Monday, May 31, 2010

Funny Bar Exchanges From The Weekend


Me: "I don't see your tab anywhere. May I see your ID for a second?"

Her: "Hold on, my husband has a tab, let me grab him." (She walks off, then returns 5 minutes later with some guy)

Me: "Okay what's your tab under sir?"

Him: "What tab?"

Me: "She said her husband had a tab, that's you. Would you like to pay cash perhaps?"

Him: "Husband? That's not my wife." (He smirked when he said this.)

Me: "Someone has to pay for these drinks right now. 19 dollars." (I hold out my hand)

Him: "I'm not paying for her drinks, shes got her own money, but I do want a Long Island Iced Tea with no tequila, and two Budweisers." (The exact order the woman who wasn't his 'wife' had just placed.)

Me: "Listen, I wouldn't admit to her being my wife either, but you can pay for her drinks, or you can go get your drinks from another bar. Your choice." (I tried suppressing my huge shit-eating grin as I said this.)

(He walked off and one of his friends apologized and paid for the drinks, drinks which I had already pulled from the bar and threw away.)


***


(Some 'street hustler' walks into the bar. It's early and it's only the chef, a server and myself in the front of the house.)

Street Idiot: "Yo man, how much are tacos?"

Me: "8.99 for a platter of three with a side, or two dollars for a single ground beef taco."

Street Idiot: "What the fuck is that? Two fucking dollars? You can't give me one for free?"

Me: "Wait, why did you ask for prices if you want one for free?"

Street Idiot: "Man I'm trying to survive, I gotta hustle, I gotta eat. I can go to Taco Bell and get cheaper tacos than that."

Me: "Great idea. It's two miles from here. Start walking"

Street Idiot: "Fuck that...This is about society, this about people giving a man some tacos. I have an industry here, I have ethical responsibility to living in this world....blah blah blah..."

Me: "Have you thought about a career in motivational speaking?"

Street Idiot: "Fuck that man, This bullshit."

Me: (I'm on a roll now) "Sir this is a business, not a charity, perhaps if UNICEF decides to enter the taco business one day, well maybe things will be different for you, but you know, until then, we're the people to see."

(I thought about making myself a quick taco and following him outside, then smashing the taco all over the sidewalk... I'm not that cruel though...Well, maybe if I was drunk.)

(Also thank you for the emails you dicks. Of course I was quoting Joe Dirt. That went without saying. And btw, I saw your bumper sticker you cowboy butt lover.)

Friday, May 28, 2010

The Best Bartender?


A new column was launched this week in the New York Times entitled "The Tipsy Diaries", written by the incomparable Frank Bruni (the former chief restaurant critic for the NY Times, which is a ridiculously powerful position). In his inaugural column Bruni profiles who he and many others consider to be the best bartender in New York City, a Mr. Doug Quinn (pictured above).

Mr. Bruni nails this one on the head. He talks about what a real bartender does and what it takes to gain legendary status as a bartender in the greatest drinking city in the world (Here's a hint: Mixology and the ability to make new and absurd cocktails have nothing to do with it.)

You want to hear about a great bartender? Maybe the best? Read Bruni's profile on Doug Quinn, head bartender at PJ Clarke's. (At PJ Clarke's, the Bartender of Your Dreams.)

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Punch Drunk # 23

New Punch Drunk out in Style Weekly today. This week I made fun of beer geeks and gave an update on the 'warzone' in downtown Richmond. Read it here or find a print edition on the streets.

Richmond Celeb Encounter

A tall guy sauntered into the bar the other night and asked for a boilermaker. A boilermaker is a hard-ass drink, the type of drink that I'll take when I'm pissed about something and ready to yell non-sensical bullshit at strangers. The recipe for a boilermaker calls for a beer and a shot of whiskey, either mixed or drank simultaneously. A boilermaker is something we all drink, unknowingly most of the time.

So this tall guy looked very familiar. Then it hit me, this guy is that crazy-eyed dude on the channel 6 print ads. He's the Pulitzer Prize-nominated, former brick-layer, man of the streets, RTD columnist, Richmond investigative reporter extraordinaire Mark Holmberg.

Nothing that note-worthy happened and really this whole blog post is mostly filler, bear with me though.

