A Quick Recap of THE MOST ANNOYING NIGHT IN HISTORY

1. While rehanging a menu board, I knocked this plaster Alka-Selter demon off a ledge and onto my coworker's forehead. No concussion, probably.


Promptly thereafter, the soda gun stopped working.


While trying to fix it, barback slices his finger open and has to go to the emergency room to get stitches. We get to pour mixers out of two-liter bottles for the rest of the night.

Approximately an hour later, credit card processing ceases to function. Cut to me making obscene gestures at the registers multiple times, to no avail. For approximately 45 minutes operations cease because PEOPLE DON'T CARRY CASH. We break out these things


which are old-timey. Bonus: no tip line! Then McGrillz figures out how to fix it.

One Week: MULTIPLE POSTS

Today is a hodgepodge, largely because I have these three unrelated pictures and not very much interest in relating them.

Exhibit 1: Customer pays, I am on board with this. Joe shoves his head in the corner for good measure.


The Pug is a true neighborhood bar. How can I say this, you ask? It's only been open for a couple years!! I argue that the presence of an IOU in a bar constitutes neighborhoodiness. And there's one, right behind the apparition, stuck to the bell.

31 years later, I get my first pair of cowboy boots. Now I have to get jeans that can accompany them. These citified jeans I've been wearing are not gonna hack it.

Blay: Grab Bag

Int., a bar. A patron goes into a section of the bar that is chained off. I confront her as she comes out.

Me: Why did you go down there?

Girl: It looked so exciting!

Me: But you saw that it was chained up.

Girl: Uh huh

Me: So you knew that it was closed.

Girl: Uh huh

Me: In general, it's a bad idea to go into places that are chained off.

Girl: There was liquor everywhere! I could've stolen it.

Me: Also a bad idea to threaten thievery in a business as justification for going into a place that's off limits.

Girl: What?

Me: Ok.

Girl: Can I get a White Russian? I didn't steal anything.

Scene.


Int., a bar. Three thirtysomething dudes are celebrating one's graduation from law school. They order three shots. After they take them, one vomits it back into the glass. It is gross.

Friend #1: Ha, ha. I could tell you some stories about that guy.

Me: Do they all involve him vomiting back into his glass?

Friend #1: Yeah

Me: I don't really want to hear those. You see, we're the ones who get to clean up after dudes

Friend #1: Oh, yeah.

Me: Maybe you should teach him how to handle himself.

Friend #1: Yeah

Friend #2: Has anybody ever puked in their glass before?

Me: Yes.

Friend #2: Oh. Bummer.

Scene.

Negative Adjective Bonanza

If you're not already addicted to Yelp!, you should be. Where else do you get to read people's unchecked narcissism mixed with their unchecked hatred of life?

Sometimes you find gold mines like Jeff "Cognoscente" G., who apparently is a male model of some sort,


and who, it seems, reviews every establishment he comes across. Like, for instance, this gem about a store that sells light fixtures:

TERRIBLE! AWFUL! DESPICABLE! WHAT A WASTE OF TIME! ABYSMAL!

Now THAT's a review.

But that's just a taste. He reviews two (2) different Whole Foods (both 5 stars), a car wash (4 stars), a liquor store (4 stars) and more.

But nothing compares to his review of my place of employment. Behold, the adjectives he uses to describe the service:

ATROCIOUS
UGLY
FUMING
DESPICABLE
DEPRESSED
DESPERATE
ugly
snooty
inane
sarcastic
rude
ignorant
bloated
weirdo

I wish I could remember this dude so I could replicate whatever inane service he got.

Blay, vol. V: Earth Day Edition++!

I had almost forgotten about Blays until tonight.

Int., a bar.

Man orders four beers from a California Brewery and four waters.  I deliver the waters with straws.  Man takes straws out and tosses them on the bar.

Man: No petroleum for me, bro.

Scene.

Part 2:

Int., a bar.

A man approaches.

Man: Can I get a beer?

Me: Sorry, man, I can't serve you.

Man: Why

Me: Because we've had to kick you out on numerous occasions for being too drunk.

Man: Can I get a beer?

I walk away.

Man: Under his breath.  Fag.

Me: Turns slowly around, smiling.  What's that you say?

Man: Quickly, slurring. You're the man.  You're the man.  Leaves.

Scene.

