Tuesday, December 27, 2005

...and One To Go. ~ Part One

I've been working in a bar in one capacity or another for the better part of fifteen years. That's a very, VERY long time to stay in the business, especially for someone who never intended to make it a life-long career. But for the past twelve years, I've held the Holy Grail of all bar/nightclub/restaurant positions...the bartender (or, bartendress, thank you very much.)

Needless to say, I've seen a lot of crazy shit in my day. You name it, I've probably borne witness to it. But without fail, the most bizarre situations ALWAYS happen on New Year's Eve, or, as we in the business refer to it, "Amateur Night."

So, I thought I'd briefly describe for you a few of my tales from behind the bar on New Year's Eve. Some are funny, and some are depressing. Some are even downright disgusting. But never, ever are they bullshit. Every word I'm about to type is 100% true. I'll post one or two a day, depending on the length of the story...



# 1 ~ The Eel Stands Alone
One year, I was working at a very new, very hip lounge close to Rush Street. ALL the beautiful people were there. It was a who's who of the Jewish United Federation...the be-all and end-all of Chicago's nightclub society. Every jackass party promoter had a piece of the action, and, as typical of their "crowds," their behavior was, well, poor to say the least.

Funniest Drink Requests of the Evening:

Courvoisier & Coke - Not that it's particularly funny, other than the fact that the man (a former Chicago Bear) had particularly bad taste, but it was the WAY he pronounced it: COO-VOO-ZEER. I ended up telling him HOW to pronounce it, as well as showing him HOW to drink cognac. $200.00 tip. Not bad.

Blue Martini - Some random drunk girl ordered a blue martini...to match her dress. She sent it back twice because the shade was wrong. I kid you not. I finally said, "You're gonna slam it down in five seconds, you drunk bitch. Who gives a shit what color it is?" No tip on that one. Damn.

At 6 A.M., I was finally able to extricate myself from the bar. I walked around and marveled at the total destruction of the place. Cigarette burns in the chairs & drapery. Tables broken. Shattered glassware everywhere. And then I saw the fish tank. The gorgeous, 50 gallon home to over twenty varieties of saltwater beauties, and all of them were floating at the top. DEAD. Some ghastly bastard had emptied an entire bottle of champagne in to it...as evidenced by the bottle floating amongst the fish carcasses.

The only living being that survived was the big, ugly brown eel, and judging by looking at that hideous creature, I got the idea that it was A-OK with him. Oddly enough, I understood it, because all I kept silently saying to myself was, "Thank GOD they're all gone."

TOMORROW'S POST: The NYE I Could Have Become Mrs. Jeremy Piven, Until that Coked-Out Bitch Ruined it for Me.

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