Because I've Been Holding This in for Years
And how you doin'? This is Hal in Philly… and welcome to another semi-hilarious episode of:
Easy When You Know Hal
This was written quite a few years ago. My intention was to make this a Youtube video and do it with a bag over my head like The Unknown Comic. But then, I never did because I have a lot of respect for Murray Langston, the guy who originated that routine. So I put it on the back burner. Or should I say Google Drive? where it’s been sitting until now. So here it is… Episode 4 - The Unknown Bartender.
I was a bartender for about 30 years. Not a day went by when I didn’t want to grab a customer by the neck and throttle the fucking piss out of ‘em for the stupid shit they did or said.
Here are some of my Top Pet Peeves...
The Garnish Bin IS NOT an hor d'oeuvres tray.
Okay, so you just walked in the bar. You haven’t even been there a minute... SHIT - you haven’t even ordered a drink yet! ...and you’re reaching your grubby hand into the garnish bin for olives. Yo, douchebag, they’re for people who order a martini. Order a martini and I’ll put one in your drink for you. One. Do you seriously expect me to pull out that big jar of olives and refill the bin every time you’re hungry?! ...when there’s a big happy hour display right next to you with the free chicken wings and/or deli spread-but you are nevertheless compelled to help yourself to a handful of olives and marachino cherry’s because I happened to have them set out where the servers can reach them.
What the fuck’s wrong with you?! Do you let strangers into your house and drink milk out of the carton in your refrigerator? Same difference. I don’t know where you’ve been before you walked in here. You might have just left the bathroom after wiping your ass and not washing your hands. You want that fruit in YOUR drink? How’d you like me to garnish your next gin & tonic with a dingleberry-coated lime, cupcake?
Oh, and as for you servers who nosh on them every time you come to the station to put in or pick up an order - that goes for you too! Leave my shit alone. Do I go around creating extra sidework for you guys?
Ordering Premium Brands or Doubles When Someone Else is Buying.
You get to the bar way ahead of your friends, making sure you’re in time for those happy hour prices. You order a well drink for $1.00 and nurse that same drink for over an hour... sucking on the ice cubes one at a time long after the drink’s gone. In fact, if the bartender accidentally reaches for your empty glass and you haven’t sucked the last little ice chip, you throw a hissy fit and try to get a whole new drink for free.
...Anyway, a few of the regulars finally show up and one of them buys a round for the group. For some ungodly reason they always include you - Who knows, maybe they feel sorry for your sorry ass. Maybe they like your sister. Whatever. All of the sudden you’re ordering a Long Island Ice Tea with Stoli, Bacardi, Patron, Tanqueray and Gran Marnier instead of Triple Sec. Dude, you blow! And I’ve never seen you buy your friends a round as long as I’ve known you - you CHEAP FUCK-ASS.
People Who Sit Next To The Waitress Station w2hat?” “Whattaya call that one?” “What’s That?” Does it matter what order you pour the ingredients?”, How come you add that last” “How long do you shake it?” “How long do you stir it? My mom likes them blended” “Can you pour some in a little glass for me so I can taste it?” What The Fuck - Am I your substitute for bartending school. Go fuck yourself. I ain’t falling for that one. Get yourself a book and leave me the fuck alone!
Stump The Bartender
Then you get the ones who want to play “Stump the Bartender”. They apparently don’t get out much. The last few times they DID go out, it seems they ended up at some chain restaurant where they have a bar menu with drinks that don’t exist anywhere else. And the drinks all have crazy names which for some ungodly reason is stuck in their heads and now a year and a half later, they found their way to your bar where they ask if you know how to make these stupid concoctions. They’re like, “Can you make a “Creme de Spooge”? How
about a “Funky Cold Medina”? Have you ever heard of a “Big Booty Shake?” I’m like, “Did you find these drinks online or something?” Then there’s the drinks like “Sex on the Beach” that have 7 different versions. So when somebody orders one, I ask ‘em, “Do you usually have the it with Midori or Amaretto?” They say, I’m not sure. so I ask them, Was there any green stuff in it? Then they go, How about a Cosmic Cowgirl from Hell? Where the fuck did you ever have one of those? I never heard of ... Here, let me make you a Red-Headed Slut. A what? A Red headed Slut. It’s a shooter with Jagermeister, peach Schnapps and Cranberry Juice. And you can chase that down with an Alabammer slammer. After that, your cut off. Now get the fuck outta my bar.
