Bar Guys I Hate: The Blind Bartender

18 Nov

Here’s the thing. I appreciate your work. You bust your ass taking caps off Ultras every minute or so. It’s truly God’s work you’re doing.

But let me make one thing clear. Those boobs your eyes are stuck to all night aren’t paying your bills.

Let’s make a conservative estimate. One out of every 20 drinks is likely bought by someone who is not going to drink it. And another two out of every 20 drinks is bought by someone who wishes they didn’t have to buy them themselves. That means about 30% of the cash coming in is completely lacking of boobs. (The math is sound. You don’t have to check it.)

My point is as much as you like to pretend I’m not standing directly in front of you waiting patiently for acknowledgement, you’re choosing to spend your shift making 900 vodka cherry sours. Why? Maybe you’re holding out on the off chance one of these girls will ask what time you get off? I can guarantee they will be long passed out by the time you close up shop.

I, on the other hand, order easy drinks, and am a decent tipper and an enjoyable conversationalist. Really no reason not to take my order. So WTF, man?

I’m not that guy who says, “Hey, boss,” every few minutes until you finally break. I don’t lean across the bar so you have to tell be to back off. I don’t sit at the bar blocking your traffic. WTF?

The shitty part is that it’s not like I’m going to walk away. I’m going to wait there as long as it takes for you to pour seven bucks worth of Maker’s over some ice and hand it over. Then I’m going to give you a good tip because I’m a decent individual and a little bit dependent on you maybe.

I know that you’re not going to change. You have a lot of years of experience telling you to keep serving those girls. Hell, maybe you even think you’re doing the right thing by keeping the “ladies first” situation going. And I’m all for chivalry, but this is America. When I walk up to the bar, I have the Constitutional right to place an order. It’s one of the amendments, probably.

So to all the guys out there waiting on a drink, I challenge you to pull the copy of the Constitution out of your pocket and leave that as your next tip.


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