Monthly Archives: November 2013

It’s Vintage

This girl comes into the bar, lookin sexy, I know her, I say, where’d you get that dress?  She says, it’s vintage. This girl’s into fashion, and it looks good on her. I say, whenever I ask a girl where they got their dress, they always tell me, it’s vintage.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I don’t like dresses that only one woman has worn.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

A Drunk, Silly Thing

I’m behind the bar, it’s getting late, there’s a girl, with a drink in front of her, she bows her head, and takes a sip from her drink, out of a straw, hands free. I think for a second…is that unusual?  I think it would be for a guy, but maybe not for a girl. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen little kids do it, knees on stool, straw in mouth. But the norm, I think, is a glass in your hand, take a sip from the straw. But hands free?  I guess it’s cute.

I ask the the door girl, how do you drink from a straw? She looks at me funny. Well…she says. I usually hold the straw, and hold the drink. Ok, I say. Then she says, if I’m drunk, sometimes I just do it like this (she leans forward). AH-HA!!!  I saw a girl do that last night!  Head down, hands free. She says, yeah. It’s a drunk, silly thing.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Happy Thanks

No story today.  Happy Thanksgiving.

I will be bartending The Lift tonight from 9pm-on.  222 4th Street, beautiful downtown Des Moines.  Come down for a $2 pint.  Mention this post, and I’ll give you first pint on the house.

Clint Curtis

The Sharpie Nazi

I’m a Sharpie Nazi. What’s that, you say?  Well, try to borrow a Sharpie from me, see what happens. I know you gotta sign your albums and posters for your fans, and I think that’s great. Proud of you that people give a shit for your shit. But why don’t you bring your own damn Sharpie?

This is how it works. Band member comes up, says, yeah. Do you have a Sharpie I can borrow? Sure, I say, rummage around in our pen pitcher, find a Sharpie, give it to em. I need this back, please. Oh yeah, they say. You bet. End of night, where’s my Sharpie?  Gone, that’s where. Sharpie’s are like lighters. Fair game to steal. And I understand. Who doesn’t like a free Sharpie? Shit’s wonderful.

I get wise after awhile. Band member comes up, can I borrow a Sharpie? Sure, I say. Just need to hold onto your ID, and we’re good.  They give me the ID, I give them a Sharpie, they use it, bring it back, they get their ID back. Problem solved.

Tonight, band member comes up, says, I’ll give you my van key if I can borrow a Sharpie. Your van key? Hmmm.

Word must’ve got out. Guy behind the bar is the Sharpie Nazi.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m at the bar, pretty busy, I approach a guy sitting at the bar, I say to him, what can I get you?  He says, well whiskey on the rocks. I grab the glass, ice, pour, pour, pour, here you go. He then says, you’re gonna hate me for this, and proceeds to pull out a handful of change. I just walk away.

There’s nothing more depressing than watching a grown man stacking quarters atop the bar.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m in the back, counting our winnings. I split up the tips, 50-50, but sometimes there’s an extra dollar. What do you do?  Do you break it into quarters?  No. That’s for pussies.  You put one amount in one hand, the other amount in the other hand, put your fists behind your back, then tell your fellow bartender, pick.

But, oh yes, there’s a strategy to this game. Isn’t there always?  Yep, there is. In this case, my fellow bartender always goes for the left. We established that the last time we played. He won, and said flippantly, I always go for the left. Now THIS TIME, he knows that I know he picks left. Right?  So what do I do? Strategy, my friends. This is where my thinking went. He knows I’m a pretty smart guy. Again, he knows I know he favors the left. But see, he knows I’m smarter than, ok duh, he likes left, so I’ll put the smaller amount in the left. But he knows I know that. This is Jedi Mind Trick. I decide to put the big amount in the RIGHT HAND. ‘Cause, I figure, he’s gonna think, Clint’s too smart to put the big amount in the right. See that’s just one step. Too basic. I put it in the right because he knew I’d never be that dumb to just put it in my right.  That’s precisely why I did it.

Which hand?  I say. He says, I’ll take the left one.

BOOM BABY. Extra dollar is mine.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m behind the bar, NOT serving drinks, teenagers galore, pouring water. Whatever. I can sit back and observe the glory that is the bar.

I’m watching the band. Music’s all right, I got no problem with it, sixteen year-old girls are going berserkers for it, they’re loving it, I only have one minor problem.

The lead singer keeps on fixing his hair.