Servers who demand your attention... while your own customers are dying of thirst. You know who you are - Bee-otch! I got a bar full of people waiting for me to fix them a drink, but I can’t give them the attention they need and deserve because your stupid ass is at the waiter’s station waiting for me to make drinks for your table of six assholes who all look underage and you probably never even carded any of them. Then you mispronounce the names of the drinks and I have to try and figure out what the fuck they ordered from you. After I make your drinks, I still can’t get back to my customers because you don’t know which ones are garnished with a cherry, a lemon or a lime, you forgot to ask if the martini drinker wanted an olive or a twist and one of your guests wants you to ask me what the well scotch is. Naturally, one of them is underage and wants a virgin Pina Colada, a big fat blended waste of time. Then you ask me for an Irish Coffee and I have to ask you if they want an Irish whiskey, sugar and Coffee or a Bailley’s Irish Cream & Coffee, because, 3/4 of the time, that’s what they meant to ask for. So then I have to wait while you go back and check with them and sure enough, they meant Baileys & Coffee.
Meanwhile, “People-Who-Sits-Next-To-The-Waitress-Station” Guy has been driving me absolutely fuckin’ crazy the whole time I’m trying to get your order ready. Please. Kill me NOW!
Working with bartenders who don’t pull their weight,
but they’re the first to start counting the tips at the end of the night while I’M still doing THEIR sidework. Yeah, I’m talking to you Lisa N@$+%$!, you gum crackin, hair-twirlin, lookin’-at -yourself-in-the-mirror- flirtin’-with-the-all-the-young-rockers-at the-bar-while-all-hell-is-breaking-loose-and-the-entire-room-is-congested-with-dirty-glasse s-that-you-should-be-washing-while-I-go-and-get-more-ice-you-fucking-whore and you haven’t even acknowledged the two older gentlemen that just sat down because they’re not long hair rock musicians like your friends sitting in the spot you haven’t moved from in 45 minutes while you bullshit with them while they’re on the third round of Coors that you bought for them.
Then, at closing time, you immediately start counting the tips while I clean up your fucking mess even though your two boy-toys sat there all night flirting with you and only left 5 bucks between them. Meanwhile, the rest of the customers left crappy tips, too because they got shitty service from me because I couldn’t keep up without your help, fuck you very much, may you rot in hell.
And how you doin'? This is Hal in Philly… and welcome to another semi-hilarious episode of:
Easy When You Know Hal
This was written quite a few years ago. My intention was to make this a Youtube video and do it with a bag over my head like The Unknown Comic. But then, I never did because I have a lot of respect for Murray Langston, the guy who originated that routine. So I put it on the back burner. Or should I say Google Drive? where it’s been sitting until now. So here it is… Episode 4 - The Unknown Bartender.
I was a bartender for about 30 years. Not a day went by when I didn’t want to grab a customer by the neck and throttle the fucking piss out of ‘em for the stupid shit they did or said.
Here are some of my Top Pet Peeves...
The Garnish Bin IS NOT an hor d'oeuvres tray.
Okay, so you just walked in the bar. You haven’t even been there a minute... SHIT - you haven’t even ordered a drink yet! ...and you’re reaching your grubby hand into the garnish bin for olives. Yo, douchebag, they’re for people who order a martini. Order a martini and I’ll put one in your drink for you. One. Do you seriously expect me to pull out that big jar of olives and refill the bin every time you’re hungry?! ...when there’s a big happy hour display right next to you with the free chicken wings and/or deli spread-but you are nevertheless compelled to help yourself to a handful of olives and marachino cherry’s because I happened to have them set out where the servers can reach them.
What the fuck’s wrong with you?! Do you let strangers into your house and drink milk out of the carton in your refrigerator? Same difference. I don’t know where you’ve been before you walked in here. You might have just left the bathroom after wiping your ass and not washing your hands. You want that fruit in YOUR drink? How’d you like me to garnish your next gin & tonic with a dingleberry-coated lime, cupcake?
Oh, and as for you servers who nosh on them every time you come to the station to put in or pick up an order - that goes for you too! Leave my shit alone. Do I go around creating extra sidework for you guys?
Ordering Premium Brands or Doubles When Someone Else is Buying.
You get to the bar way ahead of your friends, making sure you’re in time for those happy hour prices. You order a well drink for $1.00 and nurse that same drink for over an hour... sucking on the ice cubes one at a time long after the drink’s gone. In fact, if the bartender accidentally reaches for your empty glass and you haven’t sucked the last little ice chip, you throw a hissy fit and try to get a whole new drink for free.
