Our resident barkeep Anna Walsh gives us a rundown on the maelstrom of twattery that plagues her every working day. Anyone with even a night of tending a bar will relate to this…
I have met lots of brilliant people and made countless friends through working in a bar, this is by no means a comment on the majority of customers we encounter. There are, however, a certain few customers who lend themselves to an overriding type that we as a race somewhat more elevated than animals and insects should recognise as despicable.
No. I am not being sensationalist or trying to glamorise this very real problem of public bathrooms. Chatting with taxi drivers before, I discovered that the biggest problem they encounter is not drunk almost-kids vomiting their nagans up. It is women in their twenties to late thirties using the backseat as a toilet, or worse, a sanitary bin. This may just be the case in good ‘ol D6, but more than likely not. There is definitely a correlation between this and the fact that I flush toilets regularly from about 5pm until close. You ladies must get some kind of rush out of seeing your unhealthily yellow matter in/on/around the bowl. Please tell me you do. I would rather there is some kind of sexual kick involved than the thought that you genuinely require the help to flush your weewee.
The Boundary Issue Guys
STOP TOUCHING ME. If I visibly flinch from your sweaty grasp please let go of my poor little TOO-YOUNG arm. Unless we have a previously established bud-type relationship or you are a kindly older person/my actual friend – F off. There’s a reason you look for love in all the wrong places, and it’s cause you insist on touching people in all the wrong places. Sort your life out.
Emphasis on the BLOKE. These swarthy lads dress in ill-fitting suits and wave their company card at staff like it’s not the sole reason the women he works with stay until last orders then go home to their boyfriends. They bloke around acting the general maggot, bellowing bad jokes that aren’t even dad-bad, farting SO MUCH, and being the all around fellah who is the most crack. They are the most fun when they grab you and make you dance with them while wishing their wives loved them.
Do not order a Heineken from me while cradling a Smithwicks glass, then proceed to stare blankly at me when I double check you meant a Heineken. Upon my return with said Heineken, do not exclaim “oh golly gosh I done meant Smithwicks hahahaHA NOW GO BACK TO THE BAR THROUGH THE THRONGS OF PEOPLE WITH THIS ONE MISERABLE PINT AND SWITCH IT, FORGET YOUR OTHER ORDERS SLAVE GIRL, OBEY ME, FOR I AM KING MORON!!!”
The Nicknamers and the Fresh Limers
“Ya giz two H-bombs and a G-bomb there”
“A H20 yeah?”
“Pint of ‘ken and a vodksy and coke”
“Vodka soda and FRESH LIME please FRESH LIME”
“You mean that green piece of fruit we put in every spirit basically? Actually wait I forgot I’m a moron, please just repeat fresh lime really nasally and demonstrate squeezing the fresh lime into your drink.”
We all know you drink more than a glass of generic beer in a night. Go home you tight fucks.
– Anna Walsh #annaw999