The Streak Ends

I was distraught to say the least. I heard on Friday night that what was supposed to be a blowout of a rugby party on Saturday got canceled. Something about not being able to get a field. Instead of a bar packed with guaranteed drinkers, I would have to hope that the second NCAA basketball game of the day would bring a good crowd. It didn't disappoint.

Originally, I was told I would have to come in early so I could deposit money in the bank, but Gator did it instead. I got a call from Gator when I got to work that the bank was out of fives. I'm still having trouble comprehending that idea. We have a back up bag with extra fives and singles when we run out those denominations. Yes, we run out of fives sometimes, but we're not a bank. I can think of six denominations of American currency off the top of my head ($1, $5, $10, $20, $50, and $100.) How does a bank run out of any one of those denominations? Maybe I don't get out enough, but my mind is blown. It's not like we're asking for a stack of thousand dollar bills. These are fives we're talking about. And this is Wells Fargo, not some homeless magnet like Wamu, my bank. Fucktards!

Rugby or not, the bar began to fill up. All the TVs in the bar, except for the one in the front room was tuned to basketball. A friend of Stevie's the earlier bartender, had Stevie put on the Mexico/Costa Rica soccer game. From the moment the channel was switched, I knew this was not gonna last. Once the front room filled up and there was nary a gringo who gave a shit who the real south of the border super power was, I exiled this dude to the back room and put the game on that everyone else wanted to see. All the tables were filled, but there was one big one where the guys didn't have a drink. Chino had waited on them and I asked him the deal. He told me they just wanted to watch the game. Now a hot chick at the bar not ordering is one thing, but three dip shits at a big table, I don't think so. Maybe it's a sign that the economy is bad or maybe there's something in the water that makes twenty-something's balls bigger, but this is a business: order or get the fuck out. I've always loved the motto at Swingers: Gas, Grass, or Ass: No one eats for free. Words to live by. For those who didn't see it (I for one) the game was insanely close. I was too busy running around to watch it, but I had an idea what was going on by the volume and location of the cheers. After Villanova lost, the bar cleared out.

There was about a forty-five minute lull before an eighties pub crawl came through. Aside from the obvious signs of inebriation: stumbling, slurred speech, chunks of vomit in girls' hair, the best way to tell that this is the end of a pub crawl is that their first question is: "Can I get a food menu?" They were hammered, they were annoying, but, they were customers. They were your garden variety drunken fools. One guy stood by the bar and swayed, asking to close out his tab four times, after he closed it out. The one guy who got his food first almost got mauled by his "friends" like he was a wounded gazelle on "When Animals Attack." Then there was the young lady whose tab was over sixty bucks, shetook out her IPhone, did some calculations and left me an eight percent tip. Fuck the IPhone and it's shitty "Stiff the Bartender Tip Calculator" app.

Adrift in a sea of douche, two deaf men came in and broke my heart. I don't know sign language, but one of them indicated that he and his friend were deaf. He asked for pen and paper and wrote down "Bloody Mary" and, also, pointed to the Newcastle tap. There are certain drinks that people are really specific about, two are Bloody Marys and Margaritas. I top my Bloodies with Guinness, something I picked up in New Orleans. The deaf guy indicated that he was digging the shit out of it. He signed to me that he freaked out when I put the Guinness in but he loved it anyway. I was blown away how well he communicated that to me, at least, I thought that's what he said. The other guy looked at the menu and wanted wings. He was looking at the happy hour menu so I flipped it to the full price side. He put his hands to his eyes like he was crying like a baby. I cracked up. Occasionally, I get a little perspective on life at my job. In the five minutes of serving those guys, I got a lot.

For dinner I had a Kobe burger. Normally I love our burgers, but this one kind of sucked. Don't worry, Dear Readers, neither taste nor hunger stopped me from finishing it. I'm definitely off of our burgers until April. I got back to work and it was dead. It got a little busy around midnight, but we were never in the weeds. We all seemed to agree that this was an especially annoying night. I had one woman ask, "I have a question: Do you have a bathroom?" I said, "No." It's my standard response until two seconds later when I point it out. She said, "Why do you have to be sarcastic?" It's fucking Saturday night. Have a sense of humor. Then there was this one ass clown you yelled, "Vodka red bull!" I made it and he was over talking with his friend. I couldn't get his attention to give him the drink he yelled for. Future customers, when you order a drink, wait for it, wait FOR IT!

Although it didn't seem like a busy night, we made some decent money. But after blowing it up five Saturdays in a row, I'm sad to say, but the streak ends.