Bonus Clue

Today I went over to mom & dad's to drop off some leftover elk rouladen and try and figure out what the heck to get my sibling for Christmas. While I was there we talked about the mystery trip a bit and I asked them if they'd been telling people where they're sending Casey and me.

Dad joked that he hadn't told many people 'cause he couldn't pronounce the name of the place. Then he followed that comment by, "Whups, shouldn'a said that."

Clue #9

"Temperatures range from 69° to 83°---local time is 1 hour later than we are."
-Mom

Karmic Deficit

Working at a bar means having certain principles illustrated time and again. One is Murphy's Law, the other is this idea that the Universe likes balance.

Wednesday was a great night. This means that on the Universe's balance sheet, my account was in the red. I had more than met my quota of ideal customers, but came up short on the idiots, pains in the ass, and bad tippers. Since I have today off, that means I had to make up for my karmic deficit all in one night - last night. Hoorah!

A while back I told Marianne we were getting busy enough during happy hour to warrant two people on the floor by six. She schedules me at four and new guy at five. It's pretty quiet when I get there, and still quiet when new guy does. After a brief, "howdy," I do a go 'round of my tables and then it's kind of boring for a while, during which time I find out that new guy is originally from Springs where he did a lot of bouncer work, that his wife does in-home nursing care, that he's got a one year old son, and that most barnacles are gay.

I get a table of two gals who I recognize from coming in before. One I like, one I'm indifferent to. They start with some moscow mules and pretzels. A guy sits down at the table beside them and is pretty nice and low maintenance. Two regular ladies come in, I say "The usual?" and M tells me it's L's B-day, so I say, "Well then, that first Guiness is on the house." They give me a couple of big smiles. Then I go check on the two ladies who've settled in on the comfy seats at the other end of the place. They're drinking wine, chatting, and in a very good mood.

Now, at this point it looks like a pretty good group, right? A couple people I like outright, a couple who seem alright. Fast forward: it stays slow and fairly boring all through happy hour and there's both of us to twiddle our thumbs instead of just me. The birthday party closes out and moves on, leaving their standard tip of about 18%. The wine-drinking ladies do the same, leaving $6 on a $14 check. They rock. With them, however, also goes the last of my good luck for quite some time.

The other two tables both hang out for a few hours. The guy by himself has a friend join him, who, as soon as I bring him his first drink says, "You are officially my hero." Cheers. Everything's going well with that table, the two guys are all smiles and real friendly. I even give 'em a few songs on the jukebox. It seems like we've hit it off, right? $46 tab, $5 tip. Thanks.

Meanwhile, gal I like has left and a new gal has joined the other one. They split a sandwich, have more drinks. A couple guys join 'em. Finally, they're ready for their check. One of the new guys: $9 check, $0 tip. The two gals, $71 check, $5 tip. Thanks a bucket.

During this time I also get to contend with everybody being in the way, starting to get a sore throat from all the talking over people and saying "EXCUSE ME," and I've got the annoying woman. She comes in with her friends, gives me a card to start a tab. I say, "Where are you sitting?"
Annoying woman: We have to sit down?
Me: It helps. It also helps keep the walkways clear. (I mean, obviously we have tables and chairs to encourage people to stand around in the way all night.)
She sits down, sorta, and orders a half & half, but with Bud Light instead of Harp - and what the bloody hell is that about? I'm not even a beer drinker, and even I know better than that. Then, when the layers don't hold, she tells me "I ordered a half and half, what's this?"
Me: A half and half. I guess the layers didn't hold since it was Bud Light.
Annoying woman: (mutters something about how she comes here all the time and never has problems, therefore implying that I am the problem, thank you very much)
Me: Would you like me to have them try again?
Annoying woman: No.
Me: Super.

At around eleven thirty, we've slowed down.
Damian: Since we're slow and there's not much money to be made split two ways, you want me to go home since I'm the new guy?
Me: Nah. I've gotta show you how to close, so that means we both get to be here until two. Yay! I'm gonna head downstairs for a while. If you need me, come get me.

