Misanthrope Weekend

Dunno what it was, 'cause there was no full moon, but there was a disproportionately high number of obnoxious bastards this weekend.

Early-ish in the evening on Friday, a couple random guys plop down at the bar right by the waitress station. The dude nearest, and thus most in the way, turns around in his stool to peruse the place. I walk over to the computer to put in an order.
Guy: Hey!
I look at him for a moment. He says nothing, expecting me to be friendly and respond to the greeting/command for attention. I turn away.
Guy: You don't talk much, do you?
Me: Nope.
I finish putting in the order and make my exit. I walk away, and Laura catches my eye. She's trying not to laugh.
Laura: I love the expression on your face when that happens.

Then I got the annoying table. We start out kinda normal. Half a dozen people, though the number fluctuates constantly during the night as people wander around, which also makes it near impossible for me to actually check on them because at most I can only ever check on three or so people at a time. Of course, none of them thinks of this, instead assuming I can't do my job because when they eventually return to the table and want a drink, I'm somewhere else because I just checked on everybody two minutes ago when said person was hanging out downstairs/on the patio/on Mars.
First round, public enemy number one pulls out her credit card and hands it to me.
Me: Would you like me to run it, or should I keep it open?
Mojito Girl: Well, if you're going to keep it, I'd rather give you my drivers license.
Me: Well, I need an actual card in order to keep a tab open.
Mojito Girl: You're not gonna lose it are you? ('cause I always lose credit cards)
Me: Why don't I just run it and bring it right back to you?
Mojito Girl: Okay.

Second round.
Mojito Girl: I want another mojito, but not like the first one. The first one was sweet, make it without sugar this time.
Oh, so sorry. Just because mojitos are made with simple syrup, I should have known you don't like them the way they're made. Gosh, I'm an idiot.
Me: (to blue-shirt-wearing guy who just joined) And can I get something for you?
Blue shirt: Oh, I think I'm gonna go up to the bar to get something.
Riiiiight.
Second round, ball cap guy gives me his card. He has me run a tab.

At about nine thirty, the single-most loathsome regular we have comes in with a friend and the friend's ten year old son. Awesome. He sits at a table. Technically, it's Laura's turn, but she's swamped closing out a million separate tabs for the table of lawyers. C. and his pals are all mine. Super awesome. I get their drink order without drama. While I'm waiting on the drinks, Laura tells me that C. asked her about food and she reminded him the kitchen closes at nine. Now, the truth is, Debbie made a few extra sandwiches for after-hours. When Laura says this to me, I think of the sandwiches. I bring the drinks over. C. asks me about food (because he thinks I like him more than Laura does and am more willing to "help him out," maybe)
C.: Hey, is there anything to eat around here?
Me: No. The kitchen closes at nine. Also, I gotta let you know that we can't have any minors in the bar after ten o'clock.
C.: What about downstairs? (Which is not part of the bar?)
Me: Uh, no.
C.: On the patio?
Me: Not the patio either.
And thank goodness for small graces, they were done and out within half an hour because they had to be.

Last call. Mojito girl is on the patio. She wants a rum and coke. I pick up glasses and am forced to walk very slowly behind her as she saunters inside, blocking the back hall so I can't get past. I bring the last drinks the rest of the table ordered over. On my way back to the bar she hollers out, "I'm over here now!" assuming that I failed to notice.

I run ball cap guy's card 'cause he said he was ready for me to do so.

I also run mojito girl's card for that last drink, and when I bring the slip and the drink over, ball cap guy gets my attention.
Ball cap: Uh, can I get a print out of everything that was on my tab?
Me: Sure.

A short time later, ball cap guy comes over to the bar.
Him: Uh, can you tell me what this is? I was talking to everybody about what they had, and nobody had this.
He points to the tab. He and his friends have been here for a few hours. They've been drinking alcohol. I have not. Yet, he expects his friends' memory to be better than mine.
Me: Yeah, that was a rum and coke.
Him: But I ordered a Malibu and coke.
Me: Your second was a Malibu and coke, the first one you just said rum and coke and so I did the house rum.
Him: But how is it $9.00?
Me: It's not, the $9.00 is the two drinks on the next line.
Him: And there's one too many mojitos.
Me: Let's see, that's two for the gal (mojito girl) and two for your other friend.
Him: But, the gal only had two mojitos.
Me: Right, and your friend wearing the blue shirt had two as well.
Him: Oh.
For the love of Nicholas! Why, after trusting your friends alcohol lubricated memories over mind, are you now expecting me to remember exactly who had every single drink and when?

Okay, so I could, but that's not the point. $66 tab. $6 tip. Thanks buddy. Thanks a lot. Look, if you don't trust the server to run a tab, fine. Then don't run a tab. Rocket science it is not.

Mojito Girl kindly filled in a zero on her slip.

Saturday, I thought, had to be better. Right?

Saturday is dead. I have seven whole tables over the course of the night.
The ladies on the patio are regulars and I think we have a pretty good rapport. They usually have two beers each and tip two dollars each. Tonight they have dinner as well, and an appetizer. They still tip two dollars each. Thanks for the 10%, why do you suddenly hate me?

The seemingly out-of-towner foursome has two ego-trip guys who fight over who's gonna pay me. They can't figure it out for themselves, and force me to choose. I grab the card from the guy on the left. It's a room key. He thinks he's hilarious. I go to take the card from the other guy, but the first guy shoves it away and then (no joke) throws his own card at me.

Two likeable regulars come in with a friend. I think to myself, "Hallelujah, somebody I can stand!"
Me: Hi there, guys, how's it going tonight?
Regular 1: It's going good. Do you know our friend?
Me: A little. (I recognize him, but we've never "met")
Their friend orders himself a girly martini. He finishes it quickly.
Me: Would you like another?
Him: No, I'll do a beer. There's not hardly anything in the martini.
That's 'cause it's a martini.

He starts throwing popcorn at the good regulars (who later apologize for the mess).

While the dude is in the bathroom, the other regular leans over to me.
Regular 2: We're taking our friend out tonight, 'cause he wants to meet girls. Do you know where we can find girls?
Me: Not so much.
Regular 2: (shakes her head) He's our age (early forties) but he only wants to meet girls who're 22.
Aw dang, I'm too old for him then. Shucks, I'm so disappointed.

And then there's the other group who does the musical tables thing that's so annoying. They also do the fighting over who's gonna pay thing, compromising with taking turns on the rounds. At one point, most of the group is off to the bathrooms or the patio, and guy who was arguing about who was gonna pay catches my eye.
Guy: I'd like another round for everybody.
Me: Sure thing.
I pick up a bottle and look at the label (they got round 1 at the bar) so I know what to bring one of the gals.
Guy: Don't bring 'em all yet, wait until they're ready.
Me: Alright.
I bring the guy his drink.
Guy: Hey, where are the rest of 'em?

I think ever-so-fondly of Manuel's stabbing fork, and feel the little vein in my forehead go a-twitching.

At least it was a slow enough night that I got to sit at the bar a lot and talk to Alex and K.C. and a couple others who I didn't want to murder. At least it was slow a slow enough night that we actually close early for the first time ever on a weekend I've been working. Granted, the money was pitiful, but at least there was no homicide. Barely.