 a year college which daddy paid for. All she talks about is how what she learned in college is advancing her today. I’m like, what the fuck are you talking about, you are food runner. She has to ask about every ticket and I snapped when a ticket with one glass of chardonnay with sitting with one glass of chardonnay and she asked, “Is this the glass of chardonnay?” I said, “Is that what the ticket says?!?!?!?!?!?!?” Because I really wanted to lose it at her, what a fucking idiot. Then she had the audacity to ask the firefighter server about taking over her job. She is one of the best servers I have ever met and the food runner thinks she can take the job when she can’t figure out a fucking singled out chardonnay ticket. No fucking way.

Cheers!

A man walks into a bar, OUCH! You think he would have seen it!

Corkage Fees

I’m definitely reaching that breaking point where I seriously need a massage and a day off. I was sure that if that there was one ounce of bullshit tonight that I was going to stomp it out with a gusto reserved for drunks who break glasses on purpose and then start fights with their best friends because they suddenly decide they're gay. Unfortunately, the only thing that happened that was even remotely worthy of such vigor were three annoying women who brought in their own wine and then ordered $15 worth of food between the three of them. We had live music this evening which was not cheap, the point being that the band draws a crowd to pay for itself. We don’t have a corkage fee (never been an issue, everyone drinks cocktails for the most part). We only have two regulars, who ever bring in wine, and they always bring in great bottles which they leave us a glass or two of. But today a new rule is born, the discretionary corkage fee. Unbelievably rude, they arrived with an already opened half-drank bottle of white! Ahhhhhhhhhhh!

For anyone who hasn’t tried it yet, you must have the 360 Vodka and the new Rangpur Gin by Tanqueray. The 360 Vodka is a brilliant product packaged very environmentally in an 85% recycled glass bottle with 100% recycled paper labeling. The bottle is resealable with a Grolsch-like lid. You can take the lid off and mail it back in a postage-free mailer provided and they will re-use the lid and donate a dollar for every lid received to a renewable energy program. If you order a case, the box is recycled cardboard and is the same size as a filing box, so it can easily be re-used. Every company can look at these guys for some simple and smart ideas. Not organic like the Square One, but pushing the envelope nonetheless. The vodka itself is filtered four times and will beat Grey Goose in any taste test and in fact, beats the new Diamond 100 (filtered 100 times) which practically tastes like water.

Tangueray just offered the new Rangpur in its portfolio. It is distilled with rangpur limes, which are a little fruit which is actually a hybrid from a mandarin orange and a lemon. Nonetheless, the flavor is very limey and very yummy. My new favorite cocktail is a gimlet made with the Rangpur and the 360 with a splash of Rose’s lime.

Cheers!

"A good writer is not, per se, a good book critic. No more so than a good drunk is automatically a good bartender."

-Jim Bishop