I like going downstairs when I'm really annoyed because then I get to be behind the bar for a while and I like that barrier between me and the horde, also since I usually wash glasses to help Dave #2 catch up it means I'm doing something that doesn't require me to pretend to be friendly with drunk strangers. It's beautiful. While I'm down there I talk with Dave #2 and Jamie for a while, and watch while Jamie makes a new best friend. I head back up, abandoning her to her fate.

Still boring. I go back down.

Jamie: Thanks a lot for ditching me.
Me: No problem, any time.
Jamie: You know what that guy said to me? He said, "Hey, I'm not trying to hit on you... but I have a sister your age... I love you."
Me: Aw, isn't that sweet?
Dave #2: Makes you feel incestous, doesn't it?

Back upstairs I sit by the very front table for a bit. Donny comes over and tells K.C. about this one crazy guy wandering around. Turns out to be Jamie's new best friend.
Donny: You know what he said to me? He came up to me at the bar and said, "Why are you riding a horse?" I mean, what the fuck?

To sum up: Despite the obnoxiousness of the night, I managed to wash away the homicidal urges by leaving Damian to take care of things whilst I hung out with Dave#2 and taught Jamie how to play Gin. The new guy seems alright, though still more in bouncer mode than server mode, but that's just a matter of time. Thanks to my karmic deficit, by the two o'clock this morning I walked out of the bar having made a whopping $5 more than I did on Wednesday, even though I was there four and a half hours longer and had $200 more in sales. I'd say that I'm back in the black with the Universe.

Stark Mumbling Mad

On Wednesday at about ten fifteen most of the people have cleared out of the bar. All my tables are gone, I'm sweeping up, and there are five people left upstairs, three of whom are staff. A guy in a red sweatshirt wanders in and my first thought is to wonder where he came from and what he's doing here. He looks nothing like our regular crowd (mainly middle-aged professionals) because he's late twenties, in sloppy clothes and looks like he's unfond of grooming. Okay, so my actual first thought was "Where did wolfman come from?" thanks to his facial hair.

He sits down at the bar and I don't pay him much attention. I grab the broom and start sweeping, during which I happen to overhear a bit of what this guy's saying. I can't make any sense of it because he's mumbling and nonsensical. All I get is Dave doing his best to blow the guy off. I make my way over near the door and then I hear the crazy guy saying, "I just wanna sit for a while" and Dave replying, "Sorry, man. You can't hang out here," and "Have a good one," to which the guy doesn't move. So, a good five minutes later of Dave repeatedly telling the guy to move along, he finally gets up. I make my way over near Dave and behind the bar because this guy makes me uneasy and I don't want to be standing by the door alone as he passes by.

The loony leaves, I wait for him to cross the street, then I get back to sweeping. Before I'm finished, who should wander back in? Apparently, he either forgot that Dave told him to get lost, or forgot that he'd even come in our bar in the first place. Heck, probably both. He sits down and mumbles something to Dave about how, "They're watching me." Super.

At this point Dave #2 comes up from the basement to hide from the trivia people for a while and comes over by me and Alex. I whisper to him that Dave just kicked this guy out, and we all sit back and watch.

Another ten minute conversation of Dave nicely telling the guy to get the hell out, including a bit about liability and the fact that the guy's pretty messed up, sitting in our bar and how cops wouldn't be inclined to have a conversation about the fact that Dave never, in fact, served the crazy guy. During this conversation, loony replies by reaching out his arm, pointing to a burn on his wrist, and saying "What does that mean?", "Why would they burn me like that?", and something about wanting to meet women. I start to wonder if we're going to see some excitement because Dave's going to call the cops or something, when the guy finally realizes that Dave is, once again, telling him to leave. He mumbles something else then wanders out the door.

Me: Jeez, what was he on? Or, was it that he wasn't on what he's supposed to be?
Dave 2: Ali, you gotta tell your boyfriend to stop coming in when he's all ripped like that.
Alex: Yeah.
Me: That's it, I'm not talking to either of you anymore.

If Every Night Was Like Last Night

I'd be far less eager to leave the bar.

Last night was a night of groups. Three of which arrived at about the same time, which also happened to be about the time I arrived, so for a bit there I was playing catch-up. Luckily, all of the groups were low-maintenance and patient. One of which even included two of my favorite professors. So, a few groups of 6-10 people, most of whom wanted to eat, and me not quite running, but power walking at least. Then Dave lets me know that a group of eight is coming in at about seven for a small party.

