Malcolm Gladwell Is A Punk

Ok, friend. I’m gonna tell you a story.

I’m at the Lift. Martini bar. Downtown Des Moines, IA. It’s Wednesday, martini night, makin a shit-ton of martinis. Well, that’s what we call em anyway. Watermelon. Chocolate. Far cry from a Gin martini, up. But whatever. Ladies dig it. And the guys. Well there there for the ladies. Duh. So it works out.

We’ve got 3 bartenders workin. It’s busy at first, then dies down around 10:45pm. We cut our 3rd on, she grabs the tip pitcher, to count the tips, split em up, you get the idea. But before she do, I say to her, I guess $45 each. She says, ok. That would be great.

Now as she’s turning the corner into the back room to count the tips, a lighting bolt number strikes me. $47. $47. Should I change my number?  I could go in the back, tell her my change of heart, but something stops me. No, no Clint. Go with your first instinct. $45. I read the book Blink by Malcolm Gladwell. Go with your first thought. The first blink. It’s usually the right one.

So I keep on making martinis. Dirty…Frenchy…A Something Fruity. After 5 minutes, the bartender that was counting the tips comes up to me. Sorry, Clint, she says. You were close. It was $47.


I told her, up and down, I mean, I went into it, I swear on my children’s LIFE, I swear on my wife’s life, I THOUGHT $47. This was important for her to knows this.

It ruined my night.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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