I found something I truly hate about my new job.
7 rounds of 6 questions, with 0% turnover and the same creepers staring at your tits all night long. I made a whopping $25 in tips last night, and $10 of it was from an adorable and very interested smart guy.
with nice teeth… and good grammar (journalism major, be still my heart)… you see where I’m going… Oops.
I told you that smart guy thing was going to bite me in the ass sooner or later…. and I’m pretty fond of being bitten. Oops.
In the middle of the insanity last night, I had to refill the whipped cream dispenser piece of shit contraption. No problems filling it- adding the sugar, etc. Loaded a new C02 canister, pulled the trigger… and shot whipped cream all over myself, the wall (including about 100 numbered beer mugs which I had to send to the kitchen to be washed, then put back… in order… fun times) and one customer.
The cute one. Mr. Smarty Pants. He happened to be sitting next to my least favorite creeper of the evening, the guy who’d been begging me for a date for an hour, in between yelling at me and throwing $1 bills over the bar and asking me to pick them up. A true douche bag. Sometimes a little beer only exposes their real identity. This guy is King Douche. I turned around and could feel the whipped cream running down my cheeks…. completely stunned.
Douche- Hey… you look hot with cream in your hair.
The busser started laughing and said “GO!”
I grabbed the whipped cream and bolted for the kitchen- and the looks on the faces of the kitchen staff said it all- it was bad. They helped me wipe it all off, while laughing hysterically and sent me back out with a fully functioning can-o-cream.
Everyone is still laughing behind the bar, and I head back to the kitchen. Both the cooks are laughing so hard they can’t speak and pointing at my hair. I have whipped cream all over me. They give me the thumbs up after I get it all off and I head back out to apologize to Smarty Pants.
It took the rest of the night to unhook all 100+ mugs and clean the wall… I think I still have whipped cream in my ears. If only I’d hit the pervert instead of Smarty Pants.
I’m learning the computer system at work- and when I’m bar-tending I have to start their tab with a name to keep them separate. I’d named Smarty Pants CUTE on his tab, not realizing it would print out on his receipt… I handed him his check, he looked up and grinned at me, handed me his card… and a $10 tip on an $8 ticket.
J- Um, thank you.
SP- It’s the least I can do after you called me cute.
I must have looked as horrified as I feel- because he started laughing, and offered to buy me a drink down the street. After the night I’d had, I was more than happy to wander to my least favorite bar after work… though not thrilled to be swimming in cigarette smoke. Three gin & sodas later, plus a round of some infernal game called King’s Cup…
He smiled at me, untied the necktie around his neck, slid the blue satin around my neck, tied it… and led me out the door.