By seven I'm caught up, though still with about five tables at that point, two are groups. One of those groups is a handful of guys who come in every other Wednesday to do fantasy football. They're great. Really laid back, totally low maintenance, and good tippers. What more can you ask for? Then the group of eight rolls in, all of whom looked to be in their sixtes or better. As soon as they walk in, before I can even make it over to their table, a gal wearing a pink shirt comes up and orders a shrimp bowl (split in two 'cause it's a longish table). My first thought: (sarcastically) oh boy, this is going to be fun.

However, as soon as they settle in and I bring their drinks, everybody was in a good mood and we hit it off fabulously. Pink shirt gal is real friendly, tells me I'm doing great and actually means it (vs. just doing the verbal tip thing). Over the course of about two hours they all have a drink, some dinner, and lots of conversation. The host closes the tab, giving me a solid 20%, and they hang out a bit longer to visit. I let 'em know there are a few songs left on the jukebox if they'd like to pick some, and shortly thereafter one of the gentlemen makes his way over to pick a Natalie Cole song. They're all smiles when they leave and pink shirt gal tells me once more what a great time they had.

Here's the topper - when I went to ask Marianne where I should put the tablecloth from the party, she asks me how it went, saying, "She's really hard to please."
I say, "Which one?" thinking it might've been one of the quieter ladies.
Marianne: She was wearing a pink shirt.
Me: We hit it off great.
So there we go, I managed to win over a woman Marianne thinks is hard to please, and Marianne thinks that about very few people.

So, by the end of the night I'd had a lot of pleasant people who put my tip average well over 20% overall, meaning I made twice as much on an average/slow Wednesday than I did last Saturday. All this, and I was on my way home before eleven.

Of course, there was the stark raving mad guy, but he was Dave's thing, not mine. I think he gets his own post.

Clue #8

"You can only get there by Ferry boat."
-Dad

Well, Jenny. I'd say this rules out Mesa Verde.

One Good Thing About Bar Wenching

This Friday I'll be in a prime set up for catching a show as the Geminids meteor show peaks at around 2 a.m.

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/22149504/?GT1=10645

Here's a heads-up for all my waitstaff bretheren and sisteren, don't forget to look up when you're hauling out trash at closing time over the next few nights.

Elk Rouladen

I requested this Saturday off at the bar so I could have that time to work on the last of the party prep, and surprise, surprise, I actually got the day off! Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

So, technically the party is a potluck. However, I get a kick out of cooking when I'm not the only one who'll be eating the food, so I've got a list of half a dozen things I'm going to prepare and an extra crockpot borrowed from my mom to help keep things hot. Since I'm now done with anything class related for the semester (Hallelujah!) and since I've got Saturday off, I've got oodles and oodles of time to cook.

I've also taken a big chunk out of my prep time by making most of the rouladen on Monday. This year when mom got her elk, my folks used their nifty new meat slicer to turn some of that elk into thin strips for things like stir fry and, of course, rouladen. This is my first elk rouladen and I'm curious to see if I'll be able to tell much difference. Since my family is a hunting family, I'm used to eating game meat just as much (if not more) than beef. Heck, now that I'm in my own house the vast majority of the red meat I cook is elk or antelope out of my parents' freezer.

Anyhow, I used a couple of packages of elk on Monday and got a batch of about twenty. I picked up another last night and figure that'll be worth maybe 8-10 more. About right for the party, I think, with some leftovers potential. Mmm...

Nifty Logo

As part of the blog carnival, Ribeye's partner has made everybody a nifty mini banner. I dig it. I like that mine's a cartoon. Seems appropriate.

Clue #7

"Have you ever seen beads made from turtle shells?"
-Dad

Is it just me or is it kind of wrong that they have turtle shell beads at a turtle sanctuary?

I mentioned to mom and dad that I'm making these clues a matter of public record. They said it's cheating. :)

Blog Carnival

Introducing Ribeye's brainchild, the blog carnival:
http://www.ragingserver.com/best_waiter_server_blog/2007/12/10/the-round-table-volume-1-121007/

In short, the carnival is going to be a weekly best-of among a group of blogging waitstaff. Each week is hosted on a different blog and gives you a collection of delightful rants and ravings. Enjoy.