I’m watching, and literally every 12 seconds, the guy moves his hair over to the side. He’s got longish hair, so when he’s “rocking out”, his hair gets in his face. Therefore, he’s gotta get it out of his face, therefore, he fixes said hair, every 12 seconds. I’m serious. I time it. In between fixes. 12 seconds is the average.

A buddy of mine comes behind the bar, I tell him. Dude, watch the lead singer. He’s constantly fixing his hair. We watch. Wait for it, I say. Boom! He does it. My buddy laughs, we hi-five.

Oh shit, dude. My buddy says. Totally called it. I say, I told you.

I see the singer later on, I tell him, could I talk to you for a second?  He says, sure. I say, watched your band, you guys were great, crowd was way into it, I just have one note for you. He says, ok. What’s that?  Well…you fix your hair too much when you’re onstage. He goes, yeah, I know. If I don’t move my hair, it goes in my mouth, and I want to puke. Ok, I say. That’s a problem, then. You don’t want to puke.  What about a barrette? I say.  He says, I try hats, but I lose them, somebody takes it.  So I’m like, you can’t keep fixing your hair. It’s too distracting. Whether the audience notices or not, they will on a subconscious level, and it’ll take them out of it. He says, yeah. I should just cut it. Maybe I’m just jealous, I say. Look at me. He laughs. You have to train yourself not to do it. At the end of the song, turn your back to the audience, then fix it. Anyway, it’s sexy if you got your hair in your face.

I say, my name’s Clint. He says his name, we shake.  He says, thanks, man. Really appreciate it.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

In The Sink

I’m at the bar.  It’s around midnight.  Nine people tops in the bar.  Girl comes up, right before she’s about to leave, and says, there’s a girl puking in the sink in the Women’s Room, just so you know.  Awesome.  Great.  Thanks for telling me.  I bolt to the bathroom.  I want to catch this chick red-handed.  Sure enough, I open the door, this chick is standing next to the sink, sink is overflowing with orange vomit.  The thing that pisses me off the most is I only served her ONE DRINK.  And she didn’t seem drunk when I served it to her.  Yeah, cool, go to other bars, get drunk, come here, have a Bud Light, and vomit all up in my sink.

I say, I know you gotta puke, but there’s a toilet right there.  She gives me this bullshit half-grin.  I get it, prissy didn’t want to get her knees dirty when she’s puking at the toilet.  Awesome.  Her friend’s in there, I tell her, I’ll go get you somethin.  I make my exit, go to the Men’s Room, grab a plunger, go to the bar, grab the fucking 409 and a towel, and take them to the bathroom.  I open the door, and set them down in front of them.  Yeah, I say.  You can take care of this for me.  Thanks.  Her friend says, yeah.  I will.  I leave, get behind the bar, and fume.  The absolute disrespect for another human being is amazing.  I know you’re drunk, I get it, it’s sometimes my fault, so I’ll put on some rubber gloves and clean up after you.  Grab the toilet brush, not the end of the world.  But to knowingly upchuck in the SINK, YOU KNOW IT’S GONNA CLOG IT UP.

I go change some kegs, blow off some steam.  I come back five minutes later, my friend’s sitting at the bar.  Did you see two girls leave the Women’s Room?  She says, no I didn’t.  Minute later, upchuck’s friend comes out of the bathroom, and quietly says, I cleaned it all up for you.  Could I have a cup of water, please?  All right, I say.  I give her a cup of water, she goes back to the bathroom.

They both leave ten minutes later, in an all-out sprint for the door.  I look in the bathroom.  Shit’s sparkling.

Just another night at the bar.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

It Ain’t Here

I’m behind the bar, servin drinks, my buddy’s in the corner, sulking with a beer. I go to him, what’s up, man?  He says, I think I’m gonna take off. I’m gonna go down the street. It ain’t here?  I say. What?  It ain’t here, I repeat. What you’re looking for. Yeah, he says. So I go, you’re gonna go to the other bar, see if it’s there, but if it’s not there, maybe you could come back, because maybe it’ll be here by then.

Maybe, he says.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m behind the bar, guy orders a martini, and a water.  I make the martini.  I can hear my fellow bartender getting ice in the back room.  Scoop, drop, scoop, drop.  I finish the martini, grab a red Solo cup, and as I’m about ready to get some ice, my fellow bartender starts pouring ice in the ice bin in front of me.  I put the cup underneath the icefall and it fills up.

For some reason, this is the best part of my night.  Because the timing has to be just right.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.