Friday The 13th

What’s the deal with Friday the 13th? I remember it’s been scary since that dip shit Jason put on a hockey mask and slaughtered those crazy kids at the former summer camp. I always thought it would be more realistic if they camped some place really dangerous, like the Venice boardwalk, as opposed to the not so dangerous, high Sierras. In any case, our Friday the 13th was scary for one reason: we shat the bed. At least, that’s what our former boss would’ve said at the end of the night. I find it to be a funny expression, but never really understood why we did something wrong. Was there a flood of people coming into the bar who we scared off with poor service? No, but I guess that allowed him to shift blame for any failing in the business from him to us. I guess that’s why he’s collecting unemployment and we’re still in the deliciously, cozy bed.

First things first, as of Wednesday, February 11th, we have our “A” back. Ever since the “Troubles” last August, and, even though we had the cleanest bar in our inspector’s region, we could receive no higher than a “B.” In the hundred and eighty days between grades, we’ve cleaned the shit out of the place. (I meant that figuratively.) Personally, I never minded having a “B.” My Dad has a friend, Richard, who will only eat at places that have an “A.” He says that since he doesn’t have time to inspect every restaurant, he’ll rely on the health department to do it. I know that the letter grade represents how clean an establishment was for that half-hour that the health department was there. And I highly doubt that anyone ever walked up and said, “You know. I was gonna drink my liver cirrhotic and maybe nosh on some wings, but they have a ‘B.’” The “A” is back and we’re not letting it go.

Unlike last Friday when it pissed down rain while I was at work, this Friday the clouds parted just before my shift. Happy hour was really good. The place wasn’t packed, but there were some good drinkers, including four late thirty-somethings at the bar. These dudes had racked up a hundred and thirty dollar tab in ninety minutes. I could tell they were strong tippers and I wanted to close them out, but I didn’t want to put a damper on their time at the bar. Most customers are understanding when you say, “Hey, uh, um, the other bartenders are coming on, and since I’m not a socialist, I mean, I voted for Joe ”The Plumber“ after all. Do you mind closing out?” Instead, I informed the card holder that I was going on break and that all the drinks were on his tab. While they prepared my caesar salad with shrimp in our “A” rated kitchen, I stood over said card holder awkwardly until he closed out. Hey, that’s an extra thirty bucks in my pocket, not counting the seventeen cents I gave my bar back, because that’s a lot of money where he’s from.

The rest of the night blew. It was the Lads final concert at O’ Brien’s. They used to play every Friday. With the downturn in the economy, we’ve had to cut some costs, including what the bands get paid. Most bands were cool with it, but The Lads were having none of it. And since this was their thirteenth year at O’ Brien’s, they decided to have their farewell concert on Friday the 13th. Too bad no told their fan. It was one of those nights where I would’ve smoked myself silly, but I’ve put down the smokes and picked up complaining. It’s healthier for me, but annoys the shit out of everyone. Tim said it best, “This is the slowest Friday night that I can remember.” Luckily, there weren’t many douche bags. By the way, one reader wants me to replace the word “douche bag” with something else. First of all, who agrees with this? Second, any thoughts on a new word? It’s just that “douche bag” is to language like cell phones, e-mail, and internet porn are to society. What did we do before their invention? Or in the case of “douche bag,” what did we call people before bringing that word back?

When we counted our tips at the end of the night, I began to rethink my vote for Joe “The Plumber.” I knew it was going to slow down, but it still took me aback. I don’t know if this is how it’s gonna be. Or as the classic movie said, “The beginning of the end, the end of the beginning, end, begin, all the same.” Can you name the film? At the end of the night, I realized, it can be pretty scary to work on Friday the 13th.