Category Archives: Bar Story

Busch Light In A Bud Light Bottle

I’m behind the Hotel bar, in the house this weekend, are people visiting from small towns in Iowa, for a wrestling tournament.

These people have a refined taste in beer.  Almost exotic, I’d say.

Busch Light.

Yep, that’s about it.  Busch Light.  Pretty simple.

Unfortunately, we don’t have Busch Light behind the bar.

I’m getting frustrated because every other order is for Busch Light.  Why the hell didn’t someone think ahead, get a Busch Light keg?  Hey, I don’t do the ordering, NMP.

My manager comes behind the bar when it gets busy.  Guy comes up with a Nascar jacket, asks for a Busch Light.  She says, off the cuff, we have Busch Light in a Bud Light bottle!  It takes me a second to figure out her quip.  Nice.  He looks at her a little confused, then smiles, says, alright.  I’ll take that.

Wish I could take credit for that piece of gold, but that one goes to my manager.





Never Say One More

I’m working a banquet tonight, guy comes up, orders a Jim Beam and Diet.  I get it for him, he tips me a buck, takes off.  About 20 minutes later, he comes back up, asks for another one.  I get him another Jim Beam Diet, he tips a buck, takes off.

About half-hour later, Mr Jim Beam comes up, says, give me ONE more.  I say, hang on, hang on now.  Why you putting yourself up to a wall like that?  You’re just setting yourself up for failure.  No need to say one more.  You say one more, then you feel guilty coming back up, if you want another one.  It’s like in life.  Don’t make any promises, you won’t let anyone down, including yourself.  He laughs, says, ok.  Give me another one.

20 minutes later, Mr Jim comes back up to the bar, with an empty glass, sets it down,

And just smiles.




Yo Hitman

I’m working the bar, three big black guys sit down.

(Yes, brace yourself for potential racist-ish story).

They order drinks:  chilled Patrón with Corona and lime on side. Double Tito’s neat, with a Corona and lime on side. Double Tito’s with exorbitant amount of Rose’s Lime, on the rocks, with a Heinekin on the side.

We get to chatting, the guys are from Chi-Town. That’s what cool people call Chicago. Like you’d say “Frisco.”  We get quickly on the topic of TV shows, one of the guys says to me, have you seen the show Power?  I say, is that the one with all the black people in it?  He says, enthusiastically, yeah!  I say, with a straight face, no. I wouldn’t like that. I don’t like black people.

He takes a pause, then busts out laughing. He hits his friend next to him. DID YOU HEAR WHAT HE SAID?!?!  He said he doesn’t like black people!!!

I say, I’m kidding. I like black people. I had a friend in elementary school that was black named Addaryl.

It’s pretty slow, I’m able to focus on the guys. They’re in town for a bachelor party, then a wedding. I’m like, hang on. Friday night, you have the bachelor party, then Saturday, you have the wedding?  That’s fucked up.

After the fifth shot of Patrón, one of the guys starts calling me Hitman. Yo, Hitman!  Get me another Corona! You want a lime in that?  Yeah, get me a lime, Hitman.

By the end of it, Chicago is hammered. Mr Patrón is like, yo Hitman. You my Ni**a. I love you, man. And I’m like,

If I wasn’t white, I’d say the same thing back at you.





The Only Thing We Have To Fear Is White Pants

I’m bartending, I look out into the crowd in front of me, and I notice a guy, with white pants. Ok, maybe white slacks. I don’t know if they had pleats or not, bc he was facing away from me. They were not cream, but bright white. He was wearing a jacket with it, and I’m going to assume, a collared shirt.

So I’m thinking, wow, that shit is daring. I have NEVER in my LIFE ever worn white pants. Could you imagine the fear you would have on getting a stain? Just take one glass of wine spill. One time you sit in something wrong. Think of the paranoia you would feel. I just couldn’t do it. I have too much to worry about. Ok, women now, they can hang with the white pants. They’re more responsible than men. They know all the tricks on getting out stains. And usually, they look good on them. I don’t know about the don’t wear white after whenever. You’re not going to hear from me, oh me gerd, that woman is wearing white in November!

Later on, the guy comes up, and damn if he doesn’t get a glass of red wine. This guy’s my hero!  The NERVE!  The AUDACITY!

The fearlessness.

JFK would’ve been impressed.



Working My Wood

I’m doing banquet bartending, woman comes up, orders a drink, there’s a bit of a lull, we have time to conversate.