Doing It Wrong

Kids tend to be the bane of the server's life. They run about, get in the way, and their parents are often annoying ("What do you mean you don't have booster seats in a bar?!"). In light of this, I just want to send out a Thank You to two parents who came in on Wednesday. They're both semi-regulars and every now and again they'll bring in their son. He sits down, sometimes with a book to read, orders for himself, and ends up behaving more maturely than half the adults who walk through our door. He's also more polite than most of my customers. Come on folks, if a ten-year-old can do it, why can't everybody?

Okay, moving on...

Remember the guy from last week who complained that his vodka martini was awful strong? On Friday I had a couple come in and I think the gal was that guy's cousin. After the couple's first round, they look at our scotch list and contemplate whether they want two Glenmorangies or one.
Me: Why don't I bring one, then you can try it and see if you'd like another?
Them: Sounds good.
-I bring them one scotch on the rocks, give them both a minute to take a sip, then wander back.
Me: (to gal) Would you like to make that two?
Gal: Oh, no. It's too strong, it tastes like straight alcohol.

Guy: I'll have a tonic and lime. No liquor for me. I'm an alcoholic.

Me: Here's your change.
Guy 1: Keep $2 for yourself.
Guy 2 (a semi-regular): Stick it in your bra.
Me: Nope. You gotta pay extra for that.

A few years ago I had a conversation with a three-year-old which I remember vividly. I was babysitting and she wanted a snack. She'd already eaten a ton of sweets, so I limited her choices.
Me: Okay. You can have an apple, an orange, or a banana. What would you like?
Girl: A cookie.
Me: No, kiddo. You've already had a couple. You've got to eat something healthy first. So, apple, banana or orange?
Girl: Cookie.
This conversation lasted a good five minutes. Gotta love three-year-olds.

This conversation came to mind this weekend when I had other people who didn't understand their options.

Me: Do you know what you'd like, or would you like a minute?
Guy: Uhh...

Me: Would you like to run a tab?
Gal: (Not reaching for cash) We'll see.

I always like the way some people, when given a specific list of options - order or wait, run a tab or pay now - opt for another of their own creating. I almost want to have that same conversation I had with the little girl, the part where I said, "Okay, kiddo. Here's how this giving you your options thing works..."

John: (now finished with his shift and having had a few drinks) Ali, you should make up a shot for us. Just do anything you want, as long as it's cold. Hey Julia, Ali's gonna make a couple shots for me and Alex.
-Have I mentioned how I'm not a bartender? Or, about how I'm not a drinker either? The shot recipes I know off the top of my head are few in number, and John wanted me to make one up. After a second of thinking about it, I pulled out the creme de cocoa and creme de banana. Equal parts, add ice, into shot glasses.
John: (downs it) That wasn't very good.

I guess I'd better stay in school and forget my dreams of being the world's most fantastico bartender. Aw, shucks.

Apparently, There Are No Phones in Denver

Last night I talked to Marianne about cutting back on my hours at the bar. This week was a perfect illustration for why. I've already talked about the fun with credit cards on Wednesday, and I figured that Friday might be alright. I was scheduled for 4:00, another gal for 9:00 so I went to work planning to go home early, which was fortunate since I was worn out and not in the best of moods. The perfect night for being able to duck out around eleven, right? Yeah, you already see how this is going to go down.

7:00 p.m. - we start getting busy and I start thinking how it'd be nice to have some help soon.

8:00 p.m. - I'm swamped and running as fast as I can between a nearly full house (13 tables) all to myself.

9:00 p.m. - no co-worker, but no big deal since she ascribes more to the show-up-when-you-feel-like-it school of thought and usually is at least ten minutes late.

9:20 p.m. - I ask Julia if she's heard anything from AWOL girl. Nope. Julia calls her, or tries, her phone's turned off. (By the way, it's still busy. It's Friday, after all)

10:00 p.m. - I ask Jan if she knows anything. Two things come to light: 1-Jan talked to her earlier that day, gal said she'd be there at nine. 2-Tonight is gal's boyfriend's work Christmas party.

