Monthly Archives: August 2013

Smoking Cigarettes

I’m at the club, I’ve been workin for an hour, steady show, but I’ve got another bartender behind the bar, so everything’s runnin smoothly. I tell my fellow bartender, hey man, I’m gonna take 5. He says, cool. I grab my cigs and black Bic lighter, go outside, and light up. Oh my God, it tastes so good. The first drag is the best. The last drag is the sorrow. I love smokin cigarettes. It’s one of my favorite hobbies. I love everything about it. The first cigarette of the day. This is what you do. You sleepily make the coffee, while it’s brewing, you go outside for a smoke. Does it taste good?  Oh hell yeah it tastes good. Right off the bat, one of the best parts of my day. Finish up the smoke, go back inside, pour myself a cup of coffee, splash of cream, sip on that for five minutes, then go out for another smoke.

I haven’t done that in six years, and I still miss it, from time to time.

I’ve been addicted to many things in my life. Hard drugs, not some much, but I have experimented a bit. No heroin. Nothing serious. I would NEVER do heroin. I’d probably like it.

One of the main problems with addiction is, not so much being addicted per se, but being ignorant to the fact that you ARE addicted. You find out, soon enough, how much you’re addicted to the drug, when you quit it, and could gnaw your fist off.

Nowadays, when I take five, I go in the stairwell, get away from the action for five minutes, sit on a cheap lawn chair, and sip my N/A Kaliber.

And it’s disgusting. But better than nothing, I suppose.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

The Tie Clip

I’m at the bar, pickin up martini glasses, and this gentleman comes out of the bathroom, shirt, tie, slacks, lookin damn sharp.  I tell him, dang, dude, I like that tie clip you got. That’s the thing. Tie clips. So hot right now.

He looks down at his tie. You like this?  I say, yeah, it’s cool.  He takes it off his tie. Here ya go. What?  Yeah, take it. I work at Banana Republic. I got another one at work. Oh, I couldn’t possibly take it from you.  No, I want you to have it. Holy shit, man, I say. That’s so kind of you. Sure, he says. Well…I gotta buy you a martini for that. Nope, he says. No need. Wow. Thanks, man. You just made my night. He turns back to his friend, and I go pick up more martini glasses.

Now I just have to figure out when to wear a tie.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m at the bar, I tell my fellow bartender, I gotta go. I might be awhile. I go, probably five minutes, I come back, and for some reason, my underwear has gone out-of-alignment.  It’s all bunched up. I try to organize it, pull it up this way, pull it down that way, but it still doesn’t feel right. It feels like I left a sock in there. Very uncomfortable.

My buddy’s at the bar, I approach him, and tell him of my conundrum. He says, blog post?

Yeah, I say. Probably.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m at the club, this guy comes up, orders a Steller. Yes, with an er. Seems like a nice guy, I don’t wanna be a dick, like I tend to be, so I say, real casual. Sure, that’s a Stella? Yeah, he says, a Steller.

Whatever…I tried.

At the martini bar I work at, we have Smithwicks on tap, and people murder that name. They say it phonetically, instead of calling it Smit-icks. Drop the h and the w. I feel comfortable with correcting people on that one, cause it’s tough, and next time, it’ll impress your bartender if you pronounce it correctly.

Guy comes up again, says, I’ll take another one of those Stellers. I say, you bet, my man.

One more Steller, comin right up.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Hanging Up On Larry David

I’m at the club. Really good crowd. I know a lot of my posts start out with somethin like, the place is dead, but we do have decent shows, I promise you. Anyway, this band gets up on stage, lead singer’s real charismatic. I love that. Tellin great stories in between songs. So he starts tellin this story, and I’ll never forget it.

He gets a phone call one day, picks up, and the guy says, is this Milano? And he says, yeah, you got im. Who’s this? The guy on the other end says, this is Larry David. Milano says, fuck off, and hangs up on him, thinkin it’s one of his buddy’s pullin a practical joke. The phone rings five minutes later, this time it’s a woman. Hi, this is so-and-so, I’m Larry David’s assistant, and I assure you, he was the one who just called you. Milano says, holy shit. Really? What does he want? Well, are you available to talk to him? Milano says, fuck yeah. I love Seinfeld.

Larry gets on the line. Yeah, you gonna hang up on me again? No, sir, Milano says. What can I do for ya? Well, I got this show I’m workin on starring Kirstie Alley, and I’d liked to use your song Bubble Butt, for the theme song. Milano says, I don’t know. Kirstie Alley? I’m not sure if I’m into that. Larry David says, I’ll pay you $20,000. Then Milano says,

Sign me up.

I guess the show went nowhere, but the guy indeed made 20 G’s, and got to talk to Larry Freaking David.

And I thought that was pretty, pretty, pretty cool.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

The Pizza Slice

Customer story:  I’m in the Quad Cities, with my girlfriend. It’s a Saturday night, we get wasted. Around three o’clock, we find a pizza place. I get a slice. I’m so hungry, I can’t wait to bite into it.

I go to take the first bite, and the slice, slips outta my hand. Oh, shit. I go to pick it up. It’s got a buncha gravel on it. Dirt. Inedible. I’m so pissed, cause I’m so hungry, I chuck the thing, in the air. And then I see where it’s headed. Right for this Kia. It’s probably like a 92 Kia. It hits it on the side window. Smack. Then smears down.  There’s like 6 people in the car. They jump out, arms swingin in the air.

Oh, no you didn’t throw a pizza slice at my car!  That sorta thing. They call the cops. Cops come. They’re sayin it’s a hate crime to the cops. Cause I threw a slice at their car. Hate crime!!!!  It’s a hate crime!!  Cop rolls his eyes, and cuffs me. Takes me in, to prevent a riot.

