Thursday, February 09, 2006

And now, onto the daily stuff:

Not much today, other than two things:


1.) I have this weird predisposition to getting ignored in bars by servers and bartenders. I'm not entirely complaining; usually, once I bring it up, I get comped 1-2 drinks. For a leisurely drinking night, I'm cool with that. However, for a night when I've got an hour post-work to get as much alcohol in me as I can, it's an issue. And along those lines, I bring up this, which I am vaguely sensative to:

Long have I bemoaned the dearth of hot, talented female bartenders. How often have I hit a bar with a hot woman tending bar, only to find her more interested in chatting with her friends than in serving me a beer? A lot, that's how often. On the other end of the spectrum, I've been served by a lot of female bartenders who, while not particularly hot, did an excellent job of making sure I never wend more than 30 seconds without an alcoholic beverage of some sort of my hand. And yet finding a hot woman who would ensure a constant flow of alcohol? Virtually impossible. (This is a big reason why I'm willing to hit titty bars in strange cities. Beer may be overpriced, and the service may be shitty, but at least I'll have sometime to occupy my .... mind. -- What'd you think I was going to type?)

But a bar with a hot female bartender who also keeps me liquid? This I had not seen. I've had various folks suggest that, perhaps, the fault lies not in the stars, but in myself -- that I'm not making myself an attractive enough customer. I can sorta see the logic here, but it offends me, just the same. I pay my bar tab, and tip well to boot. I make eye contact, I'm not creepy, and I don't put in difficult orders. Why shouldI have to compete for service when that's a bartender's damn job? Serve me well, and you'll get a nice tip. It. Should. Not. Be. The. Other. Way. Around.

And I'm setting the bar pretty low here. I don't need fancy mixed drinks. I don't need dancing. I don't need Coyote Ugly or Cocktail. I just need a beer, when I want it, from a bartender who's hot and female. From men, this is not a problem. Most male bartenders of a decent attractiveness are also decent bartenders. I almost think it's Darwinian. Hot male bartenders still have to be decent to get a good tip. For a good time, hot female bartenders only have to bend over a couple of times an hour, and maybe do some dancing when a good song comes on the jukebox.

Seems like everyone's got their tale of one hot, talented female bartender. I had nothing. Not a one. Every hot bartender I'd met had been more interested in chatting with friends, or doing blow in the bathroom, or attempting to set the bar on fire by blowing flaming alcohol toward the liquor rack.

Until tonight. I've been hitting my neighborhood dive for a few weeks now, getting to know the bartenders, one by one, and had been mostly getting blown off (and not in a good way) by the one tight-T-shirt-wearing hottie working the counter. It's gotten so bad, especially considering the good service I get from the other bartenders there that I considered being prepared to leave for a nudie bar if she was working. Thus my rant.

Tonight, though, wow. I gave her the benefit of the doubt, mostly 'cause I didn't know she was working until I'd sat down. She came through. From having an open bottle of my fave brand waiting for me when I was settles, to non-stop beers, poor arithmetic when settlin'-up time came on through to a couple of free shots and some quality conversation. (Including tales of her tumbling over the bar and spraining her wrist a week ago and her titty-bar visits a couple of blocks from my apartment -- I'm obviously easily swayed.)

Maybe it was a slow night. Maybe I finally cracked the barrier of being "a regular." (She learned my name, I learned hers, she told stories, I told stories, etc.) Maybe she was just having a once-in-a-lifetime night, along the lines of Tuffy Rhodes on Opening Day '94, Marc Cohn when he recorded "Walking in Memphis," Mark Whiten hitting four home runs in a single game, or Marisa Tomei winning an Oscar fo "My Cousin Vinny."

I don't know.

But I'll definitely be heading back there to give her another shot. Could my streak be over? Lord, I hope so.

Item No. 2

While in said bar, I ended up watching most of the Pistons-Clippers game. Nothing spectacular; Pistons are about as good as I though, while the Clippers are better than I'd figured, but the Pistons still won.

One great moment stood out, though:

The playing time of Boniface Ndong for the Clippers.

It's not that he's a great player. Absolutely nothing stands out about him, save his name.

I didn't actually hear his name pronounced, since I was watching the broadcast in a bar, with the closed-captioning on, but I can only imagine it's some combination for "Napoleon Bonaparte" and "Dong."

Perhaps it's pronounced "Bony Face And Dong." It's like the worst porn name ever.

Or the best.

I can't decide.

One other thing. Elton Brand is a monster player, and Chris Kaman, while being a charter member of the "Reggie Cleveland Hall of Fame," (Bill Simmons' term for athletes and coaches with names that belie their ethnicity) seems like little more than a stiff against a good defense. And since I'm too lazy to look up his stats, or Brand's, I'm gonna pull some old school baseball-scout shit and just judge him on what I personally have seen. Especially since Kaman's on my fantasy hoops team. There's no way he's any good.

1 Comments:

At 1:31 PM, February 10, 2006, Anonymous kevin german said...

Bro ... you poor bastard! You have to shake your titties if you want service at a bar ... didn't you know that? If I were you, I'd try abnormally large tassels ... that always seems to get me drinks. Keep on bloggin' ... good to know you're still alive and doing well in the biz. See ya in Hawaii.

kg

 

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