Banas Foster

Every once in a while at work, things are normal, everybody's enjoying themselves, and then a dude comes up to you and is all, hey my girlfriend locked herself in the bathroom and I'm pretty sure she's passed out.

This happened recently, to the point where we had to break the door down and carry her out. Don't worry. She's fine (albeit stupid). When we were cleaning up, we found this gem:


It is apparent that Michelle is some form of crisis manager, or negotiator. What better way to rouse someone from unconsciousness than with the promise of Bananas Foster(s)?

Here are some pictures of the Bronco. The naming process is underway. Under consideration so far: Frank, Henry.

Finally, Murph Blogs About You People

Feel free to send in your own examples.

Things I Learned from Inauguration Weekend

1. I am an asshole. Two people told me so! The second was last night, when I was admittedly near the end of my normally endless rope:

Int., a bar, 10 minutes til close. 50ish Man approaches.

50ish Man: (hoarsely.) I bought a round of beers for my friends before last call and now your doorman isn't letting them in.

Me: Yeah, we can't let anybody in after last call.

50ish Man: But I bought them beers.

Me: I understand. But I can't let them in.

50ish Man: But I bought them beers.

Me: Yes. But by that logic, you could by 50 beers and invite your friends over at 5am to help you finish them off.

50ish Man: So there's no middle ground here?

Me: Sorry, no.

50ish Man walks back to his table. Two minutes pass.

50ish Man walks to the bar with four beers.

50ish Man: I'm not paying for these beers. You can call the cops.

Me: OK.

50ish Man: I'm not paying for them.

Me: Sounds good.

50ish Man walks back to his table, sits down.

50ish Man: (yelling.) Fuck you, asshole!

Me: OK.

50ish Man: (tantruming.) I've been coming to this bar since 1986!

Me: That's fascinating, since it wasn't established until six years later.

50ish Man: You're an asshole!

Me: OK. Oh, and also, you get to leave now.

Scene.

DYIR:PIWET (DeffoTotes Year In Review: Places I Went Edition) + Blay vol. IV: NYE Edition

1. LA + Environs
2. Harper's Ferry, WV
3. Richmond, VA
4. KY, TN, LA, TX
5. Vegas
6. Ocean City, MD
7. Cleveland, OH
8. Atlanta, GA

Blay, vol. IV: Liquid Courage/Dry Humor

Int., a bar. Closing time. A 20-something kid is slow to leave.

Boss approaches Kid, pats him on shoulder.

Boss: OK, man, finish up. We're closing.
Kid: Who the fuck are you!? Don't put your fucking hands on me!

Boss is momentarily surprised and doesn't respond.

Emp. #1: (to Kid) Dude, that's the owner. You might want to relax.
Kid: (to Boss) You better keep your hands off me!
Boss: (to Kid) All right, that's enough. Time to go.
Kid: I can't wait until this shitty bar fails and I can buy it myself.
Boss: OK.
Kid: How much did you pay for it? (Fumbles in his pockets, begins pulling out crumpled dollar bills, ultimately putting $14 on the bar.) I'll buy it from you tenfold!
Boss: Have a great night.
Kid: You know what's wrong with this country? Huh? NOBODY CARES ABOUT MATH ANYMORE.
Boss: Ok. Have a great night.
Kid: YOU have a great night! YOU have a great night!
Emp. #2: (Walking past Kid.) You're a night.

Scene.

Grab Bag! Plus, People From NY: They Like for Things to Be Hooked Up

+ I am guessing that it means something when I have only heard of -- this doesn't mean that I've heard -- 21 of the bands on Pitchfork's top 50 albums of the year. I'm not sure if it means I'm old or if I just have stopped chasing the dragon that is rock music (Although Pitchfork went crazy and included DC's own Walé [he worked at Downtown Locker Room! OMG!] and Lil Wayne in the list, presumably since R Kelly didn't release an album in 2008).

+ Mom is doing well after her surgery to give her a BIONIC BACK. Did I ever include this horrifying X-Ray of her spine?

It should now be significantly less faily.

+ In honor of my brother, who is now a playwright and soon-to-be lead actor in a real live play, I've written a short play about a dude last night at work came in with his friend.

A bar, 2am on a weekend. Two males, early twenties, enter. I am ready for night to be over.

