October 18, 2011
Best thing overheard at the bar last night:
A group of girls were discussing men.
"I like a man who's a little bit jealous. I like it when he knows that I could do better."
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Strangest encounter with a customer that I had at the bar last night:
October 11, 2010
Strangest encounter I had with a customer at the bar last night:
There were two contenders, but last night's winner was an old man. He looked enough like Geraldo Rivera to be his brother, but blonde and weirdly muscled for a 60-year-old dude. No body fat at all, like Bruce Lee in his prime. He first came to my attention when he was playing pool. He was aggressively talking with the other players, asking questions about their religious convictions.
"I am a Man of GOD and I WILL NOT play pool with any atheists!!"
He ran out of money and got upset when I informed him that we were a cash only bar. I directed him towards our ATM, but he pulled a card out of his wallet and started pointing at it.
"I only have credit cards! I've never used a debit card in my life! You have to take my credit card!"
I pointed out that his card clearly had the word 'debit' printed on it, so he grudgingly walked over to the ATM.
I should mention that because of his demeanor and tone of voice, I don't believe for a second that he didn't know it was a debit card. I think he was just being contrary because A) I wouldn't tell him whether or not I was an atheist, B) he'd had perhaps a few too many drinks, and C) he was all butt hurt that the bar didn't take credit cards.
He stood in front of the ATM for a minute before yelling at me again. "Show me how to use this thing!"
I joined him in front of the machine & showed him how to insert his card into the machine. The PIN prompt came up, so I turned my back to give him privacy. He tapped me on the shoulder.
"Now what do I do?"
"You enter your PIN number."
"What's my 'pin' number?"
"That's your private personal code you need to enter to access your account."
"Well, tell me what it is."
"Sir, I have no way of knowing what your PIN number is. It's your number."
"But you're showing me how to use the machine! You HAVE to tell me my number! YOU HAVE TO!!"
"I can't tell you what I don't know..."
"Then that means that you're just going to have to take my credit card, aren't you?!", he said, smugly.
"Actually, sir, since we don't have any way to take credit cards, that means that you're just going to have to stop drinking..."
He stormed off, grabbed his coat, and left the building, presumably for a bar that takes credit cards.
And doesn't let atheists play pool.
*****
The runner-up for strangest encounter was a hippie girl who kept drawing primitive, childlike drawings of animals on bar napkins & giving them to random strangers.
Other than that, she was mostly quietly sitting with her friends, so I didn't think anything of it - until she saw some people throwing her napkin art away or using the napkins as drink coasters and getting them wet.
She approached me to complain.
"That's my art! They can't destroy it like that!"
"I'm not sure what you want me to do about it."
"Make them stop!"
"Miss, if you want to keep your napkin art, then I suggest that you keep it. Once you give it away it really isn't yours anymore."
She wasn't happy with my response, but she accepted it.
A few minutes later I overheard her arguing with the bartender. She wanted a glass of water, but flavored water. Regular water wouldn't do it.
"I never drink water. I can't drink plain water, it'll make me sick! I only ever drink flavored water. I grew up in a trailer and that's just how I was raised."
I'm not sure how the bartender resolved that one, but I'm glad it wasn't my problem...
Strangest encounter I had with a customer at the bar last night:
There were two contenders, but last night's winner was an old man. He looked enough like Geraldo Rivera to be his brother, but blonde and weirdly muscled for a 60-year-old dude. No body fat at all, like Bruce Lee in his prime. He first came to my attention when he was playing pool. He was aggressively talking with the other players, asking questions about their religious convictions.
"I am a Man of GOD and I WILL NOT play pool with any atheists!!"
He ran out of money and got upset when I informed him that we were a cash only bar. I directed him towards our ATM, but he pulled a card out of his wallet and started pointing at it.
"I only have credit cards! I've never used a debit card in my life! You have to take my credit card!"
I pointed out that his card clearly had the word 'debit' printed on it, so he grudgingly walked over to the ATM.