I respect media-types so I gave him his beer for free and he didn't tip*. He seemed pretty sauced so I didn't give a shit about the non-tip. Hilariously though, some guy that Mr. Holmberg was hanging out with drunkenly told me that he was going to start a blog about "going forth". I was nice and shook the guys hand, then the guy proceeded to make fun of me and my blog. Nothing I haven't heard before. It's a compliment to me when some random middle aged guy knows about my blog, or it's an insult to him... Either way.

So I had seen this Mark Holmberg guy in ads for Channel 6 but I honestly had no idea who he was or what he really did. I only recognized him because he's much taller than me (I'm 6'4) and he has a very distinctive look. Sort of hippie meets professional volleyball player meets I wouldn't start trouble with him because he's an imposing motherfucker look. One of those instantly recognizable people.

I only mention this because I went back and researched Mark Holmberg. He's a bad man, and I mean that in a sincere, respectful type of way. He's the guy who profiles junkies and hookers and the guy who does and says the shit that most journalism-tie-wearing pretty boys refuse to do. The guy went from laying bricks to getting nominated for a Pulitzer... That's something.

His tipping oversight was probably just that, an oversight. He seems like a salt of the earth type guy. A guy you would want to get shit-canned with. The type of guy who will come into the bar and knock my teeth out when he reads this blog post.



*Mark, that tipping cheapshot will be erased upon your next visit to one of my bars, providing that you tip on the next visit.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Irrevelant Thoughts From The Bartender


- There's something to be said about the extra time and effort that it takes a bartender to make a quality drink. I much rather make a caipirinha, which can be a somewhat intensive process, say compared to a Jager Bomb. A drink that a fucking blind monkey without arms could make in 5 seconds. Sure these two drinks cost roughly the same, but at least I feel like I'm actually a bartender when I'm preparing the capirinha. Prepping a Jager Bomb is like fueling up an airplane. An imbecilic airplane that will crash, tear the soap dispenser off the wall in the bathroom, start fights, and piss me off. I hate airplanes like that. The classier and more complicated the drink, the less of an idiot the imbiber is...Not always though.

- Last night before the late night rush we were really slow. Slow times behind a bar are loathsome because they give you to much time to think. You start to fear the impending rush of drunks. You start thinking about your so-called "life". You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken that desk job. You wonder how many abortions you have to pay for until you will start to feel remorse... Okay, maybe these are just the things that I think about.

- I wonder if I'll ever have to use my church key to brain an unruly customer, or as a means of defense in a 5 on 1, customer on bartender brawl. For those non-bartenders, a church key is the hand held metallic object that we use to pop the tops on beer bottles. It's solid metal and sharp as an eagle's talon. I think I'll use it to crack someones skull one day. Hopefully it'll be in self-defense so I won't go to jail.

- An aging hippie tried to light a joint in the bar the other night. Long story short, he was desperately clinging to a railing near the front door of the bar as we muscled him out. For a split second I thought about biting his hand to make him let go, then I thought, wait, this fucking hippie is dirty as hell. So I punched his hand really hard instead and after emitting a "yelp!", he let go. I've never punched the back of someone's hand before. Lemme tell you... It felt pretty good.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Funny Bar Exchanges From Last Night

Drunk Girl Who I Wouldn't Serve Anymore: " Umm, heeeeyyy mista bartenda, I'ya been waiting for my Bud Light foreva!!!"

Me: "See me? Do see me?"

Drunk Girl Who I Wouldn't Serve Anymore: "Yeahs Gimme my Bud and some shots!"

Me: "Wait you saw me right? Do you think I'm almost about to get around to you? I have two customers... I have virtually nothing to do right now. Clearly I'm ignoring you. Really... You didn't catch any of this? Really?"
Drunk Girl Who I Wouldn't Serve Anymore: " Whaaa? ...Hey jus gimme my Bud and some shots!"

Me: (As I threw a cab number at her) " Baaaahhhhh.... Bye Felicia....!!! "

Drunk Girl Who I Wouldn't Serve Anymore: " Who's Felicia?!"

Me: "Exactly bitch..."

----

Me: "Dude seriously... You left me a zero tip on a 102$ tab? I've busted my ass for the last four hours for you. I've tolerated you creeping out every hot girl in my bar because I thought you were an okay guy."

Drunk Guy: "Maaaaiiinnnn, fuck you (he throws 3 crumpled up one dollar bills in my face), fuck you nigga!!!! " (he was African-American)

Me: " Get the fuck out and never ever come near this bar again."

Drunk Guy: " When you get off muthafucka?!!!"

Me: "3:30 AM on the dot."

