When you’re writing a story, or telling one, it’s easy to make yourself out to be the good guy. I try to be fair, but I’m sure I have this bias, too. With this story, I’m the bad guy.
I’m at the bar, place is packed. Almost 200 people in the house. Two bartenders, running out of glass. It’s a clusterfuck, dirty glasses, cans, bottles from one end of the bar to the other. No time to get them clean, when you have 50 people wanting to get drinks. Focus, make those drinks as quick as possible, onto the next patron.
This guy comes up, I approach and say, what can I get you? He starts in on his story, somebody took my drink off my table, I think he works here. I say fine, fine, what were you drinking? He says whiskey, Coke. I say, all right, I’ll just make you another one. As I’m making it, I make a fatal error. Instead of just making him the drink, and handing it to him, I have to open up my big mouth. I say, did you walk away from your table? You should hold onto your drink. He says, it was on my table. I say, fine, fine, whatever. But I’m obviously none too pleased that I have to make him another drink, when I could be helping another 50 customers. I hand him the drink, and as he’s walking away, he says, man, you don’t have to be a dick about it. I stop right there. A dick? You’re calling me a dick? I just gave you a free drink and you’re calling me a dick? That’s hilarious. He walks away, I stew.
99% of the time, somebody comes up, tells me, hey, man, I dropped my drink, or, somebody took my drink off my table, I make em a new drink, free of charge, no questions asked. Shit happens, you know? But this time, I let my stress get the better of me.
I go back to bartending, but the “altercation” sticks in my mind. It’s one thing to know that you’re a dick…and another when someone tells you.
From my heart to yours,
Clint Curtis. Bartender.