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Let's Go Yachting!
The phone at The Bar rings.
JESTER: "It's a great day at The Bar, this is Jester speaking, how may I help you?"
FEMALE CALLER: "Yes, is your bar open to the public?"
JESTER: "Ummm....yeeeessss....I certainly hope so!"
FEMALE CALLER: "Well, I asked because I saw that you're affiliated with the Key West Yacht Club."
JESTER: "No ma'am, we're not. We're downtown, and the Yacht Club is more midtown. They're basically halfway across the island from us. We're nowhere near them, and not affiliated with them in any way."
FEMALE CALLER: "That's weird. I googled them, and your name and number came up."
JESTER: "Well, that IS weird. I have no idea why that happened, but I assure you, we are not affiliated with them, and we ARE open to the public. Good luck!"
Snooty Salad With a Side of Speshul
Two young ladies sit down at one of the bar's satellite tables. We don't have cocktail servers, and unless the bartender is swamped and asks a server from the dining room to pick up said tables, we take care of them. And unless we're dead, that means talking to them over the bar, not going out to them, because the pass through is on the other side of the bar, we're a casual establishment, and we have enough to do as it is. In seven years at The Bar, I have see almost no one have a problem with this.
I call over to them, greet them, and hand them menus over the bar. A few minutes later, I see they're ready, have a couple extra minutes, and come around to their table to take their order. Get them drinks and settings, no worries. Their food comes out, I bring it straight to their table (not all bartenders do this, but I will almost always make the effort to bring their food to their table rather than hand it to them over the bar, even when I'm slammed). A few minutes later, I lean over the bar to check on them. One looks at me and says, "Can I talk to you?" Sure thing, I say, leaning over the bar and waiting. "No, I need to talk to you over HERE." Okay, something's up. I go out there, and she informs me that there is a hair in her entree salad. Shit. No problem. I remove it, and will of course take it off the bill. Does she want a new salad or something else to replace it? No? Okay.
They continue on with their meal, I take care of many other guests, then check back with them, again leaning over the bar, as is standard. Snootily, the same girls says, "Can I speak with your manager?" Sure, no problem. I'll send him right over. "Good, because we sat here so we wouldn't have to yell over the bar." Alrighty, Miss Snooty Pants. First, I already told you I'd send the manager over. Secondly, the entire bar heard you just say that, including the manager. Thirdly, had you sat AT the bar, you would not have had to yell over the bar, as we would have been eye to eye, you mental giant you. Whatever. I send the manager over there, they bitch and moan, he buys them a new round of drinks AND comps their ENTIRE bill, though nothing else was wrong with anything else. They leave, having paid nothing for anything, and tip me just as much as they paid: nothing.
I question whether there was even a hair there, to be honest. But giving them the benefit of the doubt that there was still didn't entitle them to their attitudes. I hope the one girl actually does get a wild hair stuck up her ass. Just to go with the broomstick already so firmly lodged there.
Beer Bummer
After work, I was sitting there enjoying a beer in my living room, aka World of Beer Key West. This one strange older dude, almost certainly a bum, is behind me sorta dancing around, sorta singing. Not that unusual for Key West, to be honest. I think he was going to ask me to buy him a beer or something, but I guess I might have unintentionally given him one of my Don't Fuck With Me Looks, because he said nothing to me.
A little bit later, the bartenders and I notice him over by the service bar area, drinking the remains of beers that had been cleared from other patrons.
ME:
BARTENDER: "Wait, is he doing what I think he's doing?!?"
BARTENDER #2: "Holy crap, he IS!"
The two of them start to head over there to deal with the situation, but before they can even take a few steps, the cook/bar back, Dave, a normally very mellow guy, who had been sitting at the back bar working on his laptop, is up in the bum's face. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Dave grabs the guy by the elbow and escorts him to the door, with security joining in to make sure nothing untoward happens. The bum is taking it all with grace and aplomb...by yelling at Dave. How DARE he treat him like this! Etc, etc, yada yada.
Yes, folks, it's really bad form to remove a non-paying non-customer from your establishment just because he's drinking people's leftovers. It's not like anyone else was going to drink them! What were they THINKING?
Hello, Jim Cantore. Goodbye, Jim Cantore.
As anyone who watches The Weather Channel knows, if Jim Cantore shows up in your town, you're basically fucked. Well, my current GM used to manage a place up the Keys some years back, and one day, while covering the season's tropical storms, Cantore came in. Having seen his coverage and how it often portrays the Keys--overhyping how dangerous it is to be here, even though storms almost always veer off and go somewhere else--my GM was having none of this. So he walked up to Cantore and told him he'd have to leave. Cantore asked him why. "Wherever you go, shitstorms follow. And we just can't have that here. So you're basically banned from coming in here. Ever."
Cantore:
GM and everyone there when Cantore left:
Jim Cantore is not very popular in these parts....
You're Kidding, Right?
This older couple comes in to my bar, calling my name, thrilled as hell to see me. Awesome. No clue who they are, but obviously they like me and the bar. That's a good start.
