Random Clutterings


So, no word on the cocktail waitress in the last post.

I was able to weigh in with BossMan II, the owner’s rep who is pretty much our other GM and

[Interruption] I just remembered that there is dairy-free ice cream in the freezer and that has totally just made my year. [/ Interruption]

Anyhoo, with BossMan II, I brought up two integral parts of the bar that have suffered greatly since I was taken off Friday and Saturday nights. First, customer acknowledgement. I don’t care who came from where, how long they’ve done this, if they can’t get the idea of customer acknowledgement. A nod, a smile, eye contact, whatever. Don’t just plain ignore people. We make money by making Average Joes and Janes feel like royalty, if they can’t even get a simple recognition of their existence and presence at the bar, then what the hell? I get that the bartenders rule the bar, it’s their turf, but being automatically blase to even hostile from the get go will do NOTHING for us. Eiffel doesn’t get that and it makes it hard to deal with her sometimes on Thursday nights, but hey, keep the peace!

Second, cleanliness. Dean and I (he was out with strep for a minute but he’s back!) bartend every Sunday night and we always make sure it’s spic, span and beautiful. The night shift consistently can’t get their act together about cleaning on Friday and Saturday nights, Gary bartends Saturday and Sunday mornings and has to clean up after them even though he has politely and graciously raised the same complaints in two nights consecutively. The fact the night girls on those shifts just essentially flip cleanliness the middle finger is unacceptable. I told Bossman II that I am not talking about my OCD quirks, or the pet peeves of the AM bartender, but basic stuff to prevent lots of sticky surfaces, keeping clutter 86’d and organization static, general tidiness, etc.

In other news, I broke off stuff with someone I was talking to and then got caught up with a gorgeous, curvy and very sexy Moldovan bar regular who works at the SnappleTrees in the area. One night of chatting with Dean and he got her number. Dammit. THAT was a bruised ego. I don’t think it’s proper for me to date bar regulars, we weren’t in competition, and we both genuinely like her, but I guess she made her choice.

And suddenly I’m sleepy: a speech to give tomorrow, two essays (one of which is accompanied by much-needed extra credit to solidify my A) and two finals. Deuces!

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About Malachi the Drink Slinger

Finally transferring to that four year school in January, my goals made, my life set, the blinders dropped, my past signed and sealed, my future bright and airy, a writer, a thinker, a feeler, someone who is enthralled by beauty, an artist worth slightly more than two shits, a lover, a fighter, a person on the way to become the person I have always wanted to be....

3 comments

  1. Hi there! Thanks for the warm welcome to the good ole’ blogosphere! Nice to be here.

    Have enjoyed reading your blog, as well, both one restaurant worker to another as well as one student to another.

    Best, U.C.

  2. I tip WELL. I tip my bartenders an embarrassing amount. DO NOT be rude to me. I am a happy, fun loving drunk who is free with her money. Rude bartenders get nothing. Just sayin’…

    The idea of leftover sticky bar mess makes my skin crawl. Think of the bacteria having an after hours party. Blech.

  3. Our bar has nowhere to go direction-wise and no difference to make in our area if we can’t be good to people. I agree, even if it’s not blatant rudeness, being made to feel second-class, or if one feels he or she has to be friends with a bartender to get ANY kind of service? I mean, hell, I ran interference with a group of “ghetto” kids with lots of cash to burn and they left me ridiculous money for knocking together a few pitchers of Alabama Slammers and some vodka cocktails, and they were fun loving and I had a great time: I know that Eiffel, coming from a drug-den with a lot of bad clientele is probably biased. If I’m there to balance her out, we’ll be OK, but if I’m not and no one else is, then, there goes the baby with the bathwater.

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