Cans of Whoop-ass with a Sidecar of Sass…

Even after years of bartending, it always amazes me how quickly men fall (at least for the night) for the sexy, aloof, sassy bartender chick. If a man sits down at the bar (without a girl), there is a 75% chance he will give me some kind of crap to “see how I handle it.” Of course there are varying degrees of this, but at this point it’s all pretty much the same to me. I throw it back at them faster than they can blink, and on occasion have literally cut someone with a tongue lashing (just kidding- that was for you, B- don’t you hate when people say literally and don’t mean it at all??) within the first five minutes of them sitting down. Don’t holler at me, don’t call me sweetheart or baby, and god help you if you snap your fingers at me.

The really nice thing about where I’m at right now is that I don’t need my second job. To be sure, the extra cash is pretty much the difference between getting by vs. really enjoying my life, but at the end of the day, being a proud and stubborn person means that I’m a little more… cavalier, we’ll say, with my attitude towards my customers. Honest, even. (Yeah, that sounds better. Let’s go with honest.) If someone steps out of line or pisses me off, I have absolutely zero problems with setting them straight in a fashion usually involving biting sarcasm with just a hint of emasculation. (Mind you, this really only works on men. Women will go running to the manager if they have to ask twice for the extra mayo they don’t need.) (Ooooo we’re feisty today!)

Last night a familiar scenario played out- this happens at least once every night I work. A male, generally over the age of 35 (perhaps part of this is resentment that the hot young twenty-something bartender is no longer really within reach? The other part is most likely a (sub?)conscious belief that women cannot bartend as well as men, with a dash of plain old crotchety-ness) yells to get my attention, despite the fact that I am clearly doing three to seven other things at the moment. Quite often, I will actually be in the act of taking someone else’s drink order, and he will simply interrupt. When I ignore him, he starts waving and getting louder; the aforementioned “sweetheart” or “baby” is dropped, and replace with an insistent and childish “Excuse me!” (Obviously I’m ignoring you for a reason, seeing as you could be waving in the planes from Reagan with your oh-so-fervent gesturing.) Finally, after I give him the “One MINUTE” signal without making eye contact (this is very important- every skilled bartender knows to never make eye contact, except with the person they are actually helping), they start pouting and making loud snide comments about the “slow service” to anyone (no one) who will listen.

When I am completely finished with the checklist in my head I had to do BEFORE this asshat starting pestering me, I then, and only then, walk over and inquire what said asshat needs.

This is just one example of why (most) men at the bar need to be abused. It’s like I’m a substitute teacher and they’re my unruly children who only respect me when I lay down the Law! Except instead of music, I use cans of whoop-ass with a sidecar of sass.

Whatevs, as soon as I leave the bar, I can go back to being my sweet and quiet self…

Shuttup, all of you. I can hear you laughing.