I Prefer A Rocky Road Highball Myself

, , , , , , | Right | December 9, 2018

(I am the idiot customer in this story. The legal drinking age in Canada is nineteen, so it is quite common to have a fake ID when younger in order to get into bars and clubs. I am fifteen and have just gotten my first fake ID, and my friends and I are going to our first ever bar to celebrate. The sign at the bar reads, “Highballs on special $5.00.” Now, being fifteen, I have no idea what a highball is, and I assume it is the name of a specific cocktail or something like that.)

Me: “I’ll have one highball, please!”

(The large, burly, bartender looks at me suspiciously.)

Bartender: “Okay… Which one?”

Me: “Just… just one highball. The highball?”

Bartender: “Yes, and which highball, exactly, do you want?”

Me: *becoming totally flustered and trying to read the sign again for the name of a specific highball* “The sign says highballs are on special! I… I want that… from the sign! The… normal highball!”

Bartender: *clearly exasperated* “Miss, you can’t just walk in and order ‘a highball.’ That’s like walking into an ice cream shop and ordering ‘an ice cream.’ There’s vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, mint—”

Me: *completely flushed now, embarrassed, and terrified that I will be thrown out of the bar any minute now, in a shrill voice* “VANILLA, THEN! I’LL TAKE A VANILLA HIGHBALL!”

You Booze, You Lose

, , , , , , | Friendly | November 27, 2018

(My friends and I have decided to spend our Saturday night at our favourite bar. Because I’m the designated driver, I’m sticking to a soda. I’ve left my half-finished drink on my table to go dancing. I figure that it’ll be safe, because one of my friends is staying at the table. When I get back, my glass is completely empty.)

Me: “What the h***? What happened to my soda?”

Friend: *grinning* “You know that creepy guy that’s always hanging around, waiting for other people to leave their drinks unattended so that he can finish them?”

Me: “You mean he drank my soda?”

Friend: “Yup.”

Me: “Why didn’t you stop him?”

Friend: “Because he was obviously hoping that it was alcoholic. He looked really peeved that it was only soda.”

Me: “Well, that’s great and all, but now I’m drinkless.”

Friend: “I’ll buy you another one. It was worth it just to see his face.”

(I don’t know if the creepy guy changed his ways after that, but he never tried to steal one of my drinks again, anyway.)

Refuse To Mead You In The Middle

, , , , , | Right | November 27, 2018

(Every year the pub I work at releases a special mead that causes a line going on for blocks at a time. The stuff is pretty potent, sitting at 10.5% alcohol, so people get thrashed fairly quickly on the stuff. Over the years, the owners have learned to cut people off after two half-pints, otherwise the bathrooms are covered in pink vomit every evening. A gentleman who has had his two half-pints approaches my two coworkers and me as we’re selling the off-sale bottles.)

Customer: *a little slurred* “Can I get mead here?”

Coworker #1: “Of course! If you come over to me I can ring through your receipt and—”

Customer: “Because they cut me off out there!”

(My coworkers and I stand there in awkward silence as he reaches out to grab a six pack.)

Me: “Oh, if you go see [Coworker #1], she can get you your receipt, and you can then take your mead!”

Customer: *stands there and gives me this hateful look of drunken rage*

Coworker #1: “Sir, if you come over here I can get you your receipt!”

(The customer slowly lets go of the six pack and stumbles over to the cash register, catching himself on the counter.)

Me: *whispering to [Coworker #2]* “Dude, I don’t like that he has car keys in his hand. He’s in no condition to drive whatsoever.”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, that’s an accident waiting to happen.”

Customer: *while slurring badly* “I remember when we could drink as much mead as we wanted! I’d have a full pitcher of it!”

Coworker #1: “Well, we don’t do that anymore because sometimes people get a little bit crazy after too much to drink.”

(The customer takes his receipt and continues to yap about “the good days of bingeing” while grabbing his six pack and heading for the door. Luckily, as he is leaving, his son comes in and takes the six pack while carrying him out of the pub.)

Me: “Thank God somebody came to pick him up. The keys in his hands were making me nervous.”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, I was about to offer to call him a cab before he got somebody killed.”

Unfiltered Story #127560

, , | Unfiltered | November 21, 2018

(This is something that’s happened with my Auto Tech Teacher when he owned a bar. He was bartending, when he noticed this happening. A young Girl was sitting at a table when a Guy just DRAGS her out of her chair and forces her to dance with him. She tries not to, but gives in. The Guy stops dancing with her to go play pool. The Girl sits back in her chair. Few minutes later, the SAME Guy does the same thing to her, her face showing she’s obviously uncomfortable. My Teacher walks up to her after he leaves her.)

Teacher: Ma’am, you alright?

Girl: Yeah, fine.

Teacher: You sure?

Girl: Yeah, well, no. I just don’t want to cause a scene.

Teacher: Ma’am as the owner of this bar, you’re under my care, so I’ll see to it that he doesn’t do that again.

(My Teacher goes to the pool table the Guy is at. He is directly across from him.)

Teacher: Sir, you know that girl you were dancing with?

Guy: Yeah?

Teacher: Well she’s VERY uncomfortable, so I’d appreciate it if you’d stop.

Guy: (Angry) Well, I can dance with whoever the hell I want!

Teacher: I’m gonna have to ask you to leave then.

(My Teacher turns around to go back to the bar, figuring it was all over. Then, he gets a bad feeling and turns around to see the Guy, frozen, already halfway across the pool table, pool cue (stick) raised up high, ready to smack him.)

Teacher: Son, you seriously can’t be that stupid.

(The Guy leaves with his head down and the Girl thanked him for it.)

Beer With Me For A Moment

, , , , , , | Working | November 15, 2018

(In early 1994, I am invited over to the States from the UK by an American music software house, as a demonstrator for their flagship software program at a major trade show in California. Whilst at the show, one of their lead sales managers, knowing of my liking for beer, invites me out along with several other folks from the company for an evening at a local bar. This bar is apparently known for having something like 114 different beers from around the world. Anxious to introduce my friends to the peculiar delights of British beer, I peruse the section dedicated to my home country, at which point the alarm bells go off. There are three beers on offer: a low-alcohol brew borne out of the privations of World War II which hasn’t been brewed for UK consumption since 1976, though still brewed for export at that time, a favourite of Clint Eastwood, but only ever available in bottles, never on tap, and a strong cask ale known for its knee-trembler abilities when consumed to excess. I therefore order a jug of the final nectar for our drinking pleasure, which is duly delivered… at which point I feel the need to complain to the barman.)

Me: *after taking a sip* “This isn’t [Brand]!”

Barman: “Yes, it is, sir.”

Me: *deploying my best upper-class English accent* “Au contraire, dear boy! For your information, I was born 100 yards from their brewery in Chiswick, London. I was raised drinking this, my local brew, and can categorically assure you that this is not [Brand]!”

Barman: “What makes you think that?”

Me: “Well, for a start, you’re obviously serving it from a gas-pumped barrel; [Brand] is only ever served from a tap-and-vent barrel, hand-pumped via a long swan neck. Secondly, the colour is entirely wrong, and thirdly — and most importantly — it tastes nothing like [Brand]. I have no idea what you call it here, but in my country we have a little something called the Trades Descriptions Act, which makes it illegal to pass off a product as something else.”

Barman: “…”

Me: “Get me your manager.”

(The manager ended up giving us free drinks for the rest of the night which, despite this hiccup, proved highly entertaining for all concerned, and a prime example of American hospitality. I note with considerable pleasure that in the intervening years, America has embraced the production of craft ale/real ale and is now making some seriously excellent beers.)

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