How Not To Get Served At A Bar.
The 6 types of people guaranteed to ruin your night.
I get people drunk for a living.
So far, I have a success rate of 100%.
This isn’t to say everyone leaves drunk.On average, I would say, they all leave tickled pink.
What I’ve learned after many years behind the bar is that across the slurred spectrum of sober to smashed, there is an equally wide chasm of personalities that need managing.
The vast majority of careers involve at least some customer interaction, some level of human engagement. Hospitality, however, stands apart from the rest, sullen in the corner muttering something to itself along the lines of “why do I have to get stuck with all the booze-addled fools?”.
From whistling for attention to verbal and physical abuse, here is my line up of the crowd un-favourites. Let’s call them the Usually Frowning Suspects.
In ascending order, these will be explained in the form of a quote, description, and danger level, respectively.
6. The Bundle of Biceps
“Can I get…1, 2, 3, 4…..15 pints of your cheapest lager?”
Saturday evening is prime prowling time and the call of their people is “Jagerbomb!”. There is not one skinny-jeaned leg in this group that has sufficient blood supply which must aid in their absolute quest to become horizontal as fast as possible. Usually, a fairly harmless group but one must be prepared for action lest, heaven forbid, one of them accidentally orders a pink drink.
7/10 — risk of suffocation if one falls on you.
5. The TK Amexx
ME: “That’ll be 97.90 please.”
THEM: * leans over to pay but wrist sporting latest apple watch slams down on the bar with the weight of their Amex card * — “VAT receipt with that as well mate”.
With the price tag still poking out from their Barbour jacket, it is easy to spot them in the wild. They revel in the peacockery of ordering drinks exclusively made in Paris in 1922 while hating every sip of it and always carry a rolled-up £20 note even though they have never once paid for anything in cash. Wearing a 2.3 Uber rating as a badge of honour and asking for 50 quid cashback, these bon vivants can be found in any reputable establishment’s toilet cubicle praying that Monday doesn’t arrive.
2/10 — The very idea of a fight makes them shake in their Chelsea boots.
4. The Bottomless Brunchers
“Excuse me, but we have 3 minutes left of our 2 hour BOTTOMLESS prosecco so I think we will have another 4 bottles”
Resurrecting the long-lost philosophy of “It’s 5 o’clock somewhere”, these morning merrymakers know a deal when they see it. Reminiscent of a hotdog eating contest in the deep-fried depths of Mississippi, it seems as though the whole category of sparkling wine has profoundly wronged anyone partaking in the infamous ‘Bottomless Brunch.” Not a moment after a bottle has been set down has it been gulped down by the increasingly effervescent individuals. It practically sounds like shooting range with the number of corks popping. My advice here, in order to make it out alive, is to wait for sunset as they are not nocturnal beings.
9/10 — Most brunches end in tears, staff as well as customers. As many important documentarians of the Bottomless Brunch have said before, it’s a veritable shitshow.
3. The Dog Trainers.
THEM: * whistles * “Hey” * clicks * “Hi hey over here.”
ME: “Sir, my name is neither Lassie nor Clifford. Please act accordingly.”
I am not quite sure how these creatures came about. Whether there is a secret guild, or they are such avid dogwalkers, dogsitters, or another type of canine-related career that they simply must hone their craft all hours of the day. Whatever the case, they must be a thirsty bunch, as I cannot recall a time either myself or another staff member has ever responded to clicks or whistles.
This is not dissimilar from the more modern reincarnation of those who think we are Alexa behind the bar. Very little conversation, even less eye contact, and all orders come in one-word bursts like “beer” or “another”. Makes you wonder if Alexa herself wouldn’t mind a few P’s and Q’s. We can call this subset ‘The Technophobes”.
1/10 — Minimal danger. Can be quieted by a bowl of milk or a chew toy.
2. The Goldfish
“Oh, you must know this cocktail. I had it at my cousin’s wedding on an island off Croatia. It was green but tasted pink like sweet but also sour with a bit of bitterness and reminded me of this band I saw because of the salt. Surely you know it?”
Zero camouflage among the Goldfish. Queues are wafted away as they wobble to the front of the bar. Regularly accompanied by a soundtrack of their own phone blasting music over whatever is playing at the bar. There is no reliable evidence that any drink ordered by this group has ever actually been drunk, only Instagrammed. Much like the true form of goldfish, they often are in their own bubble of thought, their faces illuminated by the white glow of their phones, hashtagging what an unforgettable time they’re having.
5/10 — Mostly a quietly content bunch but have been known to erupt at the very notion of the bar not offering a dairy and gluten-free cheesecake.
1.The Sherriff of Nottingham
“Back in my day….”
Taking the number one spot, the king, El Jefe, the big cheese, the pig among guinea pigs. The Sheriff, often a man, poses a striking resemblance to the antagonist from the original Robin Hood story and I think can be summed up succinctly by the quintessential bad guy himself — Alan Rickman as the Sheriff of Nottingham in the timeless classic ‘Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves’.
“Just a minute. Robin Hood steals money from my pocket, forcing me to hurt the public, and they love him for it? That’s it then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, nor more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas.”
These Sheriffs are determined to be both in a terrible mood but also make sure everyone else is in a rotten state. They make sure to tell us how our career is not a “proper job” and are often the reason for safety guidelines in the women’s toilet. In sweet litigatory revenge, please do use your right not to serve these Sheriffs as often as possible.
10/10 — Get them in the bin. ASAP.
Cheers to that.
