bar stories :)

For a person who hates drinking so much, I love working at bars. It's exactly how babysitting is a form of birth control; working at a bar shows me exactly what it's like to drink, so I just ... "live" through their drinking experiences. I've worked in at least one bar for over a year now; I've worked in two bars for two months now, though I just quit the newer one. Over the past year and some odd months, I've developed quite a lengthy list of bar stories. These stories range from awkward drink orders from my English teacher, to basically, witnessing a soft porn sequence between two drunk people as I wash glasses. I've seen people almost fight, people spill things, people not be able to talk, and a number of attempts of being hit on or stalked.
So rather than tell my own drunk stories (especially since I don't have any... ) I will share other peoples :)
So here are a few of my favorites :)

The English Teacher
My English teacher from last year is someone I would consider a bit old fashioned. She went to Hillsdale so she's quite conservative; she's married, leads the Boys and Girl Bible Study groups for our school, and she is one of the toughest and most difficult teachers to work with. Well picture this fresh-out-of-college teacher showing up to my bar in a pair of a jeans and a tshirt with a bunch of her friends and her husband, then looking at me, calling me Megan, and telling me she'd like a strong Long Island Ice Tea. I guess everyone has to have their fun, but I didn't exactly picture Mrs. Wells the type to drink a Long Island.

My Bandana Boyfriend (probably the best ever story)
Regulars are the people who come in all the time; we typically know them on a first name basis, or at least know what they always drink. There are many Regulars in a small town, especially my town. This one guy, my Bandana Boyfriend is what he earned after the first night I met him. He used to come in and drink bottles and bottles of BudLight. The first night he came in, he gave me $6 because "I smelled good." Hey, I'm down. I wore that same perfume every night after that :) The second time he came in, he played Keno. I was told by the other servers that he never tipped though they always waited on him like crazy. I would simply take the Keno slips to a server who could run it (since I was under 18) and they would run it for me. First, he asked me if he could buy me a drink. No buddy; first of all, I'm not even old enough to drink, and second of all, I'm currently working. You just watched me dump out your last beer so you could get a new one. After that, he told me that every time he'd win, he'd split the winnings with me. Once again, I'm down :) The first round, he won $22 so that was $11 cash in my pocket. I told the girls about it; they didn't seem to happy that I was just standing there, taking their money. He won one more time, $22, so I got another $11. I split that with his server so she got a tip. Whooo! $17 extra cash in my pocket!! The third time he came in, he came in with his son. They rode their bicycles ... yes, bicycles. To the bar. To drink. Real BA's. Anyways.. they came and they weren't exactly sober. It was his son's birthday so they were pounding beers, shots, and playing Keno ... or atleast trying to. When they first came in, their server dragged me down to the opposite end of the bar to keep the old guy from hitting on me. She remembered that I have bummed $30 off of this guy before so she sends me back down to try to get some cash outta him. His son attempts to stand up and just falls flat on his face. He's trashed, he can't talk, he hit his head on the way down, and his dad is sitting there trying to help him up as he drinks his beer and keeps an eye on his Keno numbers. Meanwhile, the son's eyes are basically rolling to the back of his head. After the old guy calls the son every cuss word in the book, someone goes and gets one of our cooks to help him up. We tell him he has to leave, he's been cut off and they help him outside. The old guy stays at the bar. Lindsay (his server) goes down to talk to him and tell him he needs to leave; basically in one ear and out the other. Finally after cussing her out as well, he got up and turned to go back in the bathroom. The son is out back, outside, on the sidewalk, almost passed out. He's threatening a lawsuit because he fell and hit his head. This means cops and Rick, the manager. The old guy is in the bathroom, talking to himself when an off duty cop that was drinking upstairs steps in to try and help get the old guy outside who is currently talking to the urinal. "_ _ _ _ cops. I _ _ _ _ ing hate cops. They're _ _ _ _ ing pigs. Hell, I am a _ _ _ _ ing cop."
So then the real cops do come and take both of them away. In cop cars. And they never come back again. And I never did get anymore money out of him :(


That was a long one, so I'll tell more another time :)
By the way, both of these occurred at the Hunt Club :P



[PS]
a great quote :D


Life isn't about keeping score. It's not about how many people call you & it's not about who you've dated, are dating, or haven't dated at all. It isn't about who you've kissed, what sport you play, or which guy or girl likes you. It's not about your shoes or your hair or the color of your skin or where you live or go to school. In fact, it's not about grades, money, clothes, or college that accept you or not. Life isn't about if you have lots of friends, or if you are alone, and it's not about how accepted or unaccepted you are. Life just isn't about that.But life is about who you love and who you hurt. It's about how you feel about yourself. It's about trust, happiness, & compassion. It's about sticking up for your friends and replacing inner hate with love. Life is about avoiding jealousy, overcoming ignorance, and building confidence. It's about what you say and what you mean. It's about seeing people for who they are and not what they have. Most of all, it's about choosing to use your life to touch someone else's in a way that could never have been achieved otherwise. These choices are what life's about.