...Anyway, a few of the regulars finally show up and one of them buys a round for the group. For some ungodly reason they always include you - Who knows, maybe they feel sorry for your sorry ass. Maybe they like your sister. Whatever. All of the sudden you’re ordering a Long Island Ice Tea with Stoli, Bacardi, Patron, Tanqueray and Gran Marnier instead of Triple Sec. Dude, you blow! And I’ve never seen you buy your friends a round as long as I’ve known you - you CHEAP FUCK-ASS.
People Who Sit Next To The Waitress Station w2hat?” “Whattaya call that one?” “What’s That?” Does it matter what order you pour the ingredients?”, How come you add that last” “How long do you shake it?” “How long do you stir it? My mom likes them blended” “Can you pour some in a little glass for me so I can taste it?” What The Fuck - Am I your substitute for bartending school. Go fuck yourself. I ain’t falling for that one. Get yourself a book and leave me the fuck alone!
Stump The Bartender
Then you get the ones who want to play “Stump the Bartender”. They apparently don’t get out much. The last few times they DID go out, it seems they ended up at some chain restaurant where they have a bar menu with drinks that don’t exist anywhere else. And the drinks all have crazy names which for some ungodly reason is stuck in their heads and now a year and a half later, they found their way to your bar where they ask if you know how to make these stupid concoctions. They’re like, “Can you make a “Creme de Spooge”? How
about a “Funky Cold Medina”? Have you ever heard of a “Big Booty Shake?” I’m like, “Did you find these drinks online or something?” Then there’s the drinks like “Sex on the Beach” that have 7 different versions. So when somebody orders one, I ask ‘em, “Do you usually have the it with Midori or Amaretto?” They say, I’m not sure. so I ask them, Was there any green stuff in it? Then they go, How about a Cosmic Cowgirl from Hell? Where the fuck did you ever have one of those? I never heard of ... Here, let me make you a Red-Headed Slut. A what? A Red headed Slut. It’s a shooter with Jagermeister, peach Schnapps and Cranberry Juice. And you can chase that down with an Alabammer slammer. After that, your cut off. Now get the fuck outta my bar.
Servers who demand your attention... while your own customers are dying of thirst. You know who you are - Bee-otch! I got a bar full of people waiting for me to fix them a drink, but I can’t give them the attention they need and deserve because your stupid ass is at the waiter’s station waiting for me to make drinks for your table of six assholes who all look underage and you probably never even carded any of them. Then you mispronounce the names of the drinks and I have to try and figure out what the fuck they ordered from you. After I make your drinks, I still can’t get back to my customers because you don’t know which ones are garnished with a cherry, a lemon or a lime, you forgot to ask if the martini drinker wanted an olive or a twist and one of your guests wants you to ask me what the well scotch is. Naturally, one of them is underage and wants a virgin Pina Colada, a big fat blended waste of time. Then you ask me for an Irish Coffee and I have to ask you if they want an Irish whiskey, sugar and Coffee or a Bailley’s Irish Cream & Coffee, because, 3/4 of the time, that’s what they meant to ask for. So then I have to wait while you go back and check with them and sure enough, they meant Baileys & Coffee.
Meanwhile, “People-Who-Sits-Next-To-The-Waitress-Station” Guy has been driving me absolutely fuckin’ crazy the whole time I’m trying to get your order ready. Please. Kill me NOW!
Working with bartenders who don’t pull their weight,
but they’re the first to start counting the tips at the end of the night while I’M still doing THEIR sidework. Yeah, I’m talking to you Lisa N@$+%$!, you gum crackin, hair-twirlin, lookin’-at -yourself-in-the-mirror- flirtin’-with-the-all-the-young-rockers-at the-bar-while-all-hell-is-breaking-loose-and-the-entire-room-is-congested-with-dirty-glasse s-that-you-should-be-washing-while-I-go-and-get-more-ice-you-fucking-whore and you haven’t even acknowledged the two older gentlemen that just sat down because they’re not long hair rock musicians like your friends sitting in the spot you haven’t moved from in 45 minutes while you bullshit with them while they’re on the third round of Coors that you bought for them.
Then, at closing time, you immediately start counting the tips while I clean up your fucking mess even though your two boy-toys sat there all night flirting with you and only left 5 bucks between them. Meanwhile, the rest of the customers left crappy tips, too because they got shitty service from me because I couldn’t keep up without your help, fuck you very much, may you rot in hell.
Proudly powered by Weebly