2:00 a.m. - I'm counting out my bank ($1,170 total in sales, two hundred over my previous all-time record) and hoping AWOL girl gets fired. No call-no show, this is the third time in about four months when she hasn't come in on my night to go home early, my thoughts about her are expletive-filled.

By the time I get home, my body is sore from the long, exhausting night. I console myself with the knowledge that I get to go back and do almost the exact same thing the next night.

Saturday:
3:00 p.m. - I get a call from the bar. Since I'm at the movie theater getting ready to watch Enchanted, I let it go to voice mail. I turn to my mom and say, "That can only mean one of two things, they're closing the bar tonight because of the weather, or they want me to come in early." Turns out that new gal has called off, so could I come in an hour early to help with the party downstairs? Nope. I couldn't. I don't like parties and I had no desire to come in at all, much less early to do a party.

6:00 p.m. - I come in, as scheduled, and they send me downstairs to help with the party. I try to get drinks for people, but they all tell me they're fine, then go up to the bar.

7:00 p.m. - Marianne decides Dave #2 can handle things by himself and sends me upstairs where I'm immediately at the beck and call of two aggressively-friendly semi-regulars.

8:00 p.m. - It's still mind-numbingly slow. At this point I've made four dollars in tips. Julia comes in and says the magic, but always ironic, words, "Maybe we'll close early tonight."

8:00-12:30 - It gets just busy enough that I realize there's no chance of an early close, but not busy enough to keep me from being insanely bored and frequently asking Julia if she's got anything I can do. I wash a lot of glassware.

12:30 a.m. - I'm officially out of customers as my last two (though long-since finished drinking) tables have gone. I say "to hell with looking busy" and plop down on a comfy chair with Realms of Fantasy and start reading.

1:00 a.m. - Julia says, "If K.C. will put up the chairs for you, go ahead and take off."

1:10 a.m. - I'm scraping snow off my car and getting the hell out of there.

Now, getting back to the title...
When I asked about AWOL girl on Saturday, in the hopes of getting something vehement about somebody getting fired, I was informed that AWOL girl's brother was in a car accident in Denver on Friday night.

Last month, her boyfriend was in a car accident on the night she was supposed to come in and let me go home early.

Now, I'm not going to say I don't believe her. It's entirely possible that such a coincidence could have happened. What I am going to say is that maybe it's time AWOL girl's friends and family started to take the bus. Obviously, driving is an issue for them.

On a related note - I know Denver is an exotic land far, far away, but here I always thought they had phones there. Silly me!

Clue #6

"You can explore a cave."
-Mom & Dad

Check Please!

Yesterday, approximately twenty minutes after I got to the bar, a couple comes in. They tell me, "There'll be a lot of us." At about the same time a group of five walks in, sits down at one table, stares at each other with that look on their faces like nobody wants to make a decision, then they get up and move, making sure to tell me "Hey, we're sitting here now," as if I wouldn't have noticed.

Then, in the next ten minutes the bar goes from having just a few people in it to having closer to thirty. All of these people are impatient, all are at tables. It's Wednesday, so I'm the only server on the floor. These people are split up into three groups, one of which has the bulk of the people, including In-Charge-Man.

In-Charge-Man informs me to put everything on his tab (ok, no problem) and that I should bring three pints of Smithwicks. At this point, I realize that he wants my job. The only problem is, he's not as good at it as I am. A couple more people wander in to join the group.
While I am standing right there at the table, ready to take the newcomers' orders, ICM says to them, "What do you want?"
They say to him, "I want a Bloody Mary" and "I want a rum and Coke."
ICM says to me, "She'll have a Bloody Mary and he'll have a rum and Coke."
I say to them, "What kind of vodka do you want in that Bloody Mary? What kind of rum do you want in that rum and Coke?"
-You get the idea. Just imagine this scene repeated for two hours. To make matters worse, a few of the times he took it upon himself to walk over to me and give orders for his friends, he forgot one or two of them. Maybe I should've offered him my pad so he could write everything down.

