You may not get what you pay for

Recently, two friends of mine consulted me on bar etiquette. They found fruitflys in their bourbons and were surprised that the bartender did nothing but shrug it off, rather than apologize, remake the drink and buy it for them. What can I say? Some bartenders are idiots.

But it reminded me of a certain practice that is apparently rampant in many bars in New York: refilling the bottles. It only happened to me at one bar I worked at, but a new bartender we had that we tried to protect from our disingenous business shrugged it off and said he'd seen it a couple times before. Now the State Liquor Authority forbids such practice and they do come in if they suspect something and test the liquor to make certain the bar isn't breaking the law, but they only thing they can really test is the alcohol level of the bottle. So there is no way to tell if the bottle is true Absolut or just plain (cheaper) Smirnoff. As long as the bar pays attention to the proof of the liquor, they will never be caught as long as employees keep their mouths shut. And even then, it's tough to prove.

One night, a guest complained that he was not getting true Cuervo Gold. He wasn't. The color was especially off. But to calm the guest, I brought the bottle over and poured the shots right at the table. That satisfied him.

You should be aware that this would possibly be the case in smaller bars or bars where the owner is cheap or just plain greedy, two instances that would be impossible to know. My owner was just plain greedy. He was also the same guy of the sexist, racist persuasion that I mentioned in an earlier post. When you are in a bar, pay attention to the bottles on the back wall. If they all have pourers in them, rather than closed and sealed, it is possible they refill the bottles. This is not always the case as bartenders might prepare for a busy night by setting up some bottles as ready to pour. But it's something to look for anyway.

Racism Awakes!!

I was working as a bartender in a bar/restaurant in the suburbs of Buffalo. This was the type of bar with $1 draughts which attracted daily barflys. Men would come in after work and sit there until we closed at 12:30 every day. They made me sick.

One night a mixed race couple came in and ordered food to go. They sat at one of the bar tables waiting. Barfly #1 started to make pointed comments about negroes and oreos. I told him quietly to shut up, but I didn't stand up for them while they were there. They came to me and told me to forget the food and left and the Barfly sat there with a smug smile on his face. I started to yell at him. How dare he make comments about other human beings? How dare he be openly racist to guests doing nothing to him but waiting for food. I smoldered all night, but mostly I was mad at myself because I didn't say what I wanted to while they were there.

The next day when I got to work, the owner told me I was being let go. Perhaps I'd be happier *downtown* where my beliefs would be better served. I couldn't believe that the owner would side with a guy who spent $8 every night and was openly rude to other guests. I couldn't believe he preferred racism himself. I burst into tears when I left.

I did get some satisfaction when I won $900 on the football pool and came in to collect my money. It was just in time to get new tires on my car and buy books for school. But I still regret to this day not intervening earlier and showing that not all the suburban fools were racist fucks. If I was going to get fired anyway, I really should have let him have it.

erm....I think it's eight.

Just the other night:

Guest: I'll have two orders of the trio of mini-burgers. How many is that?

Gun Play

During my years in the bar/restaurant business, I've had a gun pulled out on me twice. Both times I was tending bar and both times were for exactly the same reason. No, not to rob the place, but because I cut someone off.

The first time I was working in a bar that was rumored to be mobbed-up. I didn't believe it because this was Buffalo and it just didn't seem possible. The Italian owner of this pizza place with a club in back wore black shirts with gold chains and hung out with other Italians, mostly other restaurant owners. Our owner's daughter ran the club and had a husband rumored to be in jail for murder, so six months after I started, he turned up. See, that was another reason not to believe the rumors; he couldn't have served such a short time for that offense. Years later, I worked a wedding for 800 people where all these men were invited. The father of the bride had been indicted for murder and the FBI took all our license plates and names when we pulled in the employee parking lot for work. It wasn't until then that I realized for certain that the mob existed in Buffalo.

Back to the original story: when the husband showed up, he hung out at the end of the bar with John and his regular crew. He got very drunk and somewhat abusive. He started pounding of the bar for drinks and spilling them as quickly as he got them. I was very young (20 years old) and didn't think to consult John before telling the son-in-law he was cut off. I just did it. I told the other bartenders that I was working with and one of them pointed out that I was needed at the end of the bar. When I turned around, the son-in-law had pulled out a gun and was gesturing with it to me. I nearly pissed myself. I went to the end of the bar (there was no place to run anyway). John and company convinced the guy to put it away. Then John told me to keep serving him. I made one drink and then got my co-workers to make the others for the rest of the night because I was so frightened.

The second time came a couple years later when I was working in a biker bar. Now the bikers themselves were a perfectly polite, if loud, crowd. But it also attracted more than its share of losers. One of them I particularly hated. His name was Hank and he had two sons, one of whom died in a drunk-driving accident a couple years previous. The lesson Hank and his remaining son learned was to drink themselves stupid and drive themselves home. One night I was passing through the main part of the bar collecting glasses and Hank picked me up by the shoulders and crotch and spun me around over his head. I screamed at him to put me down and when he did, I ran behind the bar and yelled, "That's it! You're cut off, Hank!" He became angry with me and we argued for a while. When it was apparent that I wasn't changing my mind, he pulled out a pistol and pointed it at me. "Who do you think you are, you little bitch? Just who do you think you are?" I thought I was the bartender and I had the right to cut people off, but now my ego was bruised. I wasn't frightened particularly, just annoyed that I'd have to serve this asshole.

One of the other patrons showed his gun right about this time and told Hank he'd have to cool off. Hank reluctantly put his gun away. One of the other customers was an off-duty cop. He approached Hank and took him aside. You'd think Hank would get in trouble for carrying and threatening with his gun, but no, the off-duty cop just drove him home.

Apparently he called the owner the next day and had a discussion because the owner came to me and said Hank was not banned from the bar and would behave himself from now on. So Hank continued to come into the bar. He did argue with me one day that he did not pick me up (by the crotch!!!), but the rest of the episode was never mentioned again. Of course it bothered me that he continued to carry his gun while drinking and our hate of each other became much more open, but he never pulled it out again. It did give me drive to find another job far away from this mess.