I should mention that because of his demeanor and tone of voice, I don't believe for a second that he didn't know it was a debit card. I think he was just being contrary because A) I wouldn't tell him whether or not I was an atheist, B) he'd had perhaps a few too many drinks, and C) he was all butt hurt that the bar didn't take credit cards.
He stood in front of the ATM for a minute before yelling at me again. "Show me how to use this thing!"
I joined him in front of the machine & showed him how to insert his card into the machine. The PIN prompt came up, so I turned my back to give him privacy. He tapped me on the shoulder.
"Now what do I do?"
"You enter your PIN number."
"What's my 'pin' number?"
"That's your private personal code you need to enter to access your account."
"Well, tell me what it is."
"Sir, I have no way of knowing what your PIN number is. It's your number."
"But you're showing me how to use the machine! You HAVE to tell me my number! YOU HAVE TO!!"
"I can't tell you what I don't know..."
"Then that means that you're just going to have to take my credit card, aren't you?!", he said, smugly.
"Actually, sir, since we don't have any way to take credit cards, that means that you're just going to have to stop drinking..."
He stormed off, grabbed his coat, and left the building, presumably for a bar that takes credit cards.
And doesn't let atheists play pool.
*****
The runner-up for strangest encounter was a hippie girl who kept drawing primitive, childlike drawings of animals on bar napkins & giving them to random strangers.
Other than that, she was mostly quietly sitting with her friends, so I didn't think anything of it - until she saw some people throwing her napkin art away or using the napkins as drink coasters and getting them wet.
She approached me to complain.
"That's my art! They can't destroy it like that!"
"I'm not sure what you want me to do about it."
"Make them stop!"
"Miss, if you want to keep your napkin art, then I suggest that you keep it. Once you give it away it really isn't yours anymore."
She wasn't happy with my response, but she accepted it.
A few minutes later I overheard her arguing with the bartender. She wanted a glass of water, but flavored water. Regular water wouldn't do it.
"I never drink water. I can't drink plain water, it'll make me sick! I only ever drink flavored water. I grew up in a trailer and that's just how I was raised."
I'm not sure how the bartender resolved that one, but I'm glad it wasn't my problem...
Something nice!
September 1, 2010
The nicest thing said to me by a bartender at the bar last night:
"That's a really strange monkey you have living in your head, Mister Bates."
High praise indeed!
The nicest thing said to me by a bartender at the bar last night:
"That's a really strange monkey you have living in your head, Mister Bates."
High praise indeed!
A note.
August 14, 2010
A note, addressed to the little chubby fellow with the big plastic earplugs, wearing the "I AM THE BRINGER OF STORMS" t-shirt.
Dear sir,
You are not the bringer of storms. A bringer of take-out, yes, and hissy fits. But not storms. Nope.
Sincerely,
-Alex
A note, addressed to the little chubby fellow with the big plastic earplugs, wearing the "I AM THE BRINGER OF STORMS" t-shirt.
Dear sir,
You are not the bringer of storms. A bringer of take-out, yes, and hissy fits. But not storms. Nope.
Sincerely,
-Alex
You may be too broke to be at the bar...
August 13, 2010
You may be too broke to be at the bar if...
... halfway through your purchase of one beer you have to run outside to get change from the center console of your car in order to come up with the remainder of the $3.50...
You may be too broke to be at the bar if...
... halfway through your purchase of one beer you have to run outside to get change from the center console of your car in order to come up with the remainder of the $3.50...
British Colonial India and how it relates to cock-punching contests.
Sept 10, 2010
I don't play bar games, I never really have. I don't play pool, darts, foosball, or any kind of drinking games (quarters, dice, etcetera). I'm not saying that I've never in my life played a game of pool or darts – of course I have, but I don't regularly, and I'm pretty terrible at all of them (barely competent at foosball, I suppose, but awful at the rest).
My customers often don't believe me. "You work in a bar – you MUST be a pool shark!" Nope, really, I'm not. And it's strange – people will occasionally get seriously insulted when I decline to play a pick-up game with them, or on the rare occasions when I'm slow and bored enough to actually play, they accuse me of throwing the game, losing on purpose. "But someone told me that you play games…" is an accusation that I dread – I'm not ashamed of being a gamer, far from it, but it's no fun explaining that I play miniature wargames to some drunken stranger. I usually end up sighing, shrugging, and saying "Yes, it's like Dungeons and Dragons with little metal figurines" – it's the path of least resistance.