I’m in there, my girlfriend calls her mother. At 4am. You gotta pick us up. We’re stranded in the Quad Cities. We’re in jail, and we don’t know where we are.

Nothing came of it. No charges. They were gonna charge me with Disorderly Conduct, but mysteriously, the paperwork “got lost”.

And that’s the story, of how a pizza slice, became a hate crime.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Girls Fart

I’m servin these girls tonight, and one of em says, about the other, you know, she’s never burped before. The non-burper says, yeah, I just can’t burp. And so I say, ok, what about fart?  And she goes, oh no, I do that like a champ. And then I tell her, ya know, I like it when a girl farts in front of me. It means she feels comfortable around me. Yeah, the girl champion-farter says, it means she’s bein real with you.

I tell my fellow bartender, I gotta take five. I go into the stairwell, and write this.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Unnecessary Dickery

I’m behind the bar, cleanin up. Show’s over, fluorescents are up, guy and girl sittin at the end of the bar. A band member approaches the couple. Hey, guys. How you doin? Great. Hey, did you enjoy the show? Yeah, it was ok. Good harmonies. Hey, thanks for sayin that. Listen…would love it if you could sign our email list. The guy says, no, I don’t think so. I really don’t wanna be gettin emails from your band. Oh…ok, the band member says. Well, hope to see you around! He walks away, the guy says to his date, under his breath, hope not.

I approach the guy after I hear the conversation. I know the guy, he’s a friend of mine, so I feel like I can be candid with him. Did I hear you correctly? Did he ask you to sign his email list, and you turned him down? You’re a DICK, dude. What…I don’t like lyin to people. I didn’t really like his band, so why would I give him my email address? Dude, I say. That was unnecessary dickery. Just give him a fake email address. Problem solved. Dickboy@gmail. There you go. Perfect one for ya. Yeah, he says, maybe I’ll try that next time. Yeah, dude. Why you gotta intentionally hurt his feelings? How many people were here…like six people? I’m sure he wasn’t too pleased with that. Then you gotta go kick him when he’s down. Yeah, you’re probably right, Clint. You bet your ass I’m right. Fake email address next time. Get it.

Here’s a rule I abide by: good show, really appreciate you playin. That’s what I always say. Do I love all the bands that play the bar? What do you think? But I’m very appreciative that they play, cause they get people in the door, those people drink, and the bar makes money. Without bands, there’d be no club. So good show, appreciate you playin.

I think one band has come up to me after their show, in 10 years of me bartending, and said, hey, what did you think of my band? I want an honest answer. I really appreciated that. I said some things that I liked about their band, and some things I thought they could work on.

Then I gave em a fake email address.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

The Kid Who Needed It The Most

The sound guy comes up to me, I’m behind the bar, he says, ya remember that kid I was tellin you about, the musician, I kicked him out last weekend, for sneakin in beer, in his backpack? Yeah, I remember that guy. Well, he came back again, Monday and Tuesday, passin out beers to his underage friends, right in front of me. I kicked him out TWICE. And he keeps comin back! I can’t stand the guy. I don’t want us to book his band anymore. Uh-huh. I feel ya, bro.

Couple days later, it’s a Sunday, I’m tendin bar, sure enough, I see backpack strollin through the bar. And I know the guy didn’t pay cover. Well, I think, time for a little confrontation. He walks out of the bar, I follow after I finish with a customer.

I go outside. I see him. I say, yeah. I wanna discuss somethin with you. He comes over, yeah. What’s up? I say, what’s goin on, man? You been kicked outta the bar twice this week, why do you keep comin back? He says, I don’t know what you’re talkin about. I say, sure you do. The sound guy kicked you out, for bringin in beer, and passin em around to all your friends. Ok, he says. I didn’t know I couldn’t do that. What? I say. Do you not have any common sense? How could you possibly think that would be ok? Do you see the sign right there? Next to the front door that says, NO OUTSIDE DRINKS. How much clearer do we need to be? And another thing, you’re actin real sketchy when you’re in here. You look like you’re casing the joint. Sketchy? He says in dismay. I’m not bein sketchy. Actually, you are, dude. That’s my perspective, and the sound guy’s.

You need to make amends with the sound guy. Cause he don’t like you. You need a fresh start. You need to clean up your act. I know you’re a musician, and I’ve watched you on stage, and actually, I think you got some talent. So I think it would be wise of you to take care of this, if you ever wanna play this music venue again. Then he says, what’s your name? And I say, Clint. What’s yours? And then he tells me. Well, bud, I gotta get back to work, but you think about the things I’ve told you.

I walk back into the bar, and end it at that.

You know, sometimes, we need somebody to come up to us, and give us a swift kick in the ass.

And I know this, cause I was once that kid, who needed it the most.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Smile More

My fellow bartender is talkin with a couple ladies in the corner. I overhear one of em say, ohhh, that bartender. He was really grumpy last time we were in here…he needs to learn to smile more.

Ahhh, the phrase. The bane of my existence.

I’ve heard it many times. So many times. You need to smile more. What’s wrong?  Why aren’t you smiling?  Well…I’m at work, I enjoy my job, but it doesn’t necessarily make me want to smile. I laugh, yes, but smile?  You’re gonna have to pay extra for that.

Where do you work?  I ask. She says, Wells Fargo. I say, fair enough. Great place to work. I’m gonna come to your work tomorrow, watch you in your cubicle, make sure you’re smilin enough.  Sound good?

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.