Missed It By One Day
Awwww, you guys!! Your comments are so sweet, but I guess I should have told you that none of the drama actually had anything to do with me (thank God for small miracles), I was just a passive observer! LOL!
I have decided, since all of the stories intertwine with one another, that I should write this as another "parter," but I will be including back story and such. The reason for the title is that all of these events happened on Saturday the 14th, instead of Friday the 13th. So, on with the show!
Part One:
I was expecting Saturday night to be rather slow. State U's football team had an away game in the Northern part of the State, and the Fair was in town. Needless to say, I was unprepared for the events that transpired, both physically and mentally.
It was early in the night and I was hanging out behind the bar, shooting the shit with Ellen. I noticed a gentlemen at the bar, arguing with Savannah about having to leave his credit card with her in order to run a tab. He was moderately tall, with longish curly black hair and rimless glasses. He looked rather Jewesque (you know what I mean) and was being an asshole.
"I want my credit card back," he demanded, looking at her over the top of his trendy spectacles.
"If you want to run a tab, you have to leave it here at the bar," Savannah said, trying to placate Mr. Jewboy while still attempting to serve the other patrons of the bar.
"You don't need my credit card, you already swiped it!"
"That was just an imprint of your card. I have to have it behind the bar in order to run your tab!" She was getting frustrated by this point.
"No you don't," he retorted, like some angry toddler who wants his way.
"Yes, yes I do."
I daydreamed for a moment, imagining this scenario playing out for hours like some schoolyard brawl over the tetherball. I started to giggle.
"Well, then close me out," Mr. Jewboy demanded. "I don't want to run a tab up here."
"Fine! With pleasure!" Savannah seemed relieved to be rid of him. Instead of Mr. Jewboy leaving, however, he insisted on sitting at the bar and paying for each drink individually-- with his credit card. Those of you in the industry understand how annoying that is. Every time you use your card we have to swipe it, imprint it, enter the last four digits, enter the amount, wait for it to print out, print out your copy, hand you the entire thing, wait for you to give it back, ring it into the register, and then close out the credit card receipt in the machine. It's a long, irritating process for a beer.
Mr. Jewboy decided he wanted to sit down in front of the dirty dish station, meaning every time we brought a glass back from a table, he either had to move over (not likely) or we had to twist our bodies into snake like positions in order to place the glasses where they could be reached by the bartender so they could be be washed and re-served.
This guy was becoming a pain in my ass.
Rather than be a bitch, I figured I would attempt to butter him up. Flirt with him a little, maybe put him in a better mood and help myself and Savannah out.
I waited until I had a tray of dirty glasses to bring back to the bar. I walked up next to him, balanced the tray on the edge of the bar, and started placing the glasses nearby.
"I like your hair," I said to him, looking at him with my best "don't you think I'm sexy" face.
He snorted in response while taking a swig from his cheap beer, as if it was something he heard all the time. I decided to give it one more try.
"You're a very cute yuppie-hippy," I was thinking, wireless glasses, good shoes, yet messy hair. Yuppie-hippy.
"Fuck you." He didn't even make eye contact when he said it, and he calmly took another drink from his long neck. The tray wobbled in my hand.
"Excuse me?" I was hoping, praying that maybe he said "thank you" and I just misunderstood.
He turned to look at me. "Fuck you. Now go away."
Every instinct in me said to spill the tray of drinks on this guy, blame it on an "accident," and walk off. Instead, I decided to agitate the situation further, just to see what would happen.
"That's kind of fucked up, don't you think?" I turned, facing Mr. Jewboy, wondering what would happen.
"Well, I'm not a yuppie-hippy."
"No, you're a fucking prick." With that I turned and walked away. Mr. Jewboy left after that beer.
As I made another round I saw one of my favorite customers, "Max" walk in with one of my favorite dancers, "Mia." I was very happy to see them both, Max is a great guy and one hell of a tipper (and I'm not just saying that because he reads my blog). As elated as I was to see them both, my balloon was quickly deflated when I noticed "Chad" following shortly behind them.
Chad, while once a nice guy in my book, has quickly become an annoying thorn in my side, and after Saturday night, has elevated himself to status of quasi-weirdo. His story, when we return from this commercial break.
To be continued...
I have decided, since all of the stories intertwine with one another, that I should write this as another "parter," but I will be including back story and such. The reason for the title is that all of these events happened on Saturday the 14th, instead of Friday the 13th. So, on with the show!
Part One:
I was expecting Saturday night to be rather slow. State U's football team had an away game in the Northern part of the State, and the Fair was in town. Needless to say, I was unprepared for the events that transpired, both physically and mentally.
It was early in the night and I was hanging out behind the bar, shooting the shit with Ellen. I noticed a gentlemen at the bar, arguing with Savannah about having to leave his credit card with her in order to run a tab. He was moderately tall, with longish curly black hair and rimless glasses. He looked rather Jewesque (you know what I mean) and was being an asshole.
"I want my credit card back," he demanded, looking at her over the top of his trendy spectacles.
"If you want to run a tab, you have to leave it here at the bar," Savannah said, trying to placate Mr. Jewboy while still attempting to serve the other patrons of the bar.
"You don't need my credit card, you already swiped it!"
"That was just an imprint of your card. I have to have it behind the bar in order to run your tab!" She was getting frustrated by this point.