Dude: Yo, gimme your strongest beer.
Me: Any particular type?
Dude: Whatever's strongest, bro. It's my birthday.

I pour him an imperial stout. Two minutes pass.

Dude: Yo! It's my birthday, bro. Shots. (Motions to he and his friend.) A couple of the strongest shots you got, bro. I'm from New York.
Me: (Beat.) The strongest shots we have would be straight liquor.
Dude: I'm from New York, bro. Hook it up.
Me: What kind?
Dude: Yeah, your strongest shot. I'm from New York. Hook it up.
Me: Yes, I understand. What kind of liquor?
Dude: Yeah. Hook it up.
Me:
Dude's Friend: Vodka.
Me: Brand?
Dude: It's my birthday. Strongest shot you got. From New York. Hook it up.
Me: I don't know what that means.
Dude's Friend: Grey Goose.
Me: Chilled?
Dude: Strongest you got.

(I pour two warm shots of Grey Goose. Two minutes pass.)

Dude: Bro! Couple of Heinekens.

(I give him the beers. One minute passes. I call last call.)

Dude: Yo! How about a birthday round?
Me: Of what?
Dude: Couple of beers. It's my birthday.
Me:You have beers in front of you already. They're full.
Dude: Yeah. Birthday round.
Me:I can't give you another if you already have one.
Dude: But it's last call.
Me: Indeed it is.

(Dudes do not finish their beers, leave. Scene.)

+ LOLZ

Priceless Artwork Times USA

I drew this portrait of Ana last night. She says it looks like Mark David Chapman, I say it looks like Mark David Chapman with horns and fangs.


Marty sends along this picture of me at work last New Year's Eve. Marty lives in Switzerland or somewhere now.

Friday Fact: Disposable Cameras Have Not Progressed With the Rest of Technology

The boss turns 50 this week, and we managed to get the whole staff together for a picture for his birthday, so of course I forget my camera.

No problem, right? They still have disposable cameras, right? Yes, they do.


The only thing is that disposable cameras still suck super hard.

Only good thing is that the picture has a little bit of character. By 'character' I mean 'can't make out anybody's face because the shit is too washed out.'

Work Story. Plus Housewares!

This is a little late but still a gem. On Friday, a customer hit all the bases:

1. Started yelling her order at me while I was not only making somebody else's drinks, but speaking with someone else at the opposite end of the bar.

2. String ordered (ie kept adding more drinks every time I came back).

3. After I lectured her on the rudeness of yelling her order, did so again three more times.

4. Told me that I'd get a good tip if I gave her my number.

The best part? Her friend closed the tab out when she wasn't around, and seemed unhappy with the total. So he tips a penny.


I pointed out to him that this was a bummer thing to do, and he began listing his reasons for the poor tip:

1. Poor service brings poor tip (even though he had never actually interacted with me before this)

2. My coworker had punched him in the face (not true and just weird)

3. My coworker was a dick (asked him to move)

4. I didn't include an itemized bill with the credit receipt.

At this point I gave him an itemized bill, which he didn't look at but rather balled up and threw at me before telling me to fuck off. I then escorted him out. His name is Brian Roach, btw. Feel free to not serve him if you have the chance.

Something awesome to counteract Mr. Roach: new fry pan to replace sad old one.

Tipping Habits of Famous or Rich People, Installment 1

Cleveland Cavalier Sideshow Bob-lookalike Anderson Varajao was at my bar last night. My coworker, who is from Cleveland, bought he and his friends the first round. Their second was $30. Varajao tipped $10.

Verdict: not as bad as other celebrities. Plus, he was nice.

Baseball Amid the End of the World

DC's new baseball stadium, which cost $4.6 billion, has been open for a couple weeks now so we decided to take in a game this afternoon. The weather has been beautiful, but it's April so that couldn't last:

On the whole, the new stadium is fine. Only problems: it took longer to get a hot dog than to actually travel to the stadium (20 minutes vs. 15), and the stadium is basically a concrete-and-steel copy of Turner Field, only without the charm.


The fact that none of the awesome options for interesting design were taken advantage of (no miniature white house for the Presidents to emerge from for their race? No miniature Ford's Theater for Lincoln to retire to at the end of the game?) is kind of disappointing.

And look! Teddy cheats and still loses! What a maroon!

On the positive side, I can't wait to find out who the stadium sponsor is going to be.