Drunk Guy: "Ima come back and clap yo ass up then!"

Me: "Well I have your credit card, so come back and clap for me or whatever you were gonna do, then the cops will have an easy time putting you in jail or putting you back in jail, or clapping you or something. You really want another strike retard? Hahahahahaha!!!!"

Drunk Guy: "Roogheyhdsjfkdbsks fb Ima clap you, clock clock, risbnnrehe fjg fvn gfRowf rowlf!!!"

Me: "Bye Felicia."

(For the record I threw his 3 crumpled up dollar bills in the trash. It was a matter of principle.)

---

Drunk Bar Girl: "So If I show you my tits again can I get a shot?"

Me: "Nah..."

Drunk Bar Girl: "What?! You don't want to see my tits again?!"

Me: "If they've somehow changed in the past week then maybe...."

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Punch Drunk # 22


In this weeks Punch Drunk I defended downtown Richmond from whitey. In other words, I fought the power. Go read it here or find a print edition on the streets.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Strawberry Hill DOMINATION 2010

* I have "Drinking horrendous amounts of vodka" to win, "Doing key bumps with a complete stranger" to place, and "Fingering some girl who thought I was cute in high school" to show. Folks you can take those bets to the bank. They're stone cold locks.




It's already time for the Strawberry Hill Races? What the fuck? It seems like only yesterday that I was vomiting blood in between bouts of making out with every mud turtle that said hi to me.

Well, as always, I have some tips to prepare you for the onslaught of booze, nudity, idiocy, and port-a-johns overflowing with shit that we will all willingly endure come Saturday.


Do you want to be cool and tough like me?! Do you want to make it rain awesomeness all over your tailgate??!!!! Pay attention:

- I've always said that hooking up with random hookers at Strawberry Hill is highly encouraged, nay, highly mandatory for everyone. While I don't recommend getting into a relationship if you're single, you never know what may come of a random "hook-up" at Strawberry Hill. Case in point: The first time I fondled my (ex)girlfriend was one year ago at Strawberry Hill, and somehow our drunken shenanigans that day have withstood the test of time. This is an anomaly though. Whatever hooker you end up banging will be embarrassingly obese and herpes-ridden. Luckily no one, including her, will remember anything. The only memento you'll have is the intense burning during urination that can easily be controlled with a once a day pill. 

- In the past I've given you a detailed list of things to bring with you to the Hill. This year I pared it down a bit.

Here's all that you need: 70 milligrams of Adderall (upped from last year's recommendation of 60 milligrams), Sunglasses and money. I personally will not be bringing booze. There's plenty of alcohol to be had, unless you don't have friends. So actually most of you should probably bring a pint of Old Crow or something.

- Eat early and hit the poopers early while they're somewhat clean. You can always piss behind a car, you cannot, however, shit behind a car. I guess you could, but c'mon, you're a classy gent. Remember, YOU GRADUATED FROM CLOWN COLLEGE/VCU IN ONLY 7 YEARS! 

- Eat something. So many people forget to eat, including me. Once that Adderall is coursing through your veins you will feel invincible, like you can drink the world. You will pay with vomit and bile later if you don't eat first. 

- Stay away from the redneck idiots and the white guys who think they're black. They are nothing but trouble and are the reason for 100 percent of the fights that WILL occur at the Hill. Easily spotted by the chinstraps and ridiculously oversized clothing. A wife-beater is a dead giveaway. These fools cannot possibly have a good time without starting a fight over their buck-toothed, back-flabby, horrendously tattoo'd girlfriends. 

- Don't try to walk the whole track. It's a waste of time and energy. Stay within 50 spots of your encampment and you'll end up seeing everyone you will ever want or need to see. Including your ex. Seeing your ex (or many ex's) is sort of like a rite of passage at Strawberry Hill. Call her a 'worthless ho-bag' under your breath while acting awesome with your friends. Save the regret and gentle sobbing for the port-a-johns.

- Don't do Cocaine in the port-a-johns. That shows a lack of class. Do it behind your car. Unless it's super windy out. Then do it in the port-a-johns.


Disclaimer: Drugs are not for everyone and I don't condone their usage. I also don't condone exercise, 8 hours of sleep and/or proper nutrition habits....psh. 



