RESPECT THE BARMAN

11 11 2013

I’m not sure where people got the idea that the barman is an arsehole, slave or punching bag, but it sure as hell isn’t warranted and my rant is coming through to help the kids understand. He or she is not taking extra time just to piss you off, or ruin your party.

Quite simply, if you want to hurl abuse whilst I attempt to do my best, you can go and get fucked.

I am becoming less and less motivated to be the friendly, happy person behind the bar, dispensing happiness to help you enjoy your night, to loosen up the tongue when you see a cute guy or girl. My main aim here is to rid my own self of the negativity and find ways to laugh again, to avoid the wrinkles that come with having to yell at everyone. I may even retire the ‘Suck My Balls’ dance. But we won’t speak too soon as it is lots of fun, and very versatile – everyone can get involved.

Recently, I have noticed that the culture clash is much worse (at least for me) than it used to be. For example it seems customary and completely acceptable to display the following behaviours : (which will be followed by my response)

To wave cash / cards / empty glasses / menus in the bartender’s face – I see you bro, but you just lost your place in my queue because yes, actually, I do have eyes and I can, in fact, keep tabs on who is next. (Clicking or whistling will merit my question ‘Where is your dog?’ and then ‘Meet my bouncer’

To whinge about the speed of the service – Well how about that! I’ve been standing around scratching my arse / I’m dreadfully sorry, but the doorman has let other punters in tonight.

To exclaim ‘Finally!!’ when it comes their turn – You, sir, are an asshole, and shall remain thirsty.

To demand more than what is being paid for – Do you exige garments gratos at the register at H&M ? Perhaps a ‘cadeau’ of a garlic clove thrown in by Monoprix because ‘I shop here all the time’?

Complaints about prices – Bro, try ANY OTHER CLUB in this town and you’ll not get even twenty percent of the drinks of your round for the same price. (By round, I mean multiple drinks paid separately)

Grabbing your head to ensure  that you’re listening – I’d like to see you try that in any other establishment and see what happens.

‘MADEMOISELLE!!!!’ – is busy right now, as you can SEE with your EYES because there ain’t no GODDAMN LABRADOR by your side!

I would love to print on the back of a tee shirt ‘As soon as you see me stationary / chatting to my colleagues / doing nothing – feel free to hurl abuse. I wipe the bar, they’ll whinge that I’m not serving them. I serve them, they whinge because they’ve put their arm in a puddle of jager, beer, sperm or who knows what else. It drives me bananas.

I’m not sure where this highly efficient bar with lightning speed service is located, but it certainly doesn’t see eight hundred people walk through the door on a weekend and it sure as fuck isn’t located here in the capital of inefficiency. It was like chalk and cheese for the recent onslaught of hundreds of Kiwis in town for the All Blacks game, all buying rounds and paying cash, then they left for the stadium and the frenchies rolled in with their stilted ordering techniques and bank cards and bill splitting bull shite and everything went back to ‘normal.’

I regaled in a chef themed party one weekend because people thought piping ‘CHEF’ was a great idea. Until we turned it into a lovely innocent alternative to saying dickhead, and then the whole party was hilarious for everyone, but we had the last laugh. Chefs.

Think what you like about barfolk, we could be idiots, failed artists, high school dropouts, rock stars, recovering addicts, single parents, or highly skilled individuals or all of the above but, as I am going to try, you must expect positivity and good before the rest. If people turn out as planned, that’s awesome! If not, well its just another day at the office, or for me, another grey hair. If the tip of my tongue is missing, that’ll be why. I’ve never known how to bite it and if I learn, it may not last long!

So I’m done with the bullshit, the chefs and whatever, but I’ve got rent to pay and a bloody bonza group of kids on my side of the bar, so I must keep it going and bake cakes to fuel the smiles.

Peace.

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