This Week’s Story is lent to us by a very good friend of mine 
This is one of his “Tales” from the “Other” side of the bar…
The Irish Car-bomb was made by a some inebriated alchemist with a fetish for watching people throw up. They throw a wrench in your evening, complete with vertigo, nausea and an unrepentant gregarious urge to hug and vomit upon anyone within reach. Usually they are ordered and consumed by the already drunk who heartily combine the ingredients and throw them back; what does make it into their throats will soon be seen again. These are not for the amateur drinker on St. Patrick’s day. If you don’t know, the bartender, at a decent bar, will pour you a three-quarter pint of Guinness and combine Jameson and Irish creme in a shot glass. You drop the shooter and chug the quickly spoiling concoction. There is an etiquette to drinking them: do not spill and please remove the shot glass afterward.
I frequented an old neighborhood haunt on Manhattan’s upper east side, where I habitually began my evening with a bomb. More to save myself the trouble of cleaning it off my shirt when I was hammered later than anything else. Eventually, they were going down like water and my buddies would hit people up to challenge me in friendly drinking contests. The rules were that each person clinked their shot glasses, chugging immediately. The first person to have their empty glasses on the bar wins. I’d found something I was good at. Mom would be so proud.
One of the bartenders challenged me; these guys were all boozers, and could out drink me in any alcohol category. This guy was kind of a douche, so to hell with it, why not? The terms: I win, I got a few free rounds; twenty bucks on top of my bill if he beat me. I dropped a Jackson on the bar and told him to pour away. As he assembled the drinks I was warned that he was the proud owner of the home field four second record. Smirking, I looked him in the eye and with a hearty “cheers!” gulped down the booze milkshake. By the time the barkeep had his glass on the bar, I had already courteously removed the shot glass from the bottom of the pint. Wiped the floor with the guy. Gave him the twenty anyway. The look on his face was worth more than the free rounds.
What did you think this was…a rub & tug story?
If a kitten goes MEOW…then a COUGAR must say ROAR! Yes..I am talking about a certain group of women, who upon turning a certain age, seem to develop an appetite for younger men. Much, much younger men. It’s not uncommon too come across these women when you are working a bar. What IS uncommon is when you meet a “Cougar” who just happens to be on the prowl with her mother!
EXAMPLE:
While working at one of my bars, a group of younger Dutch men came in to have a few beverages before they were to go to a Mets game. They ordered a round and started to ask me if I knew the best way to get to the stadium. One of the them who we will call “Mr. Dutch” told me they were in NYC to celebrate his birthday. I believe it was his 24th. Just as they were ordering their second round two ladies walked in and parked themselves at the end of the bar. I didn’t even have her Cosmo poured before she bore down and sunk her teeth into Mr. Dutch and his friends! These guys didn’t even know what hit em! She moved over to a seat next to them with stealth precision. It was clearly evident to me that I had a cougar on the prowl!
And so the saga began. She immediately started to chat ALL of them up. Not normal tell me about your life chatter. Here are some of the things she said to these guys:
I am here on a vacation FROM my husband…
That’s my mom over there, she can’t hold her liquor. Let me put her to bed and then we can really have some fun…
I’m 50 and I have a great boob job…
I know this is a big rock on my finger…but I like my things big…
How old are you again? Ever sleep with an older woman…
WAIT…I PROMISE it gets even BETTER!! What Mr. Dutch and his friends don’t know is, when they departed for the game I was stuck with her! Yey! Did ya ever serve a rabid, older, rich lady who only talks about the lack of sex with her husband and how much she wanted Mr. Dutch and his friends… AT THE SAME TIME! Banging my head against a wall over, and over, and over again would have been far less painful then dealing with this “Cougar”.
SO…she proceeds to hatch a plan to ditch her own mother and try to wait it out to see if Mr. Dutch and his friends happen to hit the bar before they retired for the night. She decides that they best course of action was to make sure she coaxed her mother into having another drink knowing that she would be drunk and pass out. Now to her own luck, her mother orders one and decides to take it up to the room.
Over the next 5 hours…yes I said 5 hours, this broad is in and out of the bar consistently asking me if Mr. Dutch and his friends were back. It even gets to the point where she was running around asking EVERYONE who worked at the hotel if they knew what rooms these guys were in. Just when I thought I had her convinced that they were probably going to be out for the evening and that maybe she should retire to her room for the night before the concierge calls security (Stalking guests is really not too kosher at a hotel..YA THINK). Mr. Dutch and his friends show up for a nightcap.
As you can imagine she jumped on those guys like a lion on the hunt. She orders up a round of shots for “The Birthday Boy” and his friends. Let me share some more of her remarks to them:
Birthday boys should get birthday presents…
I have sons your age…
Did I show you the rock on my finger…Look how BIG it is…
I have plenty of money…
Sugar mama…need I say more…
The next thing I know, Mr. Dutch excuses himself from his friends and the cougar and walks out of the bar to use the restroom. The cougar waits it out for a few minutes before she also excuses herself to use the restroom. Yeah..RIGHT. We may have been born at night lady..but not last night! Mr. Dutch reappears about twenty minutes later with a grin on his face from ear to ear. The cougar does not make a reappearance. He proceeds to tell us that while he was in the restroom, she walked in, locked the door, and proceeded to service him (Use your imagination and I think you get the point). After a round of high fives and a few more shots Mr. Dutch and his friends retired for the night. Ahhh…the things we see at hotels!!
MORAL OF THE STORY: A Cougar is as a Cougar does!
