Monthly Archives: December 2017

The End Of Worrying About Where’s Your Stuff

OK, you know what I’m tired of?  Keeping track of all my STUFF.  I know you have to find a home for everything, but, c’mon.  Where’s my keys?  Where’s my wallet?  Did I leave my debit card somewhere, it’s not in my wallet.  Where’s my phone?  Where’s my sunglasses?  Where’s my watch? Where’s my stocking cap and gloves?  Where’s my CHARGER?!?  I had two damn chargers three weeks ago, now none.  (Thanks kids and wife).  I gotta go outlet to outlet looking for the damn things.  Kitchen, then den, then living room, then bedrooms, then basement.  It’s a constant struggle.

In Heaven, I imagine a place without worrying about where’s your stuff.  Where’s my phone?  No need.  You can read everybody’s mind.  Want to meet up with Marilyn Monroe for a coffee?  Hang on a sec, I’m texting her right now with my mind.  Where’s my keys?  No need, baby.  Climb into any DeLorean on the side of the road, start it up with a snap of your fingers.  House keys?  Again, no need.  Walk into any house, crash out in whatever fancy bedroom you want.  Who’s going to steal in Heaven?  Imagine your dream home, and in two secs, there it is in front of you. With all of the accoutrements.  How about clothes?  You don’t need clothes in Heaven.  You walk around naked.  It’s always 82 there, and check out my six-pack.  I just thought about it, and I look like an Adonis.  No gyms in Heaven, perfect health and awesome muscles with no effort.

Ok, maybe there are cell phones in Heaven.  I don’t know why.  But if there is, and you want to go old school, the phone doesn’t need charging, or a charger.  It’s always at 100%, baby!!!

And of course, you don’t need a wallet in Heaven, or a bank card you might leave at some restaurant, or gas station.  Everything is free in Heaven!  You want something, you think about it, it’s in the palm of your hand.

But until then…  my cell phone is on 10%.  Where’s my wallet, where’s my keys?

Oh, and who needs a car?  You fly everywhere!  Or close your eyes, imagine you’re on top of the highest mountain, with the most beautiful sunset,

And there you are, with Marilyn Monroe snuggled next to you, seeing you for the Adonis you are.

-CC

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Where’s The BEEF?

I’ve got a bone to pick with my fellow employees.  First off, I’m chatting with my manager tonight, and he tells me he doesn’t like Seinfeld.  Doesn’t LIKE Seinfeld?  What the F?  Ok, I can MAYBE see saying, I’ve never TUNED IN to Seinfeld.  I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.  But don’t LIKE Seinfeld?!?  That’s some fighting words right there.  I’ve seen every episode probably six times each.  I don’t exaggerate.  Ask me Seinfeld trivia, I’ll answer it.  You can say I’m a fan.  So when you say “I don’t like Seinfeld,” that’s basically someone telling me “I don’t like you.”  Enough said.

#2 gripe for the day.  Tonight, one of the servers says to me, would you like to try some beef?  He does happen to be gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but he was talking literally.  He had scored some left-over beef from the kitchen.  I didn’t see the moment he received the plate of beef from the kitchen, but I ASSUMED that he had already had a couple slices of the beef.  Wouldn’t you?  You get a plate of food, you have a couple bites, then you say, would you like to try some?  I mean, if you didn’t, what are you trying to do?  Make me into your taste-tester to make sure the food isn’t poisoned?  So he leaves, goes to help a table, and I TRY THE BEEF.  Damn, it’s good.  Grisly on the top, rare inside.  Just like I like it.  He’s gone, ok, fine, I’ll have another one.  He’s already had two, three slices, right?  (You see where this is going).  Ok, I’m like a DOG, you put food in front of me, I’m going to eat it.  So I eat the fucking beef, I can’t help myself.  It’s there, sitting there, getting cold.  The server’s no where to be found.  From what I can gather, the guy is done with the beef.  Here you go, Clint, finish it off.  Well, 10 minutes later, he comes back, exclaims,

WHERE’S THE BEEF?!?

Well, holy shit, fornicate with a duck.  He tells me, you ate it all, I didn’t even have any!  What the hell?!?  How is that possible?  You try the food, you’re done with it, you offer the rest to your buddy.  THAT’S HOW THE SCENARIO SHOULD GO.  You don’t get the plate of beef, set it down in front of some starving dog without having some first!!!!