"No you don't," he retorted, like some angry toddler who wants his way.
"Yes, yes I do."
I daydreamed for a moment, imagining this scenario playing out for hours like some schoolyard brawl over the tetherball. I started to giggle.
"Well, then close me out," Mr. Jewboy demanded. "I don't want to run a tab up here."
"Fine! With pleasure!" Savannah seemed relieved to be rid of him. Instead of Mr. Jewboy leaving, however, he insisted on sitting at the bar and paying for each drink individually-- with his credit card. Those of you in the industry understand how annoying that is. Every time you use your card we have to swipe it, imprint it, enter the last four digits, enter the amount, wait for it to print out, print out your copy, hand you the entire thing, wait for you to give it back, ring it into the register, and then close out the credit card receipt in the machine. It's a long, irritating process for a beer.
Mr. Jewboy decided he wanted to sit down in front of the dirty dish station, meaning every time we brought a glass back from a table, he either had to move over (not likely) or we had to twist our bodies into snake like positions in order to place the glasses where they could be reached by the bartender so they could be be washed and re-served.
This guy was becoming a pain in my ass.
Rather than be a bitch, I figured I would attempt to butter him up. Flirt with him a little, maybe put him in a better mood and help myself and Savannah out.
I waited until I had a tray of dirty glasses to bring back to the bar. I walked up next to him, balanced the tray on the edge of the bar, and started placing the glasses nearby.
"I like your hair," I said to him, looking at him with my best "don't you think I'm sexy" face.
He snorted in response while taking a swig from his cheap beer, as if it was something he heard all the time. I decided to give it one more try.
"You're a very cute yuppie-hippy," I was thinking, wireless glasses, good shoes, yet messy hair. Yuppie-hippy.
"Fuck you." He didn't even make eye contact when he said it, and he calmly took another drink from his long neck. The tray wobbled in my hand.
"Excuse me?" I was hoping, praying that maybe he said "thank you" and I just misunderstood.
He turned to look at me. "Fuck you. Now go away."
Every instinct in me said to spill the tray of drinks on this guy, blame it on an "accident," and walk off. Instead, I decided to agitate the situation further, just to see what would happen.
"That's kind of fucked up, don't you think?" I turned, facing Mr. Jewboy, wondering what would happen.
"Well, I'm not a yuppie-hippy."
"No, you're a fucking prick." With that I turned and walked away. Mr. Jewboy left after that beer.
As I made another round I saw one of my favorite customers, "Max" walk in with one of my favorite dancers, "Mia." I was very happy to see them both, Max is a great guy and one hell of a tipper (and I'm not just saying that because he reads my blog). As elated as I was to see them both, my balloon was quickly deflated when I noticed "Chad" following shortly behind them.
Chad, while once a nice guy in my book, has quickly become an annoying thorn in my side, and after Saturday night, has elevated himself to status of quasi-weirdo. His story, when we return from this commercial break.
To be continued...
posted by Jennifer at 2:10 PM
13 Comments:
I can not believe you left us hanging like that!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Time for a quick pee break.
No kidding, inspector!
awww, you know you're not angry! it just makes you hungry for more, and trust me, the rest is CRAAAAAZY!!! I'll give you a preview... crazy woman, pissed about another woman in the bar, goes nuts which causes even MORE drama
drama. sounds like highschool, only not quite as petty.
Aw. Not fair, leaving us hanging like this!
First off, good for you for telling that guy that he was a prick. I hate people like that.
And secondly -- let's get on with the story!!!!
The guy had no right to be a jerk, but maybe I can clarify as to why he didn't want to leave his credit card. When I am asked to leave my credit card for a tab, I also decline and the reason for this is I have had a bar "accidentally" give my credit card to someone else after charging their tab on it. I am not the first victim of this either. Several of my friends have had this happen also. Since this has happened I will order my drinks and if that is required I will either offer to leave my driver's license or cash out after each drink. By the way this is my first comment on a blog! Cecelia
Cecelia,
I totally understand where you're coming from. We have had an incident exactly like the one you described where credit cards were switched (this is why we now requre drivers licenses as well). I understand not wanting to leave your credit card at the bar, no matter where you go it can be a risky situation, regardless of the measures the bar may take to ensure your cards' safety. However, like you said, that didn't excuse that guy's behavior; nor did it excuse his arguing about policy! thank you for your comment! I'm glad you like my blog
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
You have good writing style, and I'm sure you didn't mean to come off like this, but referring to a guy who was an obvious asshole as "Jewboy," it can come off as something of a ethnic slur to those of us who follow that religion, and, well, offensive.
Just putting that out there.
dear anon,
I worried about that when I wrote it (if you have read any of my blog you would know that I myself am jewish), but he DID look like a jewish guy...
now, when I noticed that he looked jewish i didn't mean to make the reference that he was jewish bc he was an asshole, he just looked like he was jewish.
sorry if i offended you!
I was also offended when you repeatedly called him "Mr. Jewboy." Just looking at that sentence, it seems kind of obvious why people would be bothered by this. I know that you're Jewish and you didn't mean to offend, but that doesn't totally excuse it in my mind. I don't jump all over people to be PC, but this reached a level that I found kind of obnoxious. It definitely distracted me from your actual narrative--I couldn't get past the first couple of paragraphs.
Anyway, good luck with your decisions
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