She reads my name tag. Your name is Clint?  Yes, it is. Yours?  Julie. Julie, nice to meet you. We shake hands. She says, I like the name Clint. I say, do you?  I don’t think anyone names their kid Clint anymore. But I’m ok with it. She says, I like Clint on the TV show Fixer Upper. I say, I’ve never heard of it. She says, it’s good. He’s a woodworker. I say, well that’s funny. I like working my wood, too.

She smiles, grabs her drink, says, coyly, I like that. I’ll remember that.

It’s a miracle I haven’t been fired from this job yet.

But it’s all in the way you say it. Innocent, and somewhat naive, with a black face, as if I was really just talking about real wood.

And working it.




A Riddle From The Bartender

It’s Friday night, I’m behind the bar, doing my thing.  It’s been pretty slow, but it’s picking up.  To my left, at seats one thru four, there’s a woman, a woman, a woman, and a man, not together.  They’re all sitting there, with drinks in front of them, and they’re all on their cell phones.  Yeah duh, it’s 2017.  Who’s NOT on their cell phone 24/7.  BUT.  I work at a hotel bar where it’s ok to be at the bar by yourself, and strike up a conversation with the person sitting next to you.  It’s super easy.  Hey, where you from, what are you doing in town, what do you do?  It’s mainly business people, airline people, people visiting DM for events, shows, weddings, conventions.  There you go.

But here they are, sitting at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, and they’re all on their phone, being somewhere else, besides here, at the bar, being social.  And that’s fine.  But I’m old school.  There’s NOTHING LIKE having a conversation with someone in person, rather than texting back and forth with someone.  Surfing the boring internet.  Reading some dumb bar blog.

Wink wink.

I walk up to them, say, ok, folks.  I have a riddle for all of you.  PLEASE put your phones down for a moment.

They all look up, shocked for a moment, but they all put their phones down, look at me.

Ok, you’re in a room with two people.  And two doors.  One door leads to “heaven”, and one door leads to “hell”.  You don’t know which is which.  You get to ask only ONE QUESTION to figure out which door to choose.  Here’s the problem:  one of the guys always tells the truth.  The other one always lies.  You don’t know which is which, but they both know who each other is.  So…what is the question?  I’m going to go do dishes, start talking amongst yourselves, to figure out the answer.

I go do dishes, help some other customers.  I look over from time to time, all four people are engaged in trying to figure out the answer to the question.  I go over.  How’s it going?  Any ideas?  They throw out some possible answers.  Nope.  Nope.  Ok, you’re on the right track, keep going.

After 20 minutes, they seem to lose interest in the riddle, but what happens is, they start talking with each other.  AND THEY START HAVING FUN.  Getting to know each other.  The where you from’s, what are you doing in town?  And then they keep on going, we’ll take another round, on me, and then I look at my watch, and 9pm, has become 1 in the morning, and the three women are still there, drunk now, laughing, exchanging numbers, they’re future best friends, and it’s all because of a riddle from the bartender.


Swiss Rolex Guy

I’m behind the bar, its been a busy week.  The Perfect Storm:  The Solheim Cup meets The State Fair.  We’ve got lady golfers in the house, with state fair goers.  Makes for interesting conversations, and people watching.

Guy at the bar, looks foreign.  In the way he dresses, and duh, his accent.  I strike up a convo.  Man, I love your watch.  He says, thanks.  I say, is that a Submariner?  He says, yes.  It is.  I say, beautiful watch.  I actually saved my pennies for two years to buy one.  True story.  When I finally got it, it was just too damn heavy for me!  It felt like a handcuff around my wrist.  I could’ve cried.  …I actually did.  He says, I work for Rolex.  They just let me borrow it.  I say, you work for Rolex?!?  Please, tell me more.

He proceeds to tell me what he does, and I literally drool.  He says, I go from golf tournament to tournament, and set up the big Rolex clocks.  I say, are you SHITTING me?!  That’s fricking AWESOME.  You do that all year?  He says, about 150 days out of the year.

The guy goes around to all the golf tournaments, gets everything paid for.  Sets up some clocks, hangs out the rest of the week.  Shows up in the morning…let’s see, checks his $7,000 watch.  8:22 AM, looks at big clock, yep, says 8:22AM, grabs a coffee, watches some golf, whatever the hell he wants, then hangs out at the hotel bar, with a tight Rollie on his wrist.

I say to Swiss Rolex Guy with awesome incredible job, dude…hook me up!  I WANT YOUR JOB!!


The Players Championship PGA tournament in Florida