Guest: “Let me get a Blue Moon.”

I get him his beer. A minute later:

Guest: “Ain’t this s*** supposed to come blue?”

I am working as a bartender during Halloween. I came dressed as an old western-style bartender, complete with mustache and accent. We have the evening split up into a little costume party for kids and families in the earlier hours and then an adults-only costume drink-fest later on.

Regular: *Laughing at my costume* “You look so stupid.”

Me: “You should probably come back after the kids have gone because you’ve come dressed as a c**t.”

He didn’t talk to me for weeks after that. It was blissful.

I used to work at a bar as the only female security. They’d had some very bad things happen when a man followed a woman to the bathroom, so they needed a woman that could keep an eye on what happened in there.

This bar got in legal trouble all the time. There was the bathroom thing above, the fire marshal closed them on some busy weekend nights for being way over capacity, and the liquor board had pulled their license once already for overserving and serving minors with pretty obvious fake IDs.

I was one of the new security hired to help resolve all this. It was so bad. We had to be trained by a government ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives) person and get a card to prove we knew how to spot and stop overserves and spot fake IDs. I think the real reason they hired us was to have scapegoats on the ready for the next time they did this.

I worked there a while, doing my best. [Owner’s Wife] was the worst. She was always drunk, and she always had her friends in the bar and bent the rules for them. She thought she was Lady Jesus and we should all be kissing her feet because she was the owner’s wife. I mostly stayed out of her way and had no issues, but many coworkers complained about her.

One night, some dude got sick on the way to the bathroom. I cut him off, and he ended up getting escorted out by his less drunk friends.

I noticed a man sitting at the bar watching this. He had creased slacks, a jacket indoors on a summer night, and no drink in his hand — at a busy meat-market dance club. I started watching him and noticed the badge under his jacket. Ah-ha! He was here to watch for overserving.

A little later, a woman came to the bathroom, drunk enough to need to hold onto the walls for dear life. I cut her off. She screamed at me, and then she went into the bathroom and tried to wash off the giant black Sharpie Xs from the back of both hands.

Me: “Ma’am, you’ll be kicked out of the club if you continue like this.”

She screamed again and staggered out of the bathroom.

About five minutes later, [Owner’s Wife] was in my face, screaming.

Owner’s Wife: “That woman you just cut off was my friend! She’s here attending a bachelorette party in the VIP section!”

I was supposed to somehow magically know she was VIP. I was also apparently supposed to break the law for her because she was VIP. So, [Owner’s Wife] and I started a screaming match.

Me: “Your husband hired me to make sure the law is followed!”

I also started to inform her about the police officer at the bar, but she screamed in my face:

Owner’s Wife: “Shut your mouth and get out of my bar!”

She fired me on the spot. I didn’t bother waiting to see if her husband agreed; it was known she wore the pants.

I complied. I shut my mouth and got out of her bar. I walked past the cop, still sitting at the end of the bar near the bathrooms where the screaming match had taken place. I made eye contact with him and gave a slight nod, to which he responded by looking at [Owner’s Wife], rolling his eyes, and smiling at me as I left.

They got shut down that night for overserving the bachelorette party. This time, they went out of business because of too many strikes against them.

Back in my mid-twenties, I used to wait tables at this restaurant in my hometown. The money was good and I got along well with everyone there. Usually, after our shift, a few of the servers would sit at the bar and have a few drinks to wind down. You figure, “Why go to another bar when there’s a bar right here?” We always tipped well and nothing was ever an issue.

Then, one day, out of nowhere, the owner decided that employees weren’t allowed to drink at the bar anymore. Now, I completely understand that this is a normal rule in other bars and the owner was well within his rights, but I just didn’t see where this came from. I asked the manager if we had done anything wrong to warrant the rule change.

Manager: “No, [Owner] is just being a d**k. I tried to talk him out of it because there was no reason for it, but he just wanted to make his presence known.”

Okay, he’s within his right to do that. However, what he didn’t count on was Thursday nights and my friends.

Back then, my friends were in a punk band and had practice every Thursday night. I would work every Thursday night and they would meet up with me at my bar and grab a drink with me after my shift. Usually, they’d bring their girlfriends, friends, and whoever was hanging around. My friends pretty much made the bar’s Thursday night as busy as a Friday or a Saturday. And when I tell you we could drink, oooohhhhhhh, we could drink! And of course, everyone tipped generously.

So, when I told them I wasn’t allowed to drink at my bar anymore after my shift, they were as pissed as I was.

Buddy: “Wait, so there’s no point for us to go to your bar and then for all of us to go to another bar after you’re done so you can join us. We might as well just go to another bar, and you can meet up with us after.”

