Monthly Archives: April 2014

Too Punk To Clap

Two guys are at the bar, band’s playing, really good, but sparse crowd.  Song ends, one of the guy’s at the bar starts clapping, vigorously.  He stops after awhile, realizes he’s pretty much alone in his clapping endeavor, turns to his buddy, and says,

Whataya. Too punk to clap?

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.


Buddy of mine comes in around 1:50 AM, hammered, stumbles behind the bar, CLLLLINT. I need a hug…gimme a hug. I oblige. He says, say it Clint, say it, say it for me. What’s that, Huggies?  You know what I’m talkin about. Don’t forget, I’ve got your autograph in my wallet. Did. You DID have my autograph in your wallet. Whatever, whatever, I had it in there so long, it disintegrated. Say the line, just say the line. I say, begrudgingly, Gotta charred cadaver for ya. OH MAN, I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT. All-right Huggies, I gotta clean this bitch up. You gotta go.

Huggies is an interesting character. He’s a DJ, and plays a very eclectic set. One minute rap, the next minute Black Flag. He didn’t like me the first time we met.  He comes up to the bar, says, gimme a shot of Hennessy. And so I go, you know, just cause you’re a DJ, don’t mean you gotta drink Hennessy. Oh shit, CLINT CURTIS IS A RACIST. Sure, whatever you say. We worked through that first impression, and we became friends after that. He’s actually a great guy, very boisterous, with a positive personality. Everything that I am not. Did I mention he likes to hug?  That’s why I call him Huggies.

I joke with the sound guy when Huggies is going on stage. Hey, man, you’re not gonna give Huggies a mic, are you? The guy talks from the beginning of the set till the very end. AND HE’S THE DJ NOT THE RAPPER. It’s like, shut the fuck up, Huggies, you’re supposed to let the rappers talk.


Before he stumbles out of the bar, he says, all serious, hey Clint, when you gonna write about me in your blog? Well…

I just did.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

You’re Alright

I’m on break, I usually spend it in the stairwell. Get away from the music, the people, the drinks, for a bit. I go in, walk up the stairs to my “office” (which consists of a chair), as I do, I almost trip over this guy.  Jesus!!! Scares the shit outta me. Guy’s sprawled out. I look down. I know the guy. I say, dude. What are you doing? He says, I drank too much. I think for a second. Whatever, I say. Just stay there. I walk up the stairs, sometimes, you gotta choose your battles. Know what I mean? Two minutes pass, then I hear, from down below.

Clint?  You’re alright.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

The Star Wars Trilogy

I’m at the bar, chatting with my buddy about Star Wars. He says, this chick I was dating, goes on Facebook, says she’s watching the Star Wars trilogy, and no, she was watching the prequel. I put my dick in that. Can you imagine? Well, I say, I don’t know much about Star Wars, but the prequel was a trilogy. Episode 1, blah, blah, blah to Episode 3.

Yes, he says. But it wasn’t THE trilogy. Star Wars, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi. THAT’S the trilogy.

Damn, dude, I say. Fuckin stickler.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

The Three Wisemen

Kid comes up to the bar with his buddies, drops his ID on the bar, says, do you give free shots for birthdays? I look at him. He’s gonna get his free shot…and leave. Alright. Let’s make this fun.

Absolutely. 21st?  He says, yeah. Well, birthday boy. A free shot, coming right up.

Let’s give him the Three Wisemen.

I pour equal parts Jose Tequila, Jack Daniels, and Jim Beam. The Three Wisemen. Jim, Jack, and Jose.

Here ya go, birthday boy. He looks at it, grabs it, starts sniffing. C’mon, man. Don’t sniff it. Drink it. He says, what is it?  I say, it’s your birthday shot. Don’t think about it. You’re a man now. Drink it.

He does it. And by the looks of his face,

Doesn’t like it.

You come in my bar, ask for a birthday shot?  Guy, girl, don’t matter.

Meet The Three Wisemen.

Like they did with Jesus,

There’s your present, kid.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Rich Girl

Chick’s at the bar, orders three shots, for her and her friends. I don’t care what you make, she says. Just no Red Bull. I make her three Liquid Cocaines. Shake, shake, shake, and pour. I say, that’s 12 dollars, please. She starts going through her bag, looking for her card. Her guy friend says, just let me pay. She says, no, no, no. I’m paying for them. I don’t care. I’m rich. I have so much money. She pulls out a bottle water from her purse, slams it on the bar, and says,

I’m so rich. I drink FIJI fucking water!

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Brendon’s Haircut

Buddy of mine comes in, he’s playing tonight, I see him chatting at the end of the bar, he’s wearing a baseball hat, he takes it off, shows the door guy.  I approach.  Wow, Brad.  Pretty short.  Yeah, he says.  Walk into Supercuts today.  I don’t care, just cut my hair.  I sit down.  Couple minutes pass, hairdresser comes up, says, are you Brendon?  I say, no.  Bradley.  I don’t have an appointment.  No problem, she says.  C’mon back.  I sit down, they take a picture of you, after your haircut, they’ve got it in the computer, so she looks at the picture, refers to that, says, you want the usual?  I say, sure.  She gets the electric razor, turns me around, jjjjjjjjh.  Oh shit.  I don’t remember that happening in my haircut.  I say, did you just give me Brendon’s haircut?

She says, ahhh….oops.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

She Likes Lemons

Girl comes up, says, can I get a Pomegranate martini, and a water? Could I get a lemon in the water? Sure, I say. No, she says, make that two. Wait…three. I say, how bout I give you a lemon, and a knife? She says, great!

And I don’t think she realized I was kidding.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

Low Expectations

I’m in the car with my seven-year-old son, when you have kids, shit accumulates in the car.  Wrappers, food, plastic bowls, action figures, etcetera.  My son is rummaging around in the back seat, he exclaims, hey!  Two pieces of gum!  I say, oh yeah?

He says, man.  This is like, the best part of my day.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

Broke Down

I’m cleaning up the bar, I find a pack of Pall Malls, half-full, underneath a table. I go to my fellow bartender, he smokes, I say, found these. Want ’em? He says, sure. I’ll take ‘em.

A bit of back story, I quit smoking cigs almost six years ago, and recently, I’ve been thinking about smoking. I even had a dream about it. It was a good dream, naturally.

End of night, my fellow bartender is gone, I’m doing the register, oh shit. He left the pack of Pall Malls. Fucking great. And guess what?  There’s a damn green lighter right next to it.

Do you have any idea how difficult it was to quit smoking? It was my favorite hobby. Pack a day. I did the patch for the first month when I quit, then chewed the gum. AND I GOT ADDICTED TO THAT.

I open the pack of Pall Malls, slide one out, look around, nope, nobody’s around, I grab the lighter, put the cigarette to my lips, flick the lighter, and…

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.