I’ve recently picked up a 2nd bartending job at a local bar in town. Most of you who visit Kagami’s know where it is, & the rest of you are free to ask if you want to know.
This place is certainly different from places I’ve worked before. The clientele is almost exclusively blue collar, & the owner is a Korean lady running a bar local style. Probably the closest job I’ve had to something like this was Cafe Papillion on Waiakamilo, run by a beautiful woman named Tammy, may she rest in peace. I ended up having to leave that job after punching a customer in the head.
This is my 2nd week at the new place & I’m fairly happy with my tips. The daily regulars are all nice, with the exception of a couple that I think are simply their own obscure brand of nice that doesn’t exactly shine through. It’s ok; I’m like that on my days off.
The non-daily regulars are the younger sort, which include guys who — imagine! — hit on me. During my first week I just laughed it off. Last night I started shooting. I should probably play along to see if I get some money out of it but I can’t. There’s professional nice & then there’s whore nice. I’m the former.
So, it’s my 2nd week & I’m starting to feel comfortable. I know where to find most of the liquors, which are arranged in haphazard order. I now set up extra glassware next to the ice bin which saves me about 6 feet of dashing every time someone orders a soda.
My day started off with one of the old-timers asking me what school I went to. “What high school, you mean?” I asked. Naturally in this place high school is considered the pinnacle of education. “Kalani,” I told him. Immediately he exclaimed, “Eh, that’s a junk school!” I worked the affronted act & then refused to answer any more of his questions, & then when I played the hurt card he threw money at me.
Like I give a shit about my high school.
Some of my friends would probably be vomiting by now. “No compromise,” is how Ingu has described me. Certainly that’s how it is when I’m in charge. But here I’m not in charge. This is someone else’s bar, & I’m just a worker. I’m just here to make money. And I don’t give a shit about any of these people. The odd thing is, it’s strangely liberating.
Every once in awhile change is nice. Besides, I took that fucker’s money.
It being St. Patrick’s Day, there were 2 waittresses on the floor. I’ve met 4 waittresses so far & I like 1 of them, if only for the fact that she seems to genuinely like me. The other 3 don’t like me. Waittress2 because she’s heard me sing, Waittress3 probably because she’s old & fat. Waittress4 is a little bitch who’s currently involved in some legal matters against one of my friends where she knows she’s going after the wrong party but it’s her best bet to make some money. So she can kiss my ass.
Two entertaining things happened last night. The first was Waittress4 trying to tell me how to pour a shot of Patron. Waittress1 – the one I like – drinks Patron straight up, & I was pouring her shots neat, in a rocks glass. Why was I doing this? Well, we had about 3x as many rocks glasses as shot glasses, the rocks glasses were physically closer & I was getting slammed with drink orders so convenience mattered, & since I liked Waittress1 it was a nice gesture to pour her shot “neat.” It looked classier.
Waittress4 was all umbrage. First she made comments while standing in front of the well, & then, in the midst of an extremely busy night, she marched behind the bar to the shot glasses, held one up to me, & instructed me on its usage. I was speechless for a moment. “You came back here to tell me this?” I said.
When Waittress1 returned I informed her that Waittress4 had an issue with the type of glass she was getting her shots in, & the 2 waittresses had it out in front of me, ending with W4 lovingly insisting that she was only looking out for W1. When W1 left, W4 turned to me to say that W1 was getting too drunk (which she wasn’t; I saw her drink last week & she was doing just fine at that time).
I called her over to the well & put out a shot glass & a rocks glass. I filled the shot glass with water, held it up so she could see it, then poured it into the rocks glass. I don’t know if the fact that the level of the liquid from a shot glass was the same as the level of liquid when I poured Patron into the rocks glass actually penetrated her ratty little brain, because she then reached over to take the rocks glass thinking I wanted her to serve it. I shook my head & tried to spell it out for her. “No, that’s water. This is how much Patron would be in the rocks glass if I poured it in there from a shot glass. IT’S THE SAME AMOUNT. Just because I am using a rocks glass doesn’t mean I am pouring her any more Patron than I would if I were using a shot glass.”
She just shrugged it off. Channon says that at that point I should have body slammed her. Frankly when I’m King that girl is on the top of my list for sterilization.
Then there’s my cop friend with the jealous girlfriend. A pretty girl had appeared intermittently on my bar to drink beside various customers I was serving, & had rather staunchly refused to acknowledge my presence every single time I attempted to refill her ice or ask if she needed anything. It didn’t matter to me; I didn’t know her or anything & girls are entitled to hate who they want to hate. It turned out she was my friend’s girlfriend. I had been hearing about his relationship drama for a few weeks now & this was apparently the face of it. Well, at least she was cute.
I have this theory about cops. I have cop friends & even cop relatives, but frankly, I think they’re all a bunch of psychos. Some of them are nice masochistic psychos & some of them are outright pieces of disgusting, wormy feces. And then there are a bunch inbetween. My friend is of this variety. He used to be a bartender; we worked together about 12 or 13 years ago & we’ve been friends – not close friends, but good friends – since.
Last night I got to observe my friend’s MO in action. This is what he has done. He picks an insecure girl. He then goes out without her constantly, probably not returning her calls & going home drunk as a skunk. He basically feeds her insecurity & frustration. He then has no sympathy for her emotional outbursts, further building her craziness. He leaves the table where they are sitting together to drink shots with the bartender & complain about her. He buys more drinks for the bartender & loudly cajoles the bartender to sing a karaoke song for him.
At the end of the night he had attached himself to the end of the bar & she & her friend had come over to him since he wasn’t going back to them. Naturally this would be perceived as my fault, but like I give a shit. The inconvenience began when he called me over to insist on introducing us.
I don’t even remember this girl’s name because I was too awed by the obvious rage on her face as she strove not to make eye contact with me. Over & over again, he just kept repeating himself & she continued to angrily not look at me, until I patted him on the shoulder because I had to get back to work. Like I’ve said, a girl’s allowed to hate who she wants to hate. I would never tell someone she had to like me. As her boyfriend, he shouldn’t be telling her she had to like me, & God knows that it would be counterproductive anyway.
But what he was really trying to do was piss her off. As if that was even necessary.
Cops. They’re all crazy, I’m telling you.
Waittress1 then got canned by the owner, for which I am greatly saddened. I’m left in there with a bunch of spiteful bitches, none of whom know how to do a sweep. And I suppose call order is immaterial when you’re only ordering 1-2 beers at a time, 5 times a minute. W1 wasn’t particularly skilled, either, but at least she was nice.
Meh. It’s just a job.