WOMAN: "Hi, Jester! Remember us?"
JESTER:
"Um....no?"
WOMAN: "We were here two years ago!"
JESTER: "Wait, two YEARS ago?!?"
WOMAN: "Yes."
JESTER: "You DO realize that I deal with hundreds of people most weeks, which means I've dealt with several thousands in the last two years, right?"
WOMAN: "Yes."
JESTER: "And you think I'm gonna remember you."
WOMAN: "Yes!!!"
JESTER: (thinking something significant might have happened on their last visit, as sometimes something memorable like that WILL make me recall people--like, say, the couple who wanted souvenir cups from our bar, which we didn't have back then, so as a joke I gave them plastic cups after I wrote the bar's name and their names on them and told them they had to go drinking with them that night and bring them back the next morning, and they DID, with PHOTOS!) "Um, why? What happened?"
WOMAN: "Oh, nothing happened. But it's US! How could you forget US?
Honestly, lady? You'd be surprised how easy it is sometimes.
One Of Yours, Argabarga?
My apartment complex requires parking passes for residents. Our parking passes are stickers that we stick on the inside corner of the windshield. The complex does not offer guest passes.
So the other day, I was walking through the parking lot and noticed a car parked there with a big paper parking pass inside its windshield. Curious, I scanned their windshield and saw that they did not have one of my complex's stickers. So I looked at the paper parking pass, which read "Key West Golf Club." My apartment complex is not named Key West Golf Club. There IS a Key West Golf Club where people live, and presumably have parking passes for their vehicles, but it ain't us. Assuming this was a valid KWGC parking pass--a big assumption to be sure, at least based on Argabarga's tales--I have no idea what made these people think that THAT parking pass would be valid at OUR complex. Probably the same philosophy that gets people trying Store A's coupons at Store B. Hey, it's a parking pass, right? It must work everywhere!
The Dumb Is Strong (Island) In This One
Guy comes up to my bar and orders a Long Island Iced Tea. As I turn to make it, he says, "...and make it strong."
I wheel around. "Really? REALLY? You DO realize that a Long Island is basically all booze, right? With just a splash of sour and a splash of Coke, right? You do know this?"
HIM: "Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry."
I hate people like this. Bartenders hate people who say "make it strong" anyway, and I usually say something to the effect of "Do I LOOK like someone who makes weak drinks?" But to say that about a Long Island? Honestly, the only way to make a Long Island stronger would be to pour in some rubbing alcohol, a little gunpowder, and a pinch of nitroglycerin.
And then I'd have THEM shake it!
The phone at The Bar rings.
JESTER: "It's a great day at The Bar, this is Jester speaking, how may I help you?"
FEMALE CALLER: "Yes, is your bar open to the public?"
JESTER: "Ummm....yeeeessss....I certainly hope so!"
FEMALE CALLER: "Well, I asked because I saw that you're affiliated with the Key West Yacht Club."
JESTER: "No ma'am, we're not. We're downtown, and the Yacht Club is more midtown. They're basically halfway across the island from us. We're nowhere near them, and not affiliated with them in any way."
FEMALE CALLER: "That's weird. I googled them, and your name and number came up."
JESTER: "Well, that IS weird. I have no idea why that happened, but I assure you, we are not affiliated with them, and we ARE open to the public. Good luck!"
Snooty Salad With a Side of Speshul
Two young ladies sit down at one of the bar's satellite tables. We don't have cocktail servers, and unless the bartender is swamped and asks a server from the dining room to pick up said tables, we take care of them. And unless we're dead, that means talking to them over the bar, not going out to them, because the pass through is on the other side of the bar, we're a casual establishment, and we have enough to do as it is. In seven years at The Bar, I have see almost no one have a problem with this.
I call over to them, greet them, and hand them menus over the bar. A few minutes later, I see they're ready, have a couple extra minutes, and come around to their table to take their order. Get them drinks and settings, no worries. Their food comes out, I bring it straight to their table (not all bartenders do this, but I will almost always make the effort to bring their food to their table rather than hand it to them over the bar, even when I'm slammed). A few minutes later, I lean over the bar to check on them. One looks at me and says, "Can I talk to you?" Sure thing, I say, leaning over the bar and waiting. "No, I need to talk to you over HERE." Okay, something's up. I go out there, and she informs me that there is a hair in her entree salad. Shit. No problem. I remove it, and will of course take it off the bill. Does she want a new salad or something else to replace it? No? Okay.
They continue on with their meal, I take care of many other guests, then check back with them, again leaning over the bar, as is standard. Snootily, the same girls says, "Can I speak with your manager?" Sure, no problem. I'll send him right over. "Good, because we sat here so we wouldn't have to yell over the bar." Alrighty, Miss Snooty Pants. First, I already told you I'd send the manager over. Secondly, the entire bar heard you just say that, including the manager. Thirdly, had you sat AT the bar, you would not have had to yell over the bar, as we would have been eye to eye, you mental giant you. Whatever. I send the manager over there, they bitch and moan, he buys them a new round of drinks AND comps their ENTIRE bill, though nothing else was wrong with anything else. They leave, having paid nothing for anything, and tip me just as much as they paid: nothing.
