Take it like a man.

Every bar has one, an 86 list; a list of people that will not ever get a drink in that bar.  I don’t care if it is the most posh place on the avenue or the rattiest dive bar by the docks, every bar includes the recognition of personae non gratae in their bartender training.  My bar has such a list, and we added another one last night.  A local guy was off his meds and we knew right away not to serve him, but he then called the restaurant pretending to be a police officer and demanding all sorts of crazy shit, making threats and wild accusations.  Needless to say we called the real police and are taking out a No Trespass order against him.  

The ways you can make yourself unwelcome at a bar are myriad, sometimes sad, sometimes infuriating, sometimes criminal and occasionally, hilarious.  Here is a classic example.

There is a local character, let’s call him Sarge, whom everyone knows likes to tie one on.  Sarge is an elderly fellow who lives just a few blocks away and has no car; sometimes we indulge him and let him have that One Last Drink that we might not have given to a stranger.  One time the Sarge had his One Last Drink and then tried to get another.  The bartender wasn’t having it.  She quietly told him (as the bar was quite full) that she didn’t feel comfortable giving him another drink, that she was worried for him, and she then offered him a non-alcoholic drink on the house.  I witnessed his reaction from across the room; he was so shocked it was if she had slapped him.  He pounded his fist on the bar and demanded another drink – thus rendering the rest of the bar totally silent.  The poor bartender, I wouldn’t have traded places with her at that moment for anything, simply said “I’m sorry, but I will not serve you another drink tonight.  Come back another time.”  At which point the Sarge stood up and walked the length of the bar, hollering at the bartender that she was “A no good cunt and if you know what’s good for you you’ll pour me a fucking drink right this fucking minute!”  There was more to his rant as well, but that was the jist of it.  I'm pretty sure he managed to spray spittle on most of the patrons sitting at the bar.

 

People sometimes get drunk.  That’s a fact.  Bartenders are legally bound not to serve you once you are intoxicated, but of course shutting you off changes things.  There is a real worry that you won’t pay your tab, (If you’re drunk, you probably have a sizeable tab) or leave an adequate tip and the situation just becomes more volatile.  This is what separates the Men from the Donkeys, this moment.  If you can’t handle being shut off in a bar with grace and dignity, then don’t fucking drink.  If you want to hang with the grownups, act like one. Otherwise get your bottle of Dr.McGillicuddy’s Wild Grape Schnapps and go drink it your parent’s basement, you douche.     (Sorry, I get fired up over this shit.)

 

He looked at me and asked “Are you going to let her treat me like this?!” To which I replied, “Her bar, her rules.  Oh and please don’t come back tomorrow.”  “Or EVER!!!!” the bartender added for emphasis.

Really, take it like a man, would you?  We don’t shut you off just to be bitches.

Introduction

I suppose introductions are in order. 

I am a woman in her forties, who owns a small restaurant (dive bar, really) in a vibrant tourist city on the North Shore of Massachusetts.  I live in a constant state of stress, sleeplessness and anger – but I would take this over a desk job any day.

I am a Chef.  In my Former Life I was a photographer and a barista, but shit happened and I found myself at Johnson & Wales University graduating in my mid-thirties with high honors; super nerd cred and zero street cred. Buying a restaurant jumped me to the front of the line; graduated in ‘03, bought the bar in ‘07. 

You could call me naive; I know that I always see the good in people before the bad.  Being this clueless gets me into trouble sometimes because I don’t see problems until they become full-blown crises or until someone kindly (or un-kindly) points them out to me.  I’ve learned many things the hard way, and I think that this makes me a better person.  If it doesn’t make me a better person then color me an idiot.   Pain is growth, bitches.

Owning a bar certainly does give one a different outlook on life.  Over the past few years I’ve learned to trust my instincts; you know that feeling right away when someone walks in the door and you think “I do NOT like this guy!”?  Go with it, you’ll probably be right most of the time.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve kicked myself for ignoring that instinct when the inevitable douchebaggery ensued.

I will try not to use this blog to piss and moan about things, though it is bound to happen now and then.  Mostly I want to share the gory beauty that is business ownership, community leadership, and the fucking daily grind of operating a restaurant.  If nothing else, you can take solace in simply not being me.

I think that might be all in the way of an introduction, the rest will reveal itself in due time; until then – peace.  Oh, and pull up your fucking pants.

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