Monthly Archives: February 2014


I’m bartending, helping a customer, chick at the end of the bar yells, Clint!  Clint!  I give her a look.  I finish up helping the customer in front of me, then walk down to the chick.  I say, I’m sorry.  I couldn’t help you right then because I was helping another customer.  She says, no problem.

Girl doesn’t understand sarcasm.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

Work On Your British Accent

Chick comes up, orders a drink, says, can I get a gin and tonic?  She’s got a British accent.  I’m gonna speak for myself here and say, a girl can get hotter in the eyes when they have a British accent.  Ladies, you know what I mean.  It’s like you with Austrian guys.  Ok, maybe not Austria.

I’m talking to my fellow bartender couple days later, we get on the subject of British girls, I mention that girl with a description.  He says, yeah, she’s faking it.  What?  What do you mean faking it?  He says, I know exactly who you’re talking about and she’s not British.  She’s from like Fort Dodge.

What the hell?  Her accent was damn flawless.

Sure enough, couple months after that, pseudo-British girl comes up, orders a Heineken, yep, no accent.  Oh shit.

I almost called her out on it, oh my God, you’ve lost your accent!!!  But I didn’t.

But I shoulda.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

You Can’t Park There

There’s one sucky thing about the club I work at (only one, of course). There’s no real parking for the bands. It’s so embarrassing for me when I have to tell the bands, you can load in in the alley, but you can’t park there. Gotta find street parking. Sometimes, they don’t heed, and still park there. They stumble up to the bar, bartender!  Our van just got towed. Well…did you see the twenty signs that say NO PARKING TOWING ENFORCED?

There’s that, unfortunately.

Tonight, a manager of another bar on the street comes in, we’re slammed, he says, a van with a trailer is parked in the back, and it’s blocking my car. Do you know where the band is?  Oh shit. They’re gone. Probably out carousing town. I say, tell the sound guy to make an announcement over the PA. He leaves, nice guy, I feel bad. What the hell can I do?  Besides getting them towed, which I will not do.

Manager comes back twenty minutes later. No sign of the band. Shit, I say. I’m so sorry. Give me ten minutes to figure it out. He says, ok. He’s being cool, under the circumstances.

By some miracle, some Devine Intervention, a woman comes in, I know she was at the early show with one of the bands, she says, has a wallet turned up? I lost mine. I say, no. Leave me your name and number, I’ll contact you if I find it. And, do you know where I might find the band you were with?  Their van might be in the alley, and it’s blocking a car from getting out. She says, it’s not the band’s van I’m with. They’re parked on the street. Oh shit, I say. Do you have any idea where I might find one of the other bands that played? She says, I think they’re at a bar down the street. Hessen House. Ok, I say. Thanks. I’ll try to find that wallet.

Moments later, the manager comes back in. He says, they haven’t turned up. I gotta get back to my wife and kids. You understand. I say, I think I have a lead on where they’re at. I see a buddy of mine at the door, I call to him, he comes over. I tell him the situation. I ask him, could you possibly run down there, see if they’re there? Can’t miss them. They look like they’re in a band. Black t-shirts, long hair, tattoos. He says, I’ll go right now. Great. Love this guy.

Fifteen minutes my buddy returns. Found them, they moved their van, apologized for everything. Well Hallelujah. Miracles do happen.

Crises averted, no towing tonight. I buy my buddy a shot and a beer,

And then the night moves on.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

Chocolate-Covered Cherries

I’m behind the bar, serving drinks, girl comes up, says, I want a Chocolate Martini, do you have any chocolate-covered cherries?  Chocolate-covered cherries?  Oh yeah, yeah. I actually made them myself. Got the cherries, dipped them in chocolate, let them sit overnight.

She says, great!

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Hammered Or Wasted?

Guy comes up to the bar, I know him, good guy, looks like he’s had a few drinks. And when I say a few, I mean twenty.

I say, man. You wasted. He takes a dramatic pause, lifts his head up, and says, yep. I know, I say. You look hammered. Are you hammered or wasted? He thinks for a second, and says,


From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Career Or Not To Career

I’m at the bar, having a conversation with a friend.  I’m asking him the usual stuff, how was your day, how was work, etcetera, then we get to talking about careers.  He says, I don’t know what I want to do.  I don’t want a career.  Everyone I talk to that have careers tell me they wish they didn’t have a career.

Do I have a career?  Can bartending be a career?  I don’t think so.  All I know is, I go to work, do my thing, pour the drinks, clean the bar, lock the doors, go home, and then never think about my job until I go back.  That’s a good feeling.  I have work, and then I have a life.  When I was an actor, all I had was acting, and then going out at night with my pals.  I didn’t have much of a conventional life, then, but I guess, I didn’t really want one.  When one has a career, you have to work really hard not to let it consume you, or you wake up, ten years later, divorced, because you never spent any time with your family.  You were always working on your career.

On a bad night, I’ll get home, be lying on my couch, and think, OH DAMN.  That person asked for a lime slice and I forgot it.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

Shot Etiquette

A customer came up to me tonight, we’re talking, she says, what do you think about this?  I asked a bartender if he would do a shot with me. The bartender did the shot with me, and charged me for both. Is that wrong?

There is nothing wrong with that. It all depends on the bartender. If you say to a bartender, I want to buy you a shot, then the bartender is completely justified to charge you for both shots. I don’t feel comfortable with that, though. I have never charged someone for a shot I’ve done. I will charge them for their own shot. If I’m the one who says, let’s do a shot, then it’s my responsibility to get the round. If you want to get completely specific with the bartender, which I know they will appreciate, you can say something like, I want to buy a shot. Would you do one with me? Then, everything is clear, and the bartender can answer honestly, and everybody feels good.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


Guy comes up to the bar, long brown dreadlocks, white eyes. Is he an albino? But they have really fair skin and white hair. He does not.

I ask him, is that your real eye color? He says, no. They’re contacts. They’re not prescription. I say, cool. He continues. I have about eight pairs. Different colors. He lists off the colors. How much do those things run?  I ask. He says, not much. Thirty, forty bucks a pair. That’s not bad, I say. So…you wear em all the time?

He says, yeah. I like to get theatrical.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.


I’m talking with an acquaintance of mine, at the end of the bar, he’s with his girlfriend, enjoying the evening.  Kids come up in the conversation.  I tell him, I have two kids.  He says, yeah, been there, done that.  I’ve got a twelve-year-old.  Holy shit, man!  A twelve-year-old?  How old are you?  He says, thirty-four.  Damn, I say.  You were young when you had your kid.  He turns to his girlfriend, says, she’s got five.  I’m looking at this girl, she’s definitely in her twenties.  Five?  Jeez.  How old are you?  She says, twenty-six.  I say, how is that possible?  Five kids?  How old were you when you had your first one?

She says, fifteen.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.