I question whether there was even a hair there, to be honest. But giving them the benefit of the doubt that there was still didn't entitle them to their attitudes. I hope the one girl actually does get a wild hair stuck up her ass. Just to go with the broomstick already so firmly lodged there.
Beer Bummer
After work, I was sitting there enjoying a beer in my living room, aka World of Beer Key West. This one strange older dude, almost certainly a bum, is behind me sorta dancing around, sorta singing. Not that unusual for Key West, to be honest. I think he was going to ask me to buy him a beer or something, but I guess I might have unintentionally given him one of my Don't Fuck With Me Looks, because he said nothing to me.
A little bit later, the bartenders and I notice him over by the service bar area, drinking the remains of beers that had been cleared from other patrons.
ME:
BARTENDER: "Wait, is he doing what I think he's doing?!?"
BARTENDER #2: "Holy crap, he IS!"
The two of them start to head over there to deal with the situation, but before they can even take a few steps, the cook/bar back, Dave, a normally very mellow guy, who had been sitting at the back bar working on his laptop, is up in the bum's face. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Dave grabs the guy by the elbow and escorts him to the door, with security joining in to make sure nothing untoward happens. The bum is taking it all with grace and aplomb...by yelling at Dave. How DARE he treat him like this! Etc, etc, yada yada.
Yes, folks, it's really bad form to remove a non-paying non-customer from your establishment just because he's drinking people's leftovers. It's not like anyone else was going to drink them! What were they THINKING?
Hello, Jim Cantore. Goodbye, Jim Cantore.
As anyone who watches The Weather Channel knows, if Jim Cantore shows up in your town, you're basically fucked. Well, my current GM used to manage a place up the Keys some years back, and one day, while covering the season's tropical storms, Cantore came in. Having seen his coverage and how it often portrays the Keys--overhyping how dangerous it is to be here, even though storms almost always veer off and go somewhere else--my GM was having none of this. So he walked up to Cantore and told him he'd have to leave. Cantore asked him why. "Wherever you go, shitstorms follow. And we just can't have that here. So you're basically banned from coming in here. Ever."
Cantore:
GM and everyone there when Cantore left:
Jim Cantore is not very popular in these parts....
You're Kidding, Right?
This older couple comes in to my bar, calling my name, thrilled as hell to see me. Awesome. No clue who they are, but obviously they like me and the bar. That's a good start.
WOMAN: "Hi, Jester! Remember us?"
JESTER:
"Um....no?"WOMAN: "We were here two years ago!"
JESTER: "Wait, two YEARS ago?!?"
WOMAN: "Yes."
JESTER: "You DO realize that I deal with hundreds of people most weeks, which means I've dealt with several thousands in the last two years, right?"
WOMAN: "Yes."
JESTER: "And you think I'm gonna remember you."
WOMAN: "Yes!!!"
JESTER: (thinking something significant might have happened on their last visit, as sometimes something memorable like that WILL make me recall people--like, say, the couple who wanted souvenir cups from our bar, which we didn't have back then, so as a joke I gave them plastic cups after I wrote the bar's name and their names on them and told them they had to go drinking with them that night and bring them back the next morning, and they DID, with PHOTOS!) "Um, why? What happened?"
WOMAN: "Oh, nothing happened. But it's US! How could you forget US?
Honestly, lady? You'd be surprised how easy it is sometimes.
One Of Yours, Argabarga?
My apartment complex requires parking passes for residents. Our parking passes are stickers that we stick on the inside corner of the windshield. The complex does not offer guest passes.
So the other day, I was walking through the parking lot and noticed a car parked there with a big paper parking pass inside its windshield. Curious, I scanned their windshield and saw that they did not have one of my complex's stickers. So I looked at the paper parking pass, which read "Key West Golf Club." My apartment complex is not named Key West Golf Club. There IS a Key West Golf Club where people live, and presumably have parking passes for their vehicles, but it ain't us. Assuming this was a valid KWGC parking pass--a big assumption to be sure, at least based on Argabarga's tales--I have no idea what made these people think that THAT parking pass would be valid at OUR complex. Probably the same philosophy that gets people trying Store A's coupons at Store B. Hey, it's a parking pass, right? It must work everywhere!
The Dumb Is Strong (Island) In This One
Guy comes up to my bar and orders a Long Island Iced Tea. As I turn to make it, he says, "...and make it strong."
I wheel around. "Really? REALLY? You DO realize that a Long Island is basically all booze, right? With just a splash of sour and a splash of Coke, right? You do know this?"
HIM: "Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry."
I hate people like this. Bartenders hate people who say "make it strong" anyway, and I usually say something to the effect of "Do I LOOK like someone who makes weak drinks?" But to say that about a Long Island? Honestly, the only way to make a Long Island stronger would be to pour in some rubbing alcohol, a little gunpowder, and a pinch of nitroglycerin.
And then I'd have THEM shake it!
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