There's this one fellow, Steve, who is an obsessively competitive gamer. BARgamer, not wargamer – pool, darts, quarters, betting on sports on TV, etcetera. He's one of the guys who got all insulted when I first declined to play pool with him, despite my protestations of disinterest and poor skill. Initially, he thought that I was refusing because he didn't offer to play for money, and when I continued to decline, he continued to raise the stakes ("OK, we'll play a game for $5. No? How about 10$? NO? Still holding out? How about 20? 50? Geez, man, you must be really sure of yourself – but I'm better than you think, how about we make it a MAN's bet – a game for a HUNDRED dollars!!") I had to go fetch the bartender and a couple of our regulars, members of our pool league team, to convince him that I really don't play pool! Despite all that I still think that for months he half-thought that we were all messing with him, secretly hiding my mad pool skillz for some mysterious unknown reason.
I don't really know Steve well – he's one of many people in Fairbanks who's in town for a few days, then works up north or in the bush for a few weeks. But he's loud and enthusiastic, broadly genial, and a good tipper. If he wasn't such a sports ("SPOOOOORTS!!!") guy, I'd like him – as it is, I affably tolerate him, and ignore him when he gets too… Steve-ish. And now, because of the whole "pool" debacle, we have sort of a running gag where every time he sees me, he jokingly asks me to play a game of pool, and I always reply – "Not tonight – maybe next time!"
The other night Steve was at the bar with some friends – a group of loud, obnoxious, friendly, competitive guys. They inevitably started wrestling and cup-checking each other, so I approached them and asked them to calm down. More specifically, I said "Come on, guys, take it outside or take it down a notch." Steve and his buddy break their embrace/wrestling hold and look over at me. They're both having a grand old time, laughing, and Steve says "Hey, Alex, it's cool, it's cool, we're not hurting anybody – we're just having a cock punching contest!", and he turns and punches his buddy in the crotch!
Much to my surprise, the buddy laughs, hops back and, still laughing, lunges at Steve, trying to punch him in the junk, too! A retaliatory cock-punch. A *friendly* retaliatory cock-punch. Astounding.
(This is an aspect of jock behavior that I just don't understand. If you walk up to me and punch me, you better be ready for a hostile reaction. I'm aware that sports teams & hard working manly men may see that sort of thing as friendly horseplay, I've witnessed the phenomenon often enough, but I don't feel that way myself. Please don't hit me, ever, unless you really mean it. And for this they call me "uptight"…)
So I step between the two of them – I shudder to think of where the one-upsmanship and following arms race would have led us all to. They pause, not sure where I'm going with this, not wanting to fight me or get kicked out, but also not wanting to give up their fun. "Dude, come on, can't you just let us do our thing? We're old friends, we don't get to see each other very often, this is like a tradition for us!"
A light bulb turns on in my head. I muster my best British Professor impression
"Gentlemen," I say, "let me tell you a story about British Colonial India."
They both stop, utterly disarmed. I do so enjoy confusing the customers…
"Long ago, there was a tradition in India called ‘Suttee', where when a man died, they would burn the widow on the funeral pyre along with her husband. When the British Empire conquered India, they put a stop to the practice."
Steve and his buddy are both hanging with me, confused but curious – they both look like they're waiting to hear the punch line of a joke.
"Well, the some of the local officials sent a delegation to talk to the British Governor, asking him to allow them to continue their practice of suttee. ‘Can't you just leave us alone?' they said, ‘This is our tradition!'
The Governor replied, ‘In England we also have traditions. One of ours concerns men who kill widows – we hang them as murderers. So, if you must carry out your tradition, fine. Build your funeral pyres and carry out your tradition. And next to your funeral pyres we will build gallows, and carry out our tradition."
I pause for a long moment.
"So, OK, we all on the same page now, fellas?"