Previous posts on how to be a winner at The Strawberry Hill Races:
2009
2008

Friday, May 7, 2010

A Friday Night Off

Friday night and I'm at a cafe, figuring that I can do something, anything with my time better than laying in bed for another few hours watching Family Guy re-runs and gorging myself on Diet Pepsi and tortilla chips. Still being completely riddled by pink eye and thus, in a deplorable mood, I attempt to read. Only all of the little kids that families insist on bringing into what is supposed to be a peaceful cafe keep screaming and bumping my chair and shitting themselves while the parents smile contentedly, happy to let other people endure the shit life they've embarked upon.

I'm tempted to rub my puss-fulled eyes until they're bleeding and then with a mischievous grin start faux-playing with the kids, touching their faces and playing peek-a-boo, only I'm not that cruel. Instead I'll just go into the bathroom and rub my conjunctivitis all over every surface and then giggle to myself when one of these little asshole's parents go to use the bathroom. Pink eye will be like my anthrax, and at this point, I wish a package of white powder would just go ahead and take out this entire goddamn cafe, myself included. Only once again, I'm not that cruel.

I keep getting texts to "get my ass out and drink" and I keep responding that "I can't because my eyes look like they got beat up by George Huguely". The people that respond with "Who is George Huguely?" don't get a text back because they suck. The people who respond with "Wow, a little soon for the George Huguely jokes" don't get a text back either, because they suck.

"She's Gone" by Hall and Oates comes on in the Cafe and I'm thinking yeah, she is gone. She's bartending for the night and I'm here at a cafe bereft of any human contact because of my pink eye, and I'm thinking, this isn't that bad. I'm thinking I'll get a glass of wine and then on the way home I'll grab a good bottle of red. I'm thinking pink eye and little screaming bastards won't ruin my Friday off.

It would be okay to be behind the bar making money but drinking wine, watching whatever movie I can find on TV and masturbating a few times sounds pretty nice too.

I just realized that the cafe is playing Hall and Oate's greatest hits and I start smiling for the first time today.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Injury Report

Yesterday was Cinco De Mayo and it was easily one of the most punishing shifts I've ever worked behind a bar. Somehow I ended up with pink eye, in both eyes, in addition to my usual morning after ailments including but not limited to achy joints, bloody fingernails, swollen up Vienna sausage fingers, loss of voice and of course the bruises that inevitably appear when one is navigating their way around three bartenders and a barback on a very slippery floor.

This is a floor that is so slippery and icey that just last week I did a triple salchow (I fell) into the main speed rack and took a few metallic speed pourers into the kidney, leaving long jagged cuts down my side and leaving my girlfriend to ask who else I'm sleeping with because she didn't believe that metallic speed pourers could cause that much damage. Did I mention that my ice capades occurred at midnight, in the middle of the Saturday night rush? More than a few ladies got a nice laugh at my expense.

But seriously, pink eye?! What the fuck? The only people that get pink eye are third-graders, and apparently, me.

I'm not bitching though. I made bank last night and it was fun, even if now I'm relegated to my bed with yellow ooze seeping out of both of my eyes.

Don't let anyone tell you that bartending is fun and easy and carefree. I mean, it is indeed all of those things, unless you manage to contract conjunctivitis in both of your eyes. Which if you can imagine, has sort of put a damper on my Thursday.



Also if there's a major outbreak of pink eye among the 21-35 year old party people demographic in the Richmond Metro area tomorrow, someone alert me so I can take this blog post down and deny all responsibility. Thanks.

Monday, May 3, 2010

Reader Mailbag: Boob Blog

Hello Jack,

We've followed your blog and Style articles for a while, so when we decided to start a little project recently, we thought you'd be a perfect contact to help spread the word and gather submissions.
The project is called "Richmond Boobs," and it's modeled after the
Boobs@Bard site. The goal is to celebrate the diversity and beauty of breasts from across the Richmond area. As such, we're looking for images from Richmond residents or images taken at Richmond locations. The ideal shots will include recognizable Richmond landmarks, but that's not a necessity.
....
We've just started, so we only have a few images so far. We're hoping your wit, charm, and connections can help with that.

Thank,
Richmond Boobs (http://richmondboobs.tumblr.com/)



I'm not even sure what to say about this. My hunch is that "Richmond Boobs" is just two horny University of Richmond kids attempting to have a few more boobs in their life.

And believe it or not, I wholeheartedly support their cause. Plus they stroked my massive ego and that happens to be a surefire method for getting me to do pretty much anything.

Send them some boob shots. Any boobs will do. Girlfriend, Mom, Grandmother, Grandfather... Just snap a pic with your iPhone.