Meanwhile, the ICM's doppleganger, ICL is sitting at a nearby table with a couple of her gal pals. I walk over to check on ICM's big group and, while I'm asking those folks how they're doing, ICL is saying "Excuse me." One of the ladies is ready for another beer, fine. Then ICL decides she is too, and does her other friend want another? Good grief. If you're so eager for me to come over that you have to interrupt while I'm talking with other patrons, at least have your order straight by the time I get to you.

Then there's the mortician's convention (or, so Dave hypothesized given their dark colored business attire) with Oblivious-Guys 1-3 doing the, "Oh, you brought him a drink? Go back and get me one too" game.

Right. Now that I've painted this picture for you, here's the clincher:
ICL and her gal pals are ready to leave. A guy has since joined them, and he's handed me a credit card to pay the bill. They've got dinner reservations, so they're putting on their coats and ready to head out. I take the card over to the computer, swipe it, and get an error message. I re-swipe. Same message.

Luckily, Bob and Marianne have recently wandered in so I head for Bob, "Hey, I've got a problem." Bob tries to fix it. No luck. ICM is ready to close out. He hands me a credit card. After hanging out with his pals for two hours, ICM is eager to leave. Great.

So, here I am, in the midst of thirty people all wanting to leave right now. The credit cards aren't working because our internet service has glitched and won't be working again until, presumably, the next day. I confer with Bob and Marianne, then head over to the two guys who are impatient to pay their bills and get the heck out of Dodge. I went up to them fully expecting a hissy fit from one or both and ready to yank an owner over to sort it out, but in the end, both were delightfully reasonable about it and traded their credit cards for either cash or a personal check. Thank George. The mortician's convention also opted for a personal check, and also forewent the hissy fit.

By the end of the night I had four checks (we never take checks) which will hopefully all clear, and a handful of oh-so-original people who, when told about the lack of credit card service, remarked "I guess it's free then, ha ha."

Some nights are worth it less than others. Last night, despite the fact that I did pretty well in tips, just wasn't quite worth it. I gotta say, the Mystery Adventure Vacation (and the resulting week off) can't get here fast enough.

Clue #5

"You can visit a nearby National Park, a turtle sanctuary"
-Dad

Clue #4 and A Bit of Family Trivia

"Mark & Nancy would like to meet you there."
-Mom

Mark and Nancy are my uncle and aunt on my mom's side.

When I was ten, my folks sent me back east to visit with relatives for two weeks (my whole extended family is pretty much in Ohio). One of those weeks was spent with my aunt Nancy, who is my godmother. During that time I called Mark "uncle Mark" and, in an impulsively wise ass moment, he explained to me that he was not, in fact, my "uncle" because we had no blood relation. Instead, he was just my aunt's husband.

Ever since, any birthday cards, etc. are always addressed to/signed by my uncle(usually underlined at least three times) Mark and aunt Nancy.

Braintrust They Are Not

This week was erratic. Dead slow Wednesday, bust-my-butt happy hour Friday, then back to nadda Saturday. It's always got to be crazy or dead, doesn't it? So little of the in-between.

Chris & Marianne: J, you should come to the party. There'll be hot women there.
Dave: What'll it be?
J: Something hot, like a woman.

Gal: I'd like an order of the artichoke dip.
Me: What kind of bread would you like with that?
Gal: What does it come with?
Me: You have your choice of white, whole grain, or foccacia.
Gal: Yeah, but what does it usually come with?

Guy: I'd like a martini.
Me: Gin or Vodka?
Guy: Um... Vodka.
Me: Which brand would you like?
Guy: Just give me your house.
I bring the table their drinks, then stop by a couple minutes later.
Me: How're you guys doing?
Guy: I need some water. This martini is really strong.
Me: That's because it's a martini.

Guy: Where's the karaoke?
Me: Somewhere else.