The two guys look bewildered, disappointed, still waiting for the punch line. I just stand there for a minute, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.
Eventually, Steve says "I don't get it."
I sigh elaborately. "OK, how's this – you two go ahead and have your tradition, you do your thing – have your cock-punching contest. Then I'll do *MY* thing – my bouncer thing." I look Steve in the eyes and smile as I say this, to let him know this is still friendly, but that I'm not entirely kidding.
Steve shakes his head and laughs, "OK man, I get it, I get it, no problem!" Still smiling and laughing, he and the buddy sit down. They both act fairly civilized for the rest of the evening, and Steve gave me a high-five when he left later that night.
And that's how I was able to connect British Colonia India to a cock-punching contest in a little bar in Fairbanks Alaska.
Best out-of-context quote overheard at the bar last night:
July 12 2010
One female customer was talking animatedly with another female customer.
"Oh, no, I was sober when I got AIDS *that* time."
I didn't stick around to find out how not-sober she'd been when she got AIDS the other times...
One female customer was talking animatedly with another female customer.
"Oh, no, I was sober when I got AIDS *that* time."
I didn't stick around to find out how not-sober she'd been when she got AIDS the other times...
Worst song lyrics overheard at the bar last night:
June 24 2010
Worst song lyrics overheard at open mic night at the bar last night:
"You're the pothole in my road trip, you're the backwash in my last sip..."
Worst song lyrics overheard at open mic night at the bar last night:
"You're the pothole in my road trip, you're the backwash in my last sip..."
Best toast overheard at the bar last night:
June 15, 2010
Best toast overheard at the bar last night:
"Boo to crackheads!"
Best toast overheard at the bar last night:
"Boo to crackheads!"
No-one is more Irish than an American white guy on St. Patrick's Day...
March 13 2009
There are some excuses that I'm willing to listen to, and others that immediately raise my hackles. Today I'm going to focus on a specific one that I've heard several times recently. Maybe St. Patrick's day is coming up, so the "Irish" thing is on people's mind…
I swear, guys – half of the people in this town must be 1/64th Irish or something… either that, or the drunks have picked a new lie to tell me. All three incidents happened over two weekends, and all three involved different people.
Recent incident #1:
Alex: "Dude, did you just vomit all over yourself?"
Drunk guy: "Hey, it's OK – I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*
Recent incident #2:
Alex: "Hey there buddy, please don't pee in our parking lot. We have bathrooms inside."
Drunk guy : "WOOOOOHOOO! I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*
I'll get into a bit more detail with "recent incident #3", because by then I had finally had enough… It started with fairly standard macho B.S. Two guys who apparently knew and disliked each other from outside the bar happened to run into each other one evening while I was at work.
Things started out calmly, then as the evening progressed and the two gentlemen drank more and more, they worked themselves into a fighting temper. Early on, I approached each of them separately and told them something to the effect of "OK, guys, so far no-one's done anything out of line, but things look a little tense. We like things to stay calm here, so please keep it that way"… they both assured me that they were cool ("It's OK, man, I'm cool, I'm cool").
But of course they weren't cool… I can see that one of them is definitely the instigator, much more aggressive than the other, but the other guy isn't backing down or helping to make things calm, he's willing to throw down. Eventually the aggressive one walked past the other and gave him a hard, high-school-style shoulder bump, and the other spun around, ready to fight.
I'd been expecting something like this to happen, and I'd given them fair warning, so I was only a step away, and I got between them. "Cut it out! This is the kind of crap I was talking about earlier, gentlemen".
The guy who'd been bumped gave me the kind of answer I like to hear – "I'm sorry, man, but this guy's been eyeing me all night, and he just shoulder checked me for no reason. I just want to chill out and drink my beer".
But the other guy… well… "Nah, FUCK THAT!! This fucking fucker blah blah blah aggressive posturing, insulting terms, name-calling, several pejorative terms synonymous with homosexual, boring boring boring…"
(I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea, I hope…)
I look over my shoulder at guy number one, "Hey, calm guy, why don't you go sit down and finish your beer", then back to the aggressive guy "...and I think you need to get your coat, you don't need to be here anymore tonight."