It was the most logical solution; there was another bar around the corner.

So, come Thursday around 9:00 pm, I was finishing up my shift and my manager approached me. He looked at the empty bar.

Manager: “Hey, man, are your friends on their way? They’re usually three drinks in by now!”

Me: “Oh, actually, they’re four drinks in. They’re at the bar around the corner.”

Manager: *Dumbfounded* “Wait, what? Why aren’t they drinking here?”

Me: *Calmly* “Well, they want to drink with me, and I’m not allowed to drink here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a pint of [My Favorite Beer] waiting for me around the corner.”

I walked out and joined my friends for a fun night. I must admit I felt bad for the bartender who usually worked Thursday nights — she’d had no part in the decision, and her tips suffered because of our move — but that’s on management, not me.

After a few weeks, the owner noticed the dip in sales on Thursday nights and said we were allowed to drink at our bar again. However, the damage was done. We found out that not only did the bar around the corner have all the beers we usually drink, but they were also much cheaper. We also struck up a great friendship with the bartenders.

We had found our new hangout spot, and there was no reason to go back. Oh, well.

I heard this story secondhand from a friend who is a biker and frequents a biker bar. I’m not a biker myself, but for the most part, they seem like your average decent folks that just like bikes. My friend is an accountant for crying out loud, the last job you would expect seeing him on a bike covered in leather. Unfortunately, there was one guy who occasionally showed up to the bar speaking big and boasting and generally appearing to be a biker just so he could feel tough.

There was another individual at the bar this day, an extremely tiny and unassuming man who was clearly not a biker. The tough guy apparently thought he would show off his toughness by demanding the tiny man give up his seat to the tough guy. The tiny man politely refused at first.

Tough Guy: “You want to fight me?”

Tiny Man: “Not at all. I’m a civilized adult; I don’t resort to violence to resolve disagreements.”

Tough Guy: “Because you know you would lose.”

Tiny Man: “I’m quite sure I would, considering I’m something of a pacifist who hates to hurt anyone. It’s hard to win a fight when you refuse to throw a punch.”

Tough Guy: “So, just move and…”

Tiny Man: “I’m sorry, but I’m not moving, We can’t have civilization if we give in to mere threats of violence. I’m afraid I’m staying where I am unless you force me. Of course, I have no doubt you could move me since I won’t fight back, if it would make you feel proud of yourself to push around someone that won’t resist.”

My Friend: “Stop being an [expletive] and leave him alone.”

The tough guy hesitated for a while, seemingly unsure of what to do once his bluff was called. But apparently afraid of backing down now, he moved to the seat and just tried to push his butt in to crowd the other guy out. The other guy refused to move and clung hard enough to the seat that finally the tough guy had to use some real muscle to actively shove the man off the seat and to the ground.

At that point, numerous people came to defend the man. My friend and most of the other bikers rushed over, and the bartender, who had been busy on the other side of the bar and likely hadn’t been fully aware of the earlier conversation, also ran to check what was happening.

Tiny Man: “No, please stop. I appreciate everyone’s help, but I don’t want any violence or uncivilized behavior. He can have the seat if it makes him happy.”

Bartender: “Did he shove you off the seat? I’ll kick him out of the—”

Tiny Man: “I appreciate it, but could I ask you to allow him to stay despite his immature behavior? I’ll be back after I use the restroom, and I’ll just take my Coke at a table, instead.”

None of the people at the bar knew how to respond to the man who was wronged basically asking them to not do anything. Eventually, they relented and left the tough guy in the seat, but pretty much everyone told him clearly how little they approved of his actions. Likewise, once the tiny man came back, a number of folks sat with him and tried to make up for what happened. I hear a few offered to buy him a drink, which he refused.

Then, a few minutes later, two police officers walked into the bar.

Tiny Man: “Hello. I assume you’re here about my call?”

Officer: “Yes, you said there was an assault?”

Tiny Man: “Yes, a minor one. That man over there physically shoved me out of my seat.”

When the police asked about witnesses, pretty much everyone at the bar jumped at the chance to back up the tiny man’s claims. Despite the tough guy’s claims that he hadn’t done anything, he eventually got escorted out of the bar.

Tiny Man: *To the tough guy as he was being escorted out* “I said I was civilized, but police are part of what keeps civilization working, after all.” *To the bartender* “I appreciate your allowing him to stay long enough for the police to arrive. If you want to ban him from your bar now, I won’t object. My ride has been waiting outside for a few minutes for the police to get here, so I’m headed out. Thank all of you for being so kind and understanding.”

My friend never saw either man return to the bar after that.