Anyway, the apocalypse wasn't sitting well with Ana, who was being a total downer:


So she spilled her beer on this druid that was sitting in front of us who probably then cursed our progeny for generations to come:


Then I took a quick PR shot and we got the hell out.


Verdict: stadium sucks when it's cold, add more hot dog vendors.


I saw this credit card slip at the end of the night last night, and initially thought it said "UR FAT" and got really mad.


Teebz and a couple of his coworkers got tattoos of a deer with a beard wearing a plaid shirt. One of the best brotoos ever.

I've Been Yelped

Checking in on reviews of my bar on Yelp, I found this gem:



While I agree that our bartenders are cooler than our clientele (we are cooler than everyone), Chelsea, you need to be coming by a little more often. I cut the rattail a year ago.

CoHa Here We Are

As new residents of Columbia Heights, I'm going to use the made-up term "CoHa" as much as possible to describe our new neighborhood. FYI.

Moving was fairly painless, except for the pain that still lingers from carrying things, and Punk has really taken to the new place.


She likes looking out windows. She also likes houses with no dogs. She also loves America's Best Dance Crew.


She also loves sleeping in the bed. NOT FOR LONG PUNK


Pedro, on the other hand, is a crybaby who is scared and hides all the time like a total baby


Soon we will be having cookout times on the front porch.

This guy at work on Tuesday asked me four or five times for a glass of milk, which we don't have, because, he said, "it would be funny." I disagreed. He stayed strong until the end:


Have you seen the new five dollar bills? When did the treasury hire the Teletubbies to design our money?

Bizarro Saturday

Saturday Night Timeline:

5:00pm-2:51am: Normal

2:52am: Girl accuses dude of hitting her at upstairs bar, approx 30 other dudes attempt to beat living hell out of dude. Glass crashing ensues.

2:53am: Me in manager mode, walk upstairs, say the word "cops," 30 other dudes stop attempting to beat living hell, run away.

2:59am: Dude demands police escort out of premises. Demand is not met because police don't live in my back pocket, and because bar is not UN. Dude leaves, everything fine.

3:25am: Glass cleanup finishes.

3:26am: Co-worker informs me his drawer is $660 short. Count, recount, recount, count other money, check numbers, drink beer quickly, put forehead in hands.

3:29am: Evan points out that report being referenced is for the wrong drawer. Money is not missing. Exhale. Adjourn to office, begin closing procedures.

3:51am: Colin asks me if I smell smoke. I don't. Assume bar is burning down on top of me. Hear Colin hollering from down the hall. Sigh. Walk down hall to the walk-in refrigerator.

3:52am: Discover patron who has stowed himself away in walk-in refrigerator for approximately an hour. Claims he was "locked in." Point out that this is impossible.

3:53am: Realize that patron has cut the power to refrigerator, drank a beer, smoked two cigarettes, broken a case of beer, knocked over a bucket of wings, a box of lemons, punched out a piece of plywood holding in exhaust fan, and urinated in an empty bucket.

3:54am: Recognizing that it would be too difficult to dispose of a dead body, take patron upstairs to get his information and figure out what the hell to do with him:


3:55am: Take information, put it on sheet of paper, discuss the fact that we are probably going to call the police and press charges.

3:56am: Patron takes sheet of paper and tries to eat it. Becomes apparent that patron is in fact the drunkest superspy on the planet. Co-worker does puppy jaw thing on patron, procures paper before it gets digested, but not before it gets saliva'd:


4:00am: Walk patron out, stick a note in his pocket reminding him that he's not really welcome here anymore.

4:01am: Laugh hysterically.

4:02am: Begin cleaning.

Feel Like Getting Angry?

Just go to Passive Aggressive Notes, where I recently submitted a picture from work,

and read the comments.

(Plus! I apparently work in a soul-sucking place.



Which is ironic, since I always thought of the thousands of office buildings surrounding where I work as the soul-suckers. I was wrong.)

Holiday Times USA

Ana left for San Francisco ("San Fran" for those in the know) yesterday, so I've been doing this:


I've realized that I have the ability to be very, very boring. FYI.

In other news about boredom, gander this picture of my bar on Saturday night:


Yep. Freezing rain sure does scare away the suburbanites.

Expect some northern California-related goodness in the next week or so. Until then, happy Joemas!