Mr. Bigstuff, who do u think u are?
Mr. Bigstuff, you’re never gonna get my love
In the words of Miss Aretha Franklin, who do you think you are? I can’t believe the audacity of some people. As a bartender, we get all kinds of crazy walking in from day to day. We also get regulars, make friends and come to know and love our nights behind the bar like our living rooms. It’s cozy and comfortable and we like to entertain our friends. But these relationships can take time. I’m not saying you can’t hit it off with your bartender in one night, but you don’t just saunter in like you own the damn place after one encounter. At least not if you expect anything from your bartender, like good service, special attention or a hook up on your tab.
Well, I had a guy break this unspoken rule at happy hour yesterday while I was behind the bar. I came into my shift to find him at the end of the bar sitting fat and happy with a beer and a stack of money in front of him. The woman directly to his right was drinking an appletini, which I don’t understand because I don’t work in a martini type of joint, but I digress. The man pays for a couple more rounds for the both of them, paying as he goes in cash and not leaving any of that wad on the bar for yours truly. Thanks, man. You are really setting the stage for specialized service by not tipping me. Anyway, he waves me over and says, “Don’t you guys ever buy a drink for people around here? I think you should buy my next beer.” Me: blank stare. I mean, are you out of your damn mind? Who do you think you are and how dare you tell me that I should be buying your beer when you haven’t exactly done me any favors and I’ve never seen you before in my life?
I ended up telling the guy that I would not buy him a beer and that if he wanted drinks bought for him, he could befriend the owner. Well, little did I think that he would actually approach the owner in this manner, but he walks up to him and interrupts him in the middle of a conversation with friends and tells the owner of the bar that he needs a drink bought for him. He also mentions that I wouldn’t buy one for him and how that pisses him off. The owner, naturally, is curious as to why he should buy this audacious asshat a beer at all, let alone after being told point blank that he had to. This guy’s response was that he was owed a beer on the bar’s tab because he had spent (and I quote) “forty fucking dollars.” Oh. Okay. $40. What a baller. You’re just like everyone else who sits in a bar for three hours buying drinks for two. Get over yourself. Your tab was not *that* high and you’re also not tipping anyone.
Anyway, this guy had it coming to him after he called the owner a cheap mother fucker. Whoops. Lead into two big drunk men screaming at each other and flailing their arms and you’ve got yourself one heck of a happy hour scene. Oy! It was a mess. The owner finally bought him a cheep beer and the guy still wasn’t pleased so he ended up “taking his $40 elsewhere, dammit.” Good riddance. Keep your money.
Soooooo…why am I telling this long twisted tale of rude bar behavior? Because I can’t imagine ever telling someone I had just met that they needed to buy my drink because I had spent some average bit of money. So, don’t do that. Okay? Thanks. Let me get to know who you are, whether it’s over the course of an evening or after multiple visits. Make sure I know your name and you know mine and be nice to me and tip me well. And then, yes, I will offer to buy you a drink sometime.
Stirring Up Trouble 