Caution: This post is Rated “R” for Adult Language. (And for stuff in genera!)
This week your friendly bartender (after wisely chucking the concept of doing a blog about nine grain bread vs. seven grain bread, and the moral implications therein) has decided instead to fashion a blog about “babes”. And not those babes in the woods, mind you, or the famous Babes in Toyland, but rather those babes in Bar-land who serve you your drinks. You know, those Xena’s of the cocktail battlefield who charge each night through crowds of patrons balancing their trays on high, with a smile, a load of finesse and the patience of Job. These women are acrobats, they are actors, they are darlings and even big sisters, but in stating their case can swear like a bunch of truck drivers.
Thus I advise as well as caution you, if you ever want to get a good read, dear reader, as to who’s doing what and what the hell’s going on in a crowded joint, I suggest you grab a seat at the bar as close as you can to the waitress station… that tiny, two-foot chunk of mahogany usually down at the end where they order and vent… and fucking hang on! The experience can be enlightening, perhaps hilarious, and often an “R” rated event which you shall see. For their jobs are packed with urgency and pressure and pressure, as everyone knows, makes that tea kettle whistle.
But what makes it (for me) even more enjoyable when I’m not your friendly bartender, but rather your friendly customer sitting at one of those stations, is to check out those often sweet faces emitting those blue streaks. So to better get what I mean on this score, use your imagination right now and place a cherubic face to a few of these quotes…
“If that son-of-a-bitch on Six (table Six) puts his arm around my waist one more time, I swear to God he’s wearing his next fucking drink!”
“Do you believe this asshole on on Four? He actually said, ‘And my father will have…’.
“Honey, do me a massive. Take over table Two for me, pah-leeeeese? I can’t deal with this jerk anymore. He smells like that hippie musk shit and he mumbles through his beard where I can’t hear a goddam word. Just tell him I’m on my break or I fucking died!”
“These women on Twelve are driving me up a wall. If they ask for one more olive I’m charging for a fucking salad.”
“That bastard on Three sucking face is fucking married. Do you believe that shit? I’d love to tell him his wife’s on the phone but he tips like an ATM.”
“That asshole on Nine just farted.”
“Shit… check out table Five. The man has got to be gay, he’s way too good looking!”
“Who the fuck orders McCallum 12 with coke?”
“Jesus, how about that women’s laugh over on Eight? Her poor goddam husband, she sounds like she swallowed a Myna bird. (sotto voce) F-u-c-k.”
“See that guy near Ten leaning against the wall? That three hundred pound sausage packed in Armani? The stupid bastard just stepped on my fucking toe. ”
“That guy on Seven just asked if I fucking Feng Shui. What does that even mean?”
“Aw, man, just shoot me. That olive garden on Twelve wants to pay with six separate credit cards. The bitches!!!”
And all of these from the mouths of babes who look more apt to be caroling or reading from a hymnal. God bless every one of them.
Ah, but when the tray is filled and the drinks are ready and their frowns are once again smiles, these Xena’s make ready for one more charge into the fray. What was said at the bar is now in the past and all that you see are these pros who are doing their jobs. They are smiling, they are teasing, they are playing the roles their customers have come to expect. Which is where the acting comes in I referred to earlier. Yes some of these women can play their roles better than members of S.A.G., which got your friendly bartender to thinking.
Since there’s already the Oscar for actors in film, the Emmy for television thesps, and the Tony and Obie for those who tread the boards, why not come up with an award for these actors in Bar-land? Something like the Sammi Award… the Serving Assholes Makes Me Ill Award.
Or if that doesn’t do it (which it probably doesn’t) why not come up with your own and leave it in Comments? It might be fun. And it might be something you can bestow on your waitress the next time she serves you a drink. You know, you can shake you head and say with a smile, “For what you do you oughta’ get a “- – -” Award. Give it a shot.
And then order a shot and see if it’s on the house.
Over and out from Bar-land… see ya’ next week-end!