Now, for a longish story about people who don't know what they're drinking...
Guy: We want a couple of grasshoppers, I think. It's made with Crown, Apple Pucker, and something...
Me: Hrm, that wouldn't be a grasshopper then. Is it a Washington Apple?
Guy: No, that's not it.
Me: Can you remember the third ingredient?
Guy: No.
Me: Right. Let me check with the bartender.
-I head for Julia.
Me: Okay, these idiots want a couple drinks, except they don't know what it's called and they don't know what goes in it either.
Julia: Great.
-She pulls up the webtender site and we can't find squat that sounds like what this guy wants. There's nothing called a grasshopper that has either of his ingredients in it, and he was emphatic that it's not a Washington Apple.
Me: Is there anything for a Sour Apple?
-She types it in, and sure enough, up comes a couple of recipes with Crown. Julia looks them over for a second.
Julia: Okay, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to give 'em Crown, Midori, Apple Pucker, and a bit of Sweet & Sour. (Which is a combination of the recipes listed)
-She whips up a couple, I drop it off to the guys. The guys have a taste.
Guys: This is it!
-Which, of course, I'm just thrilled about. Mostly, I'm entertained that this is exactly what they had before, even though it was a recipe Julia literally made up on the spot. Not the brightest, these two.

One of the highlights of the weekend experience was last night around nine when I had a couple of wads of paper to throw at John 'cause I was bored. I was aiming, then I had a thought. I went over to two of our regulars hanging out at the end of the bar, put a wad of paper in front of each of them, and said, "Hey, throw these at John." Without hesitation, they did.

Things You Should Know About Me: Part Two, Our Relationship

I work here.
While you, my friend, have come to the bar to unwind after a day of work, have a date, meet friends, or partake of our fantastic popcorn, I have come to the bar to earn money to pay my bills. Your first priority is to have a good time. My first priority is to buy groceries.

I work for tips.
Colorado's minimum wage is $6.85 an hour. As a tipped employee, my bosses are allowed to pay me less than minimum wage. This means my hourly wage is just over half of the minimum. This also means that my hourly wage alone is not enough to support me. When you visit my bar, I rely on those dollars you leave me to pay my bills, buy my groceries, and ensure I have a place to live. For those of you who don't "believe" in tipping, please take a moment to compare your hourly wage to mine. If you still don't believe in tipping, ask yourself why you do believe in eating out.

I've also heard people comment about their ability to afford tipping. I'm a full-time student who supports herself financially with no help from roommates or family. I understand the meaning of broke. That said, if you can't afford a tip, you can't afford eating out. Stay home, cook some pasta, save the money.

I don't come here to meet people.
You're here to socialize. Fine. I'm not. It's all about paying bills for me, remember? If you are one of my customers, part of my job is to be personable with you. I'll make small talk, smile, ask how you're doing, but I'm not here to be your best friend. If you are not one of my customers, sorry but you're largely irrelevant to me. I mean no insult here, honestly. I only mean that I get nothing out of neglecting my customers to talk to you. You're not tipping me, and I have enough friends already. In fact, I'm thinking about cutting back. So, when you're sitting at the bar, don't be offended if I ignore you. You're just not my priority.

I'm not your sweetheart, babe, or hon.
Our relationship is not an intimate one. As a result, I would greatly prefer that you do not address me by pet names. The list of people who address me by pet names is a remarkably short one and even those who are on it, like my parents and brother, usually don't call me more than my name. Chances are, you don't know my name. However, I answer to "miss" or "ma'am" and, my favorite "excuse me." I know that last isn't technically a form of address, but it'll get my attention.

I'm not going to date you.
If you're here to find a date, I wish you the best of luck. The fact that I am female and unable to leave until my shift is over does not translate into an interest in you. I'm sure you're a great guy who'd treat me fantastically well. The thing is, we have nothing in common other than the bar, and even there our priorities are different. We don't even have booze in common because, as I've mentioned, I'm not much of a drinker. Also not helping your case is the fact that I'm sober and you probably aren't. You're not in your best state to impress me anyway. Have faith. If you and I are meant to be, we'll run into each other somewhere outside of the bar where you'll be sober and charming and we'll hit it off then.

I don't like to be touched.
I especially don't like to be touched by strangers, which is, let's face it, what you are to me. Please remember that when you put your hands on me, you are invading my personal space. While I can understand a tap on the shoulder, anything beyond that is inappropriate. Remember the nature of our relationship. We don't know each other that well. When's the last time you put an arm around your bank teller?