Suddenly the guy relaxes a bit, trying to adopt a friendly pose, acting like he's my buddy. "Oh, c'mon, man – you know how it is, I can't help it, I'm Irish!"
"Yeah, I know, you can't help it. The same way black guys can't help stealing cars, right?"
"Yeah! No – wait, that's not what I meant!"
I point my finger at him – "That's exactly what you meant. You put that racist crap back in your pocket and take it out the door with you."
"But…"
I just keep talking over his objections. "TAKE OWNERSHIP OF YOUR OWN CHOICES AND ACTIONS! OR DON'T!! BUT DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!!"
He keeps sputtering and complaining, more confused than angry, but I get him out the door.
Once he's outside, he says "Man, you're like some kind of Nazi or something!"
Standing in the doorway, I say, "I can't help it. I'm German."
And I close the door.
There are some excuses that I'm willing to listen to, and others that immediately raise my hackles. Today I'm going to focus on a specific one that I've heard several times recently. Maybe St. Patrick's day is coming up, so the "Irish" thing is on people's mind…
I swear, guys – half of the people in this town must be 1/64th Irish or something… either that, or the drunks have picked a new lie to tell me. All three incidents happened over two weekends, and all three involved different people.
Recent incident #1:
Alex: "Dude, did you just vomit all over yourself?"
Drunk guy: "Hey, it's OK – I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*
Recent incident #2:
Alex: "Hey there buddy, please don't pee in our parking lot. We have bathrooms inside."
Drunk guy : "WOOOOOHOOO! I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*
I'll get into a bit more detail with "recent incident #3", because by then I had finally had enough… It started with fairly standard macho B.S. Two guys who apparently knew and disliked each other from outside the bar happened to run into each other one evening while I was at work.
Things started out calmly, then as the evening progressed and the two gentlemen drank more and more, they worked themselves into a fighting temper. Early on, I approached each of them separately and told them something to the effect of "OK, guys, so far no-one's done anything out of line, but things look a little tense. We like things to stay calm here, so please keep it that way"… they both assured me that they were cool ("It's OK, man, I'm cool, I'm cool").
But of course they weren't cool… I can see that one of them is definitely the instigator, much more aggressive than the other, but the other guy isn't backing down or helping to make things calm, he's willing to throw down. Eventually the aggressive one walked past the other and gave him a hard, high-school-style shoulder bump, and the other spun around, ready to fight.
I'd been expecting something like this to happen, and I'd given them fair warning, so I was only a step away, and I got between them. "Cut it out! This is the kind of crap I was talking about earlier, gentlemen".
The guy who'd been bumped gave me the kind of answer I like to hear – "I'm sorry, man, but this guy's been eyeing me all night, and he just shoulder checked me for no reason. I just want to chill out and drink my beer".
But the other guy… well… "Nah, FUCK THAT!! This fucking fucker blah blah blah aggressive posturing, insulting terms, name-calling, several pejorative terms synonymous with homosexual, boring boring boring…"
(I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea, I hope…)
I look over my shoulder at guy number one, "Hey, calm guy, why don't you go sit down and finish your beer", then back to the aggressive guy "...and I think you need to get your coat, you don't need to be here anymore tonight."
Suddenly the guy relaxes a bit, trying to adopt a friendly pose, acting like he's my buddy. "Oh, c'mon, man – you know how it is, I can't help it, I'm Irish!"
"Yeah, I know, you can't help it. The same way black guys can't help stealing cars, right?"
"Yeah! No – wait, that's not what I meant!"
I point my finger at him – "That's exactly what you meant. You put that racist crap back in your pocket and take it out the door with you."
"But…"
I just keep talking over his objections. "TAKE OWNERSHIP OF YOUR OWN CHOICES AND ACTIONS! OR DON'T!! BUT DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!!"
He keeps sputtering and complaining, more confused than angry, but I get him out the door.
Once he's outside, he says "Man, you're like some kind of Nazi or something!"
Standing in the doorway, I say, "I can't help it. I'm German."
And I close the door.
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