Now
I’m not saying you are a drunk.
Yes, you may chug a Coors Light tall
boy when you wake up or sip on a glass of Prosecco while you write your blog.
Maybe it’s totally fine if you brown bag Absolute Vodka and walk with your
super hot girlfriend down 1st Avenue pretending to be hobos. There’s
no judgment if you carry wine in a clear flask, taking copious pulls off the
nip like it had the fucking antidote.
These things happen when you’re out
there in the drinking world. Most of the regular folk take their drinks
cautiously.
You take them gratuitously.
I’m not saying you have a problem.
You know if you have a problem. If you
forget to go to work because you’re drunk, you’re a loser. If your relationship
ends because of your drinking, you have failed. Contact your nearest AA group
and get your addicted ass a sponsor.
But if you’re anything like the
people I roll with, you’re a professional drunk, one with pride, dignity,
class, and an age old metabolism that puts any kind of whiskey hangover to
shame.
If you can’t handle the swings, get
the hell out of the playground.
Here’s the thing. You can learn to
be this kind of drunk. The one that only becomes more charming as more booze
slides down your throat.
As a bartender, I have access to
every kind of drunk. I have seen them in all walks of life.
There’s the lonely drunk. This guy
tells everyone his problems right after he introduces himself. Poor bastard.
It’s like springing a guilt trap. You don’t want to leave him alone, and he’s
certainly not getting the hint of how annoying he is to others. He’s the type
who goes home, masturbates with his tears, and hangs himself with Fox News
blaring loud in the background.
Then there’s the obviously wasted
chick who need to fuck someone. It doesn’t matter who. Ladies, trust me, she’s
out there. I see one of these girls weekly at the bars. It doesn’t matter who
the dude is, she wants to play the ‘ride the cock-horsey’ game with any willing
participant. The saddest thing about this lady is when the men are afraid of
her and she’s left blankly staring at her phone alone, and starts bitching to
the bartender about her broken heart.
Then I have to take her home.
How about the Creeper? We all know
the Creeper. The dude who hovers around girls, just slightly behind them and to
the left. He stares with eyes of want and a strange smile reminiscent of
someone who just took a satisfying shit. I ALWAYS defend women against the
Creeper. The Creeper is the reason women can’t have a fucking drink by
themselves at a bar. I HATE the Creeper. Women have a god-solid right to drink
alone and it’s this retard that ruins the party for everybody.
There are so many fouls in the
baseball game of drinking. The key is avoiding these little defects and drink
with a class that is undeniably attractive. Remember the other night when you
were drinking alone and saw that group just having an exceptional time together?
Yes, they are drunk.
Yes, they a loud (but not annoyingly
so).
You wish you could be with them,
laughing and joking about Mitt Romney or talking about how bad-ass the last
season of Breaking Bad was.
There’s a certain style to drinking
well. It’s just unfortunate that there’s so many ways to do it badly.
Allow me the moment to break down
some of the more unpardonable offenses made by these traitors of intoxication.
1.
Don’t Know What You Want
Seriously.
Is this your first time in a bar?
Did you just turn 21?
You would not believe how many people walk into a bar slowly, a look of
bewilderment across their face, weirdly staring back and forth, creeping their
way cautiously to the wooden bar.
I come up to greet:
“Hi there! What can I get for you?”
They don’t answer. They don’t even
look me in the eye. They just look completely confused, as if they simply were
magically transported into a bar beyond their control.
“Hello?” I ask, concerned about
their sanity. “Any questions?”
“Ahhhh….” They say, still not making
eye contact.
“Would you care for some warm milk
or a Shirley Temple?” I offer.
Let me tell you something, people.
If you are a grown ass person, you know what you drink. A professional race car
driver knows what tires are the best for their speed. Especially if you’re a
guy.
Come on, man. You know exactly what
you want, or should, as a man.
With women I cut a little more
slack. The fairer sex have always been a little more interested in
experimentation than the fellas when it comes to drinking, and I respect that.
But if you a dude over the age of 25
and you give me that fucking lost look when I ask you what you want, expect to
be degraded by me in front of your girlfriend right then and there.
2.
Jukebox Politics
Hey man. I know that a jukebox in a
bar is the ultimate form of drunk democracy.
I get it.
I respect it.
Even if I know that my Ipod
playlists are some of the most complimented and fun collections for any bar
evening, I will still not get completely offended if your dollar tune choice cuts
out a great Pixies song. But if you think playing that fucking Rhianna song
that spews out of every bodega in 5 minute intervals is cool, I’ve got a couple
words for you.
Get some goddamn taste.
“More Than Feeling” is probably the
most played bar song, just above “Don’t Stop Believin’”, the other dreaded song
for any bartender working with a jukebox.
Don’t do it.
Resist the urge to be just like
everyone else.
Play a rare Wu-Tang cut, or get some
awesome retro Skid Row on there.
Whitesnake works (thanks Tess) for
some serious cheesy rock: “Here I Go Again On My Own” is apparently my new
theme song.
These are fun songs.
But if you think putting on 14
Meatloaf songs in a row on my jukebox is cool, you will not only lose your
songs when I skip them, but I will publicly demean you in front of everyone,
Judas-ing the fuck out you.
Also, there the uber-sad song
someone (typical depressed) plays, completely ruining the mood for the Saturday
night crowd. Hey, I like Elliot Smith too, but not on a busy fucking night.
Okay, “Independence Day” works ‘cause it’s got that great drum track, and
maybe, just maybe you can get away with “Stupidity Tries”, but if you throw on
“Angeles” I going to stab your bi-polar ass.
3.
The Smelly Food Person.
Yo. Eat a fucking Subway sandwich at
my bar.
Totally fine.
As long as you ask first.
But if bring some rank, smelly ass
food that fills the whole bar with a wretched scent, you are the faux paus of the
evening. And I can assure you, nothing dries the ladies up more than the smell
of stale hot dogs. Eat something clean and scentless. Use your head.
Just the other day someone brought
in some shit to my bar that left the whole place smelling of wet fart. And I,
as the bartender, must sit there, trapped, embarrassed that yes, my bar smell
like a dogs ass on a Friday night.
I’ll be the one needing suicide
watch when that happens.
And furthermore, why are you eating
in a bar? Take it home or stay at a table. What? Restaurants don’t serve liquor
anymore? I don’t get it. Drink a beer for dinner. Liquid diet that shit.
Like body odor, own your scent.
Stopping making everyone else have to deal with your issues. Get drunk with
class.
To be continued….and sorry for the
long absence. This summer was a cruel one for sure. Keep reading, and tell your friends.
Trust me, beaten, bruised, and
tattered:
The bartender still knows every
motherfucking thing.
SERIOUSLY, WIPE THAT SILLY LOOK OFF YOUR FACE. IT'S CALLED A BAR. I WOULD TRY THE ALCOHOL OPTION.
LOVE ISN'T THE BATTLEFIELD. IT'S THIS THING.
YOUR KIM-CHI DECISION IS MAKING ME SICK.
