The Ecstasy And The Agony

How could one night start so amazing and end up such crap? I’m sure you’re on pins and needles for this one, so I’ll just say it. The band we had scheduled didn’t show. It rarely happens on a weekend night and this is probably the second time that I can recall. Luckily, we got a replacement band, Paul Chesne, who were great; but, unfortunately, it was too little, too late.

It’s been a while, but you may remember the kick ballers who used to come in on Sundays. They’re part of a group called Planet Social Sports. They’ve given up on O’ Brien’s and moved on to Brennan’s. Luckily, Brennan’s treated one team so poorly (e.g. the bartender filled pitchers with the wrong beer and when confronted with the mistake said, “They won’t know the difference.”) that they came to O’ Brien’s. Well one man gathers what another man spills. I really loved this team because they were all in their thirties and forties. They were polite, fun, and great tippers, and they were just the beginning. I have no idea how it happened but the bar got crazy. I know there was one bicycle pub crawl, and perhaps a second pub crawl and by six o’ clock the bar was packed. This is what I live for. It’s obviously more than one person can handle and Chino did an amazing job and Gator, thankfully, jumped behind the bar, too. Speaking of Chino, my favorite, he opened a tab for table three, an order of chicken strips. It was crazy busy and I looked at the lone customer at the table and thought to myself, we are not going to collect that four dollars and ninety-two cents. I let it slide. By the time it died down, there was one unsecured (no credit card attached) check remaining, table three. I told Chino it was no big deal, but that when it’s that busy, try and get a credit card. By the way, he’s far better about getting cards than I am. In any case, even when the night went to shit, Chino reminded me of why he’s my boy.

It was great to sit down after killing it during happy hour. When I got back behind the bar, it was slow. We don’t have a system for when a band is supposed to show up or who they’re supposed to report to. They just turn up, plug in, and play. It was ten after ten when I decided to see if anyone was setting up. Alas, there was no one. I knew then and there that this night would turn into a shit show. I called Kevin and he organized the Paul Chesne band, but it would be a while before they got there and even longer for them to set up. This left two servers and three bartenders competing for a limited crowd. Being a server at O’ Brien’s is the most thankless job around. People order drinks from the bar then sit at a table, taking up the only space a server has to earn. Dear Readers, if you are ever at a bar and want to sit at a table, please find out if there’s a server working before ordering at the bar. At one point a customer came to the bar and ordered a Stella, rum and coke, vodka soda, and six kamikazes. While I made the drinks, Kimi mentioned to me that they were sitting at a table. I finished making the drinks, told him the total and asked if he wanted to start a tab. If he did, I would’ve given the card to the server, but he didn’t so I closed him out. The server got upset with me. I guess I should’ve walked the card over to the server and have her run it. Instead I stewed for a few minutes, then I transfered the tab to her, so she could collect the cash. She split the tip with us: a win/win. There is nothing worse than a slow bar. When it’s busy, everyone’s making cash, and everyone is happy. When it’s slow, we’re not necessarily miserable, but we are super aware of the limited time we have to make our nut and there’s only so much time you can complain about how tired you are of eating a BLT five meals a week (four hours is my personal record.)

We got hit some time after midnight. Everyone seemed to show up at once and we were in the weeds for about three minutes, then it died. The band started at twelve-thirty and we got a crowd. At one point, Chino was motioning to me and I figured he needed my keys. Kimi said, “I think that chicken strips guy is back.” Turns out, Chino saw the guy from table three out on the sidewalk and mentioned to him that he ordered food and didn’t pay for it. The guy denied it, but Chino said, “Look you ordered food and I don’t want to have to pay for it,” and he brought him inside. I’ve said it before, if I were to open a bar, Chino would be my first hire. It is so refreshing to see someone care enough about his place of employment that he confronts a customer over a sub-five dollar tab. There are moments where an employee shows their character and this was definitely one. In any case, this douche bag offers up the one card we don’t accept: Discover, then exchanges it for a card which gets declined. He finally pulls out a brown fiver. Don’t worry, Big Spender, I will keep the tip. I took that eight cents and put it towards that slice of cheese I’ve been saving up for: Tillamook, mother fucker.

Rarely do I complain that California law makes us close at two, but Saturday was one of those nights where we could’ve used an extra hour or two. For how empty it was until midnight, it was packed at last call. It would’ve been an epic night had the original band showed up, but thanks to Kevin for getting Paul Chesne. I never want to peak at happy hour, but I was grateful to at least have a peak. So rarely have my happy hour and late night stood in such stark difference. They were the ecstasy and the agony.