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND!!! GUEST BLOGGER AND AMAZING AUTHOR OF “Whiskey for Women”…THE FANTASTIC AND FUNNY MEGHAN LEARY
If you’re in the beautiful booze biz you simply can’t avoid getting roped into sponsoring or participating in some sort of golf tournament. For some reason, the thrill of getting sauced with a group of guys on a hot summer day while they chew up well manicured greens with less than masculine swings, wearing far less than masculine attire, must appeal to more people than I want to believe. Well, I hadn’t seen anything yet before I worked on a tourney a few years back. Oh boy…check out this recipe for fun times…
Toss in celebrities from the sports world, 100+ degree temps, the chaos of a summer resort town, boucoup money and boucoup attitudes, and vodka…lots and lots…and lots of vodka….now you have the makings for a complete sh*tstorm…yeah.
This tourney was billed as an enormous summer season event and drew throngs of people to both the course and the evening events so they could all drool over their favorite sports celebs in this famous town. It wasn’t bad enough that the temp was completely unbearable (and I’m a lizard always looking for her hot rock…but this was rough, even for me) and they were literally all jumping head first into the sauce, the Vodka Sauce, day in and day out…like it was gonna be banned then next day.
Now, yours truly was so lucky to have drawn the short straw in the game of “who’s the dumb a**” and got stuck, umm, honored, to work this thing. No problem right”? Sure thing.
Well, you had to make sure the bar staff was set with the promoted cocktails. Never thought there were so many variations on a screwdriver…really? Does everyone have to blaze their own trail? (Just make em the way everyone on the planet does!! We’re talking juice & vodka…juice….vodka….yup) Make sure the back bar line up was to standard because everyone and their mother’s mother from corporate was gonna be there and god forbid one item within the line extension is switched. Make sure the promo team…the very, very intelligent promo team is focused on what they have to do (yes, sometimes “smiling for pictures” can require training). It goes on and on. So much so that your thoughts become arguments in your head…with yourself….they go something like this:
“Oh my god!!! Where are the napkins?? The logo napkins??? THE LOGO NAPKINS!!!! COME ON!!! Phew…found em. Sh*t is that a competitive brand’s gutter mat? WTF!! Get that outta here! Sweet Jesus! Did someone just say the liquor truck didn’t show yet? For real?? Is that promo girl really making out with her boyfriend? Oh wait…it’s one of the celebrities…lovely. What? Did my boss really just ask me to make a reso for 12 downtown? At one of the hottest spots? With NO AVAILABILITY whatsoever? Yeah. Yeah he did. Nice. Nice. Nice. Alright. Maybe we can set that up in the parking lot. Great. Wait….did that bartender just pour a competitive vodka brand???? To one of our execs? Are you f*ing kidding me??? Did someone just say this was a great event? Did they really? DID THEY REALLY? I need a drink…”
Yeah, that’s what runs through your head…at rapid speed. But that’s just the early part of the day. The nights got worse. You see, not only was I stuck with the day’s festivities but SOMEONE had to take these celebs out “on the town” and show ‘em a” really good time.” YEAHHHH L
Now I had to make sure all the stops we were gonna hit had: A) ample security to keep the drunk broads off them, B) ample security to keep the drunk dudes off them, C) enough product to keep them in the sauce, and D) an exit strategy to get them in and out. Sure…easy…no problemo. Right.
So try navigating your car through a town overcrowded with people….drunk people, and it’s only 8pm . Here’s how the next 20 minutes go:
On the phone with accounts coordinating the “rendezvous point.” On the phone with the celebs to get their drivers to the venues. Back on the phone with the cops to make sure they knew what was up. On the phone with the rep because the one account is low, LOW on product. Damn me straight to HELL! Alright, back on the phone with the rep to get some back up product. Whoa!!! Did my buddy on the PD just say the power grid was gonna get shut down tonight? IN THE DARK! 30k people out on the street??? Celebs on the street in the dark with 30k people? GREAT… back on the phone with another account to rent a space (off power grid going down). Space good? Got it…cost me what? Whatever…we need it. On my way to the venue…boss calls and they need cups. Guess where the cups are? BACK AT THE COURSE!!! Sweet Jesus! Just what I need since I’m downtown now. Head back up to the course. Cups are in the trailer…zip-tied! Yeeeaahhh….Whip out the lighter, burn the bastard off, jump in the trailer in heels, toss out cases of cups, curse the world, get the crap in my car, get my arse back downtown, drop off the cups, swear at a lady who’s pissed I’m double parked because SHE’S GOTTA GET THROUGH FOR DINNER…like she needs to eat more… and find a spot to park (thank god I know PD). Alright, take a breather…..and then it happened. POWER. LIGHTS. OUT. FULL BLACKOUT!!!!
The flood of people coming out of the bars was ridic! I just sat there thinking what the HELL is this town gonna do? There are people EVERYWHERE! After I shook myself out of this brief moment of WTF I headed up to our impromptu event. And don’t you know it, EVERYONE’S already there…go figure. All I hear is “Hey Meg. Where you been? Hey Meg, this is a great spot. Hey Meg, what’s with all the people out on the street? Hey Meg, you look stressed.” God help the person who asks me or an f*ing thing!!
Whatever…I shriveled myself up in the corner of the bar, ordered several shots of whiskey (I don’t give a SH*T if this is a vodka event! I’m done with this!!!) and shake my head as everyone proceeds to get plastered, completely oblivious to the chaos going on outside. Watch everyone fight with each other over who’s hooking up with who; who’s drinking what; who’s got a better sports record; who bagged more chicks this week…all the usual stuff. Hey, celeb-status doesn’t always parlay itself into good behavior right?
Then one of the sports celebs sits next to me. Killer player in his time and a real cool cat. “Hey Megs, if we had a defensive coordinator that worked as hard as you just did to take care of this bunch of fools, I bet I’d have a few more rings. And that’s no joke girl…you knocked it out.” I told him thanks and we threw back a shot of whiskey. NIGHT OVER…J
Lord I hate golf tournaments….
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