Tourists...Many of my stories have been about them. Obviously, working at a hotel that is the main client base that you see. The intriguing thing is…sometimes you see groups of tourists hang out with each other at a hotel bar that would not be caught dead interacting anywhere else. Case in point…
When I was fairly new to one of the hotel bars that I worked at I had a group of engineers come in from Northern England. They were staying in the hotel for a week and this was their first time in the States. Throughout the week they would come into the bar and have dinner and drinks. The more they drank, the heavier their accents became. One night these guys were getting pretty liquored up. They were not keeping consistency in what they were ordering which was making it very hard for me to understand them. Each time I took their order it was like deciphering gibberish from English. Not American English..but bad mumbled English English. Half the time I looked like a deer in headlights! These guys were going around the world with their drinking. Long Island Ice Teas, Margaritas, Martini’s, Beers, Shots. To top it off they were loud speakers. When I would finally understand what they would order they would tell ME that I had bad English. HA!! Go figure..I have an English man telling ME I speak bad English. To them we speak “American”.
So..around midway through the night while I was cruising the internet looking for a Rosetta Stone language program that I could buy so I could learn this new “language” to be able to communicate with these guys, a group of Irish women walk in. Because they were the only women in the bar, the English guys bore down on them like a feeding frenzy. They immediately ordered a round of shots. Whiskey (go figure)! These guys were pulling out all the stops talking to these ladies. They were on a mission! The next thing I know they are dancing and doing shots like they were best friends. At one point one of the ladies asked me if I had a pole that she could dance on the bar with?? (Yes cause we have a detachable pole under the bar that I pull out on random occasions)!! Watching these people dance was beyond entertaining!! It was like Metal Heads meet Footloose. They were kicking and hopping. I’m pretty sure the MC Hammer dance was busted out while the ladies were doing the “cabbage patch dance”. You know, the one move where you pump your arms in a circle like you are churning butter. One lady even used one of the bar stools as her “pole” which she fell off of because when you dance on a chair like that with no one sitting in it…it falls over!!!! Ohhh…I love my job sometimes….
Finally after a few hours of this they decided that they wanted to go somewhere else. It was the end of the night for me anyway. I dropped the checks and put the lights up. As soon as I put the lights up I hear “TURN THE LIGHTS DOWN! TURN THE LIGHTS DOWN! I CAN SEE HER..OMG I CAN SEEEEEE HER”! At first I giggled, but then I realized that this guy was dead serious!! He was all over this lady the whole night and apparently he had on what we call “Beer Goggles”. Reminds me of a song titled “Your Pretty when I’m drunk” hehehe! I immediately turned down the lights and the one guy shouted “Ahhh…That’s better. She is prettier in the DARK”!!
Well, you can imagine that the Irish ladies did not take to these comments very well. The ladies ganged up on these guys and pretty much tore them up one side of the bar and down the other. The angrier that they got the heavier the accents became. I really needed to find that Rosetta Stone program because at this point I no longer had any inkling of what any of them were saying. I was only able to make out a few words and those are not ones that I could repeat. For a second I felt like I was transported back into the 17th century. The English and the Irish have a longstanding feud and given the perfect storm, no matter where they are, what they are doing or drinking…it all comes out!!
To settle this war, I threw shots on the bar, told the ladies where they could find a bar to dance on, referred a good Irish Pub (hehehe) for the English guys and told them nighty night!!
Private Events….We all have our fair share of them. They usually are a breeze. You show up, pour cocktails for a few hours, breakdown and leave. Easy Peasy right…HAHAHA….Not so fast…
About a year ago I was asked to work a very prominent event for a good friend of mine. I was asked two days before the event if I would work next to a very well known Mixologist. Myself and another Badass Mixologist were to work with this person. We all live in NYC and the event required us to travel upstate. We talked to the people in charge of the event and decided that it would be easiest to rent a car. That way we would not be at the mercy of the ohhhh so great public transportation system. The event was on a Sunday. We were to meet in front of my place and go together to pick up the rental car. The event started at 5:30 p.m. We need to be there by at least 4 p.m to set up. Its at least a 3-4 hr drive upstate. We decided that 10:15am was a good time to meet. That way we had plenty of time to get to the event and set up. Here is the day’s time line. It turned into the comedy of errors…
9:00 a.m – P.R. calls me and tells me she is having some issues finding some of the ingredients for the cocktails we were to make. No prob, we decide we can hit the Chelsea Market before we drive upstate and get em.
10:30 a.m. – Out front of my apt. Meet one of the Mixologists. Receive a phone call the other Mixologist was running a tad late. Asked if we would go get the car and meet him back in front of my apt. Sure..No problem.
10:45 a.m – Arrive at the car rental location. Go in, tell the guy behind the counter we have a reservation. He checks and says that we in fact have NO reservation.
10:47 a.m. – Call P.R. She tells me that she spoke to him about 5 times earlier that morning. He says he had no idea what she or I were talking about. Tells me he spoke to no one (DICK)!
10:49 a.m. – FINE..I ask him if he has any cars and he says he has several. Tells me he needs my drivers license and asked for a CC.