I make exceptions for regulars.
We have some lovely, if lonely, people who spend a great deal of time at the bar. I'm on a first name basis with these folks. In one case, I went to their wedding. Even if they're at the bar, if I have time I'll probably chat with them for a bit. These are people I'm more likely to do a favor for/spend time with. One or two of them even get to call me pet names. I've known many of them for over two years, they've earned it.

Not all regulars are created equal, and there are a couple I'd like to never see again, but the idea is the same - these are people I actually know, vs. new patrons/strangers.

Some Things You Should Know About Me: Part One, General Points

In the spirit of similar posts floating around the interweb, I'm adding some thoughts on my own. The idea behind these is that when the average guest walks into the average drinking/eating establishment, there are a number of things they just don't know about their server. My list will probably not be comprehensive, and while I'm aiming for universal points, they won't apply equally to all servers.

Part One: General Points

I genuinely want you to have a good time while you are at my bar.
As soon as you walk through the door and sit down at my table, I do what I can to ensure you are enjoying yourself. The logic is simple - you enjoy your visit, then you leave me a 15%-20% tip (anything above and beyond that is always appreciated). You see, though it may seem that we're both in it for ourselves, the truth is that we both have a common goal which means we're really working together here. Keep this in mind for the rest of the list, because following these points generally means a better visit for you.

Some things are beyond my control.
While I will do everything under my power to help you enjoy your visit, not everything is under my power. Things which I usually can do nothing about: your fellow patrons, the temperature, what's playing on the jukebox, how quickly your food is prepared, the prices of what you order, the selection of what we have available to you, and when the kitchen closes. Remember, my goal is for you to have a good time, so when I tell you we're out of mint and therefore cannot make mojitos, know that I'm not saying so just to be perverse. If you have a concern or problem, please let me know and I'll either do something about it or regret to inform you that I cannot. However, if you don't speak, I don't know, because...

I am not psychic.
It may seem obvious, but if you don't tell me, I don't know. While this caveat applies to many things, most important of all is that I do not know what you would like to drink or eat. When you come in, sit down, and ask me what you should order, I have no answer for you. I work in a bar, yes. However, I hate beer, can't stand wine, and loathe tequila. What I like is very likely not what you like. If you don't know what kind of alcohol you would like to have, please feel free to read the drink menu, confer with your friends (who know you and your tastes), or order a Coke.

I'm happy to help you make your decision by describing the differences between two of our tap beers, or pointing out that one of our entrees is served hot while another is served cold. This is part of my job. Making your decision for you is not, especially because there's a good chance you won't care for what I choose for you.

I won't speak to you if you're on a cell phone.
When you walk in and sit down my goal is to get to your table as quickly as possible. When I go out, I like service to be speedy and the quicker the server makes it to my table, the happier I am. Not all places are equally suited for having a server to the table as soon as you are, but my bar is well suited for it and I act accordingly. Now, when you sit down at a table while having a cell phone conversation, I make an exception. One reason is that it would be rude of me to interrupt your conversation. Another reason is that I have no patience for standing at your table staring at you while you finish your conversation.

Side note: if you go out with a friend(s) and spend the night on your cell phone, this means you are ignoring your friend(s). Don't be rude. Either the phone call can wait, or it can be brief. When I see someone out with a friend, talking on their phone for twenty minutes while their companion stares into their drink, I want to smack the offender on their friend's behalf.

If you want to run a tab, I'll probably ask for your credit card.
This isn't personal. I don't believe you'll run out on your tab. I do believe that it is easy, especially with a table of twelve, for your tab to quickly hit triple digits. I do believe that people can be forgetful and think they've paid their tab when they haven't. I do believe this is even easier when patrons have been consuming alcohol. I work in a bar. After every weekend, we have at least one person (and sometimes many more than that) walk out and leave their credit card behind, which means they haven't paid their tab. This happens every single weekend. Without holding cards for tabs, the bar would lose a great deal of money every single weekend. It's no insult to your character, nor any implicit mistrust. It's just math.

That said, if you're not comfortable giving your credit card to a complete stranger for a few hours, I understand. In your position, I don't know that I'd be all that quick to hand over my credit card either. If you'd rather not, I don't mind. However, if you're not willing to give me your credit card for a tab, you need to be willing to pay per-round.