I had someone email me after reading the blogs of the past week, inform me that I was not a part of the graduating class of 1987 (true), and therefore, not only should I not be blogging about this, but I should not have attended at all.
I agree totally.
I am the LAST person that should be at an event like this.
Everyone is friends, and friends are forgiving.
Me? And I apologize for this, I am not.
But do me a favor, before you send me a whiny “How could you” email, keep one thing in mind.
I don’t care.
That being said, welcome to the 5th and final reunion post.
There was only supposed to be 3 but somehow, I got locked into the thinly disguised Payton Place 25 years and counting.
And yet, some of the drama was not of ours.
Turns out the staff are people too.
Bartending is an awesome gig, as far as jobs go.
In terms of part time jobs that pay well, have a great atmosphere and every now and then you have sex with the clientele, this one rocks.
And while I have never been employed as a bartender for a catered event like a high school reunion, I get the feeling that it is not viewed as the desirable gig.
And the reason is the tip sign.
What is the tip sign?
The tip sign tells you that “Tip is included” in anything you buy.
Notice it doesn’t tell you how much is included.
And not that I am a cheap tipper, but I reserve the right to throw you a shitty tip if you suck.
Or, if you are an awesome bartender, or a really hot one, or an awesome bartender who is really hot?
I might throw hundreds at you.
But I digress.
The tip sign also gives the bartender some information.
It says “You are shit out of luck.”
Bartenders hate that sign.
Limiting tips is like telling them the are only allowed so much air a night.
Like I have said before, money makes the monkey dance.
I am not used to waiting in line at bars.
I tip like a fiend so after the first couple of drinks, the bartenders will walk on hot coals to get me a drink.
However, catered events always have lines.
I decided to blow off the line and obnoxiously stand at a open spot and glare.
It bugs the shit out of bartenders.
After locking eyes with two bartenders and getting blown off, the single female bartender leaned over and gently nodded towards the line with a smile.
In other words, I will not help you, get in line.
And then, the blonde showed up.
Dressed to the nines.
She leaned into the bar and held up a hand.
The female bartender saw her, and it looked like she was rushing to finish making a drink before she gave her the nod.
But, male bartenders develop a sort of “Hot chick” radar, and caught her immediately.
“What can I get you?”
If you paid attention, you saw the tightening around the female bartender’s mouth.
Home girl was pissed.
Out of guilt, the bartender took my drink order right after.
I hung out, I can always smell a tense situation.
It only took a few minutes.
They both happened to be at the register at the same time, when it started.
The tense whisper, hard to miss.
I caught several phrases that are not in the Mr. Boston book of bartending.
but the top one was a grab of the arm, slapped away hand, and a whispered, “Fuck you!”
I am not sure what role the third bartender played, but he was in the middle of it.
Time to stir the pot.
All three stop talking, I was polite, but louder than expected.
“Can I get a couple of shots?”
The three of them looked at me blankly.
Then, slowly, the third bartender came over.
Back at the register, the whispered harshness continued.
As far as drama goes, not a huge amount.
But enough to make the evening interesting.
And we will not even go into the couple that was screwing in the parking lot when I left.
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