10:51 a.m. – Tells me that on top of my license and CC , I need to show PROOF OF EMPLOYMENT... (WTF)..umm..I offer my business card and he tells me that it is not enough. That I need more PROOF. He says a paystub would do. (A PAYSTUB..AN F’IN PAYSTUB..Yea…Let me just pull that out of my ass cause I always walk around with one of those in my pocket…REALLY BIG DICK)!
PS..Good thing this jackass informed the P.R. lady that he supposedly did not talk to about this!!
10:55 a.m. – I call P.R. back. She offers to send an e-mail on an official letter head. He says NO and that only a pay stub would do.
11:00 a.m. – P.R. starts to scramble to find another car rental location. Call the other Mixologist. He freaks..Calm down..this will happen..just gotta go someplace else.
11:05 a.m. – P.R. calls us back. Made a reservation at another car location near the airport. We bolt over there.
11:15 a.m – Arrive at the other car rental location. They have our reservation (WHEW)! The Mixologist I was with puts his license and CC up. The woman tells us that there will be a credit check to rent the car.
11:17 a.m. - We are informed that neither of us have sufficient credit to rent the car..(WTF)..We were informed that even if we each had $10,000 in the bank, no pass on the credit check..no car rental!
11:20 a.m. – We call the P.R. She starts to slowly freak. Gets on the horn making calls. Call the other Mixologist..he starts to freak again! He says he will make some phone calls..see what he can do.
11:35 a.m – We arrive back at my house. Go to the bar. The Mixologist does a shot of Absenthe. I grab my second cup of coffee.
11:40 a.m. – Receive a call from the P.R.. No luck..SHIT SHIT SHIT! Maybe this is a sign. Who knew it was this hard to rent a car in NYC!!
11:45 a.m – P.R. is starting to think that maybe we should call it. Not so fast. We will make this happen.
12:00 p.m.- Receive a phone call. We are in luck. A friend of one of the Mixologists is going to rent the car for us. YEY!! WHEW! Its gonna take at lest an hour. No time to stop at the Chelsea Market. Just have to wing it.
12:10 p.m. – I start to think I need a shot of Absenthe.
12:45 p.m – Get picked up. We load our tools into the car. Where are we going? I have the email with the directions. Let me open it up.
12:46 p.m. – My phone will not open the attachment. Shit! Call P.R. No signal..Battery low on my phone!!
12:47 p.m. - Call P.R….no signal…dammit!!
12:48 p.m. – Call P.R…no signal..dammit!
12:49 p.m. – Call P.R….no signal..PHONE DIES .I should have taken that shot after all!
12:50 p.m – F’ it! Lets just get on the road. Kinda have an idea of where we are going. Figure it out as we go.
1:45 p.m – Need to make a rest stop. Too much coffee. No time. Keep going. Thank GOD I did not take that shot of Absenthe!
2:15 p.m – Really need to make a rest stop. Damn me for drinking all that coffee. Still too far out. Can’t trust traffic. I will be fine. I can wait.
3:30 p.m – Still about 45mins out. Can’t wait anymore. HAVE TO STOP. We all need it!!
3:39 p.m. - Back on the road. AHHHH..we all feel like a million bucks. Eat some shitty take out and continue on. Cutting it close here!! Need at least an hour of prep!
4:25 p.m. – Arrive NEAR the event. Call P.R. CAN’T..PHONE IS DEAD! Running out of time, driving in a big circle. Shit!
4:30 p.m. – Ask someone where the street we were looking for is. He points straight ahead.
4:35 p.m. – Ask another person where the street we were looking for is. They don’t know. Shit! Call P.R. with one of the other Mixologists phones..busy signal…P.R. is calling us…
4:40 p.m. – Think we have an idea of where we should be. Ask yet again another person. Receive a VM from P.R. asking where the Hell we were!
4:45 p.m. – FINALLY find where we were to be. Park the car, unload. P.R. is waiting for us. A look of relief on her face.
4:47 p.m. – Ask P.R. for the Chef’s jacket that we were to wear. She was unable to get one. Don’t panic. She has shirts for us.
5:30 p.m. – Event starts. We are ready. Hauled ass to get the prep work and set up done. P.R. is happy. People start to come over to us. We start to pour the cocktails.
5:30 – 9:45 p.m. – Work the event. Make some awesome cocktails..Everyone is happy!!
9:50 p.m. – I go to load the car. Grab the keys from the floor (the valet asked us to leave them there in case they needed to move the car). I go to unlock the trunk. No key!! Only a key chain!! WTF!! Really..I mean COME ONNN!!
9:51 p.m – Walk over to a cop and ask him if I could use his flashlight. We look through the car. Can’t find the key.
9:55 p.m. – Valet guy comes over. Tell him the key is missing. He says one of our guys was the last to be in the car. (I’m feeling very faint). Need a Shot…Actually need LOTS of SHOTS!
9:57 p.m – Walk over to one of the other Mixologists. Tell him the key is missing and I was on the verge of fainting. He asked to see the key chain. I show him and he tells me that the key is in fact there. We had a 2010 Dodge Charger. Apparently because I have not driven a car that was this new, the keys are not traditional. They are a special key. They all laugh at me! DOH! Who knew a key for certain cars does not look like a key at all.
2:00 a.m – Arrive home. Go to the bar…Finally get my shot!
Moral of the Story..Even when things don’t go as smooths as planned..Don’t give up and have faith
MUAH xxo
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?
