THIS IS NOT A STARBUCKS!

If I empathize with any one in the world it would most certainly be a fellow caffeine addict! I NEED coffee pumping through my veins 24 hours a day, 7 days a week or else someone might die. 

But do you want to know something absolutely insane, you guys? When I want to buy a coffee....I go to a place where THEY SELL COFFEE!!! Isn't that crazy?

So WHY do people show up to a BAR to purchase coffee? Doesn't coffee just sober you up?

I know that we're open late and there are a bunch of stools lined up at a counter...but did I do something wrong to give you the impression that this was a diner? Did a tiny Greek man pull you off the street and stick you in an oversize booth? Did a girl in a skirt skate up to you and offer you a three-pound menu of delicacies? NO! None of these things happened...but SOMEHOW, through some colossal miscommunication, you got the impression that it would be acceptable to look me in the face and order A MOCHA FRAPPUCINO!?!

PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE...

When you go to a sports bar or a dive bar- NEVER, EVER ask for an espresso, a caramel latte, or any other fucking thing you would buy AT A COFFEE SHOP!

And I don't care if you are European and you're used to taking a sip with every step. Here, in American pubs, we no servo AMERICANO! So please relax, order a beer, and continue to not tip me.

COCKTAIL EARS 

    As a bartender, you aren't given many choices as to where to spend a moment of downtime during your shift. You don't have a computer to surf Facebook or a truck to take a nap in. You can either walk to the right or you can walk to the left. Given these limitations, when presented with a moment of peace, you have no choice but to stand and look busy. This means one thing: I am listening to your conversations.  

    One of my favorite cocktail waitresses at the country club I used to work at lovingly called this attribute “cocktail ears.”

    If you do a little cheap Google research you’ll find out that there truly is something called the Cocktail Party Effect- when our brains are able to pin-point specific sounds among a background of noise. So, if you’re at a party with loud music blaring and drunk girls screeching you can still focus in on the conversation you’re having with your future ex-husband.   

    Much like a tumor that I never asked for or expected, my cocktail ears have developed over the 9+ years I’ve been working in the hospitality industry into something I can no longer control. Which means that, lucky for you, I hear just about EVERY conversation going on in the bar (whether you think I do or not).

    So whether you are reprimanding your boyfriend for his questionable choices at last night's BBQ, you’re on the phone chatting it up about the success of your latest anti-depressants, or you’re a group of dudes ranking the racks of every girl in the bar…I hear EVERY. WORD.

    And my radar is not limited to patrons at the bar. So if you think you’re safe sitting at the table by the bathroom to pass off that dime bag, think again my friends! When you've worked behind the bar for long enough, the physical tasks (like pouring a beer or shaking a cosmo) operate on auto-pilot. Much like driving a car. So listening to a conversation across the room doesn't require much effort.

    I've dropped in on conversations revealing the results of STD tests, how much a good blow job should really cost, what color to paint your walls in order to feel happy, what the best ratio of ketchup to burger is, the year the aliens will return to earth to claim our souls, or the best place to buy discount codes online. I know about your athletes foot, your bodily functions failing, what kind of underwear you're wearing, your sexual preferences, and how you like your butt hole tickled with a peacock feather. I know if you're going to order another drink long before you ask me AND if you're going to stick with the same thing or try something new. And no matter what I always smile and innocently ask "how are we doing over here?" as if I didn't just find out that you masturbate to crime scene photos.

    But don't worry: your secrets are safe with me (…unless you masturbate to crime scene photos...) Just remember that while you’re at a bar- unless you are a master of telepathy- nothing is safe. And above all else, whether I just found out you’re an Olympic medalist or a kiddy-diddler, at the end of the day it’s my job to just smile and pretend I never heard a word. 

 

Uncool Ways to Order Your Ice

"LIGHT ICE"

Here's a little tip for all you nickel nursing houch-hounds out there: ordering your drink with "light ice" does not mean you're going to get MORE alcohol in your drink! Every bar does it differently, but most bars stick to a standard one-ounce pour. That means that no matter what you order- whether it’s Rum and Coke or a Jack on the rocks- you are paying for ONE ounce of alcohol. Not to mention, light ice is going to water your drink down a lot faster than a regular amount of ice. If you enjoy your drink diluted- then cheers to you! 


    The bottom line: asking a bartender for light ice is customer for "I'm a dick who is not going to tip you!" If you want more alcohol then dig a little deeper and pay for a double. OR tip me well...and maybe I'll add an extra splash in there for ya! ;) Just don't expect less ice to be your ticket to a bargain beverage! 

“ONE ICE CUBE,” “ONLY TWO ICE CUBES,” “THREE ICE CUBES,” or “I WANT ONLY A FEW ICE CUBES.”

    The Rainmen of the bar world are constantly counting the number of ice cubes that go into their drink.

[Now allow me to clarify that I have NO problem with someone who knows what they want and will ask me for exactly that. If you are drinking a 60 year old Macallan and want to enjoy it at a certain temperature, then by all means lay down the law! After all, I am working for YOU and I’m happy to oblige. Plus, if you’re drinking a 60 year old Macallan then you probably know a hell of a lot more about Whisky than I do…annnnnd you’re super rich so I’m not going to fuck with you].  

    Now what I DO have a problem with are individuals that send their drinks back either because the ice has melted and changed the equation of what they originally ordered, or when they ordered the drink they spat some estimate figure out and (because no bartender is a psychic) received a drink with the incorrect number of ice cubes. 

    This never seems to be a huge fiasco to someone actually sitting at the bar. The meltdown usually occurs with customers who are sitting at tables. Obviously, when you sit at the bar you get quicker service than when you sit at a table (why does no one understand that?) I can’t tell you how many drinks get sent back to the bar because they were ordered with a specific number of ice cubes in them but by the time they reached the table that number has changed.

    Most rational human beings understand what’s going on here. Unfortunately for me, there are a few jackholes out there that seem to have fallen asleep for…MOST OF THEIR LIVES… because they seem to lack the basic knowledge that ice does something incredible when placed into a warmer liquid than itself: IT MELTS.

    Think for just a second here, my friends! Once a bartender has receive your drink order and picked up the proper glassware, they have to rummage through the ice and scoop out your desired number of cubes, place those cubes into a room temperature glass, and then pour liquor over the ice. The bartender usually will then have to finish making your friends drinks, give them to the server, and then the server has to bring those drinks to you. By the time the drink arrives some (if not all) of the ice has melted!

    Now wait a minute, Julia, what about if you made THAT drink last and dropped the ice cubes into the drink after you poured it? Okay! Let’s dance around in the hypothetical world for a minute and say I’m a bartender who thinks ahead and understands the basic thermal properties of ice. So, I make all of the other drinks at the table first and leave the scotch with “ONLY TWO ice cubes” for last. After I pour the scotch into the glass and then add exactly two ice cubes, I hand it to the server to take over to the table. The server places the drink in front of the customer and the customer swiftly backhands the server who is just trying to get through community college and support herself after her parents kicked her out of their trailer (HEY: it’s my hypothetical here!) The customer throws the drink in his pock-marked face and demands that she take it back. Why? Because now the customer is pissed that their scotch has one ice cube in it when they specifically ordered two!

ICE MELTS, mother fuckers! 
What did you expect, you dildo?

    Christ on a crutch, people! If you are going to become unglued if the number of ice cubes isn’t exact: do me a favor and order your drink NEAT with ice on the side. That way you can use your own grubby ass fingers to add as much or as little ice as your mother-humping heart desires!