So after we’re done tonight, there’s the server, another server, and the manager.  I’m like, WHAT’S UP WITH THIS?!?  You don’t get a plate of food, offer it to someone, without having some first!!!  Then you walk away!?!  What the HELL do you think’s gonna happen?!?  The GUY is gonna EAT THE BEEF.

(I’m really getting into it here, with voice raised, mock horror, to show how dismayed I am, and to cover up how guilty I feel about eating all the beef).

I mean, WHAT DOES HE EXPECT!!!  And then HE WALKED AWAY as if he didn’t CARE about eating any of the beef!  This beef fiasco IS NOT MY FAULT.  IT.  IS.  HIS.

My manager looks at me and says,

You know what?  Shut the fuck up.  This is exactly why I hate Seinfeld.

 

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The Best Way To Find Out If She’s Available Or Not

I came up with a genius idea tonight while bartending, and I’d like to share it with my dear readers. This will be helpful for the guys, and possibly the ladies, so listen up.

Here’s the scenario: you meet a girl at a bar, you’re interested in her, but there’s one major hurdle you have to get over, in order to feel comfy to make your first move. Does she have a boyfriend? If you’re an upstanding guy, you find out she has a boyfriend, you leave her alone. But how the HELL do you get that crucial info?!?! If you got any game whatsoever, you don’t just blurt out, uh, sorry, der…do you have a boyfriend? It’s the kind of question you can barely get away with in elementary school, let alone, when you’re an adult. So, how about this?

Let’s say you strike up a conversation cold with a young lady you’re interested in. During your convo, let’s say you start talking about favorite restaurants, you say, well…has your boyfriend taken you there yet?

Boom. Mastery of the game right there.

Now there are two things she’s going to say, and you’re going to get your answer, by being cool, casual, with a sprinkle of I don’t give a fuck. She’s going to say, 1. No he hasn’t taken me there yet. Or 2. Um…I don’t have a boyfriend. If #2 happens, it’s as easy as, good. I’d love to take you.

And ladies, tell me I’m wrong, please, but this approach also works COMPLETELY in your favor. Let’s say you’re looking at the guy, you’re not really interested, it’s an easy, non-confrontational lie. “No. He hasn’t taken me.” Of course, if you’re with someone, you can say kindly, no that asshole hasn’t taken me. The guy laughs, and you both know the score.

And best of all, if you’re not with someone, and you’re interested in the possibility of seeing the guy again, you simply say, I don’t have a boyfriend. Then, it opens the door slightly for the man to perhaps ask you out.

So next time you meet a lady at a bar, or the library, and you want to know the facts, say something casually like, what does your boyfriend think about that? Or, I don’t know, I bet your boyfriend loves it when you say that. You’ll find out quick if she’s available or not, and still keep your cool rep.

-CC

New Gig At St Kilda

I recently started a new bartending gig at St. Kilda in downtown Des Moines.  It was one of those serendipitous moments when I went in for lunch with a friend, and left an hour later with a job.  And I’m LOVING IT so far.  It’s a different kind of bartending gig.  I mainly work with the servers getting specialty cocktails to their tables.  I’m more like a chef, working behind the scenes, with less contact with customers.  The only thing I miss about my new job is having those wonderfully insightful conversations with drunk people (I jest).  Oh I don’t have to cut people off anymore, putting my life in constant peril?  Oh I don’t have to clean up puke anymore?  Yes please sign me up.

I implore you to check us out.  The food is true art, and I have to say, the cocktails are delicious.  The crew I work with are top-notch.  Most of the kitchen crew were recruited from 801 Grand, a classic steak house downtown.  The servers are PROS, and greatly add to the dining experience.  And I can’t say how great the management and owners are without sounding like a complete brown-noser.  I feel thankful to be a part of St. Kilda.

When beginning a new job, it’s always a daunting task to learn people’s names.  After the first couple days, I recommended we start calling each other the first name that came to mind.  The only challenge being you couldn’t use the same name twice.  The manager walks by.  Hey Larry, could you show me how to make a Chai Latte?  A server comes behind the bar.  Hey Joel, drinks are ready for table 7.  After the third day, everybody was joining in.  As I walked downstairs to get ice, one of the line cooks walked by me and said, hey Terrence!  For a moment, I forgot the game, wondering why this guy was calling me the wrong name, and the next moment, I busted out laughing.

Come in, check us out, I’ll be behind the bar shaking and stirring Mondays, Wednesdays-Saturdays.

-CC

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