It’s So Hard To Wait

Dear Bartender: This isn’t really a question for a bartender, but I couldn’t find a column called “Dear Waitress” so I’m writing to you.

I had a nice breakfast out today with some friends at a decent restaurant. At the end, there was much polite scrambling for the check, which is OK — we always do that — but this time the scramble was won by Mandy.

Mandy is kind of cheap.

I should add that the waitress we had was excellent. The chef forgot the goat cheese in my omelet so she brought a huge plate on the side, much more than I would have gotten in my omelet. I spilled some ketchup on my shirt and she saw me trying to clean up with a paper napkin and some ice water — and rushed over with a cloth serviette and club soda. She was attentive with coffee and water and always cheerful, which was a small miracle because the restaurant was crazy busy!

Did Mandy stiff her? I have no idea. Am I horrified that Mandy might have stiffed her? Yes. But what could I do about it?

Dear Mandy’s Friend: This is no small issue. You’re right that you, and the whole table, have a responsibility to the waitress — regardless of who pays the check. The easiest solution is to avoid cheap friends. If that’s a problem (I don’t know why it should be), you could have offered, during the scramble, to take care of the tip. You’d run the risk of insulting Mandy, of course. Whom are you more wary of offending, your cheap friends or a reliable waitress?

I won’t bother telling you which is harder to come by.

Match Game, Pt 9

Dear Readers: I don’t usually put two Match Games this close together, but MommasSteph said it’s an excellent way to celebrate birthdays. OK, so here goes…

Our country’s founding fathers had a serious debate about the wording of the Declaration of Independence. An early draft, in fact, referred to man’s inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of [BLANK].

You Say It’s My Birthday

Dear Bartender: Happy birthday! If I’m doing my math correctly, you’ve had your blog for a year now. A couple of questions: What did you do to celebrate, and who are you faverite contributors to this point?

–Regular Vistor

Dear Vanna: My all-time favorite is you. Did you doubt it? You’ve been with me from the start. I’m touched.

I don’t mind assessing some other regs, as well. Slynne and David are peoples I’d like to meet, buy a drink even. PapaBen scares me. Pup Up & Away seems too young to be in a bar. Mom2B has been pregnant for an oddly long time. Mommasteph is a goddess. Sarge is a bit one-dimensional but at least he’s consistent. Andrew from Paris sends me excellent questions. Independent needs more sex. Trog needs even more sex than that. Jay needs less sex — go figure. mbb is a freak.

As far as celebrating goes: I hadn’t realized it was my birthday. How ’bout I pop open a box of wine, mix it with club soda and pretend it’s champagne?

Your Feet’s Too Big

Dear Bartender: What do you do when one friend won’t stop saying bad things about another friend? Andrew doesn’t like Joan, and he tells me this one story (I won’t go into it here, suffice it to say they disagree on how many bones are in the foot) all the time.

How do I get him to stop?

– Man in the Middle

Dear Middleman: I respect that you’re resisting telling your friend to shut up. I gotta ask, however: What are you waiting for?

Next time he tells you this story, laugh and say cheerfully, “Oh boy, if I had a nickel for every time someone said that about Joan.”

If he’s stupid enough to ask you who else is saying it, just say, as if it hadn’t occurred to you till now, “Uh, no one, no one. Just you.”

Match Game, Pt 8

Dear Readers: I got a request from a loyal reader for a new episode of Match Game. Here goes:

Katie Holmes looked at her husband and said, “Darling, what on earth are you doing with that big black hairy [BLANK]?”

$%*#!

Dear Bartender: Dilemma. Is it OK to cuss in a bar? The drinking age in my state it 21, so it’s not as if there are children around. So why did three women at my fave watering hole the other day tell me my talk was too blue?

— Cusser

Dear Cusser: The women have a point. You need consensus to cuss freely. You didn’t have it.

Come to my bar, you can swear all you want. If it gets exhausting I promise I’ll tell you to shut the fuck up.

My heart belongs to you-know-whom.

Dear Bartender: My problem is a DOOZY. Worst problem EVER. It has to do with Daddy’s summer house.

Daddy got married again last year, and Andie (that’s her name) totally has her sights on my bedroom. She wants to turn it into her private whatever. WTF? She wants MY BEDROOM to house her “sewing projects.” She doesn’t even own a sewing machine. Bartender I even think she thinks the phrase “a stitch in time saves nine” is fucking literal.

This either means I can’t ever visit Daddy at his summer house or I have to sleep in the little alcove above the garage. I spoke to Daddy about it but he says he has to respect his new wife over me. Again, I say, WTF.

OK so he’s not really my “daddy” but that doesn’t mean our relationship isn’t special.

What do you think?

Dear Daddy’s Little Girl: Last stop on the gravy train, kid. Don’t think I don’t sympathize. I felt just as bad when the government kicked me off welfare.

Brace yourself.

Dear Bartender: My best friend ever will be turning twenty-one next year — on New Year’s Day! I know her birthday is still a ways off but I want to make her a CD of songs that were popular then.

Can you remember what was on the radio?

Dear Lazy: Ah, memories. Madonna causing her commotions, Wang Chung wanting everyone to have fun, George Michael wanting my sex, Bon Jovi livin’ on a prayer, U2 still not finding whatever it was they were looking for…

Why don’t you go do some more research and I’ll try to figure out a way to break it to everyone that we’ll soon be letting people born in 1987 into the bar.

Where’s the fudge?

Dear Bartender: I was at brunch today with my brother, who’s visiting from Florida. A (straight) couple sent a bottle of champagne over to our table.

Um… wtf? Did they think we were on a date? Were they worried we were too sober? Did they think we couldn’t get drunk on our own?

Any insight would be welcome. My brother is sitting here next to me, more tipsy than he should be (we drank the champagne), giving me a look that makes me insanely uncomfortable.

Dear Brother: Your first mistake was going to “brunch.” Straight boys don’t do that. No wonder this couple thought you were celebrating.

Then again, maybe your brother isn’t so straight. Or, to be specific, maybe he isn’t so anti-incest. As your bartender, that isn’t my concern. I’m merely worried that you may have drank an inferior champagne and will soon be making a mess of my bathroom. My barback told me recently that he will no longer clean that shit up.

Midnight Express

Dear Bartender: The other night I had a customer come in telling me that he was a plastic surgeon who never gets drunk no matter what he drinks. He was waving his card in front of me and began to taunt me a bit, so I decided to call him out. He bought the first 3 TGV’s (Tequila, Gin, Vodka) and after that I offered to buy him every other round as long as he did not seem to get drunk. Shot 12 seemed to be the one that took him out. I had to haul him out of the bar onto the street. At the moment I was feeding him a bit of water — after considering that he was alone and in his mid 40’s and I’d already instructed him how to throw up — my manager came over to me and told me to “forget that you ever served him.”

My question: Where is the line drawn — in regards to the ego and the morality of this issue?

P.S. I feel that I was wrong because my ego took control of my common sense.

-Andrew from Paris

Dear Andrew: This guy clearly wanted to board the express train to Toilet Town. But no matter. When your boss told you to forget you’d ever served him, he meant that you should be at least as drunk as the guy you threw out. It works for me. There are loads of drunks I don’t remember serving.