Bar town hates Monday Night Football

I usually work Monday nights.  You would think that would be a good night to be a bartender during the NFL football season.  If you are thinking about my bar though, you would be wrong.  Tonight's game was amazing, an upset, and overall a really fun game. I watched it alone.  After the first quarter, the bar was empty.  Serial Killer came in for one beer and one shot, because he only had $7.00 to his name.  I am guessing he wouldn't have stayed even if he had money though.  Everyone in that town hates football, on Monday nights.  Unless its the Vikings, and even that love affair is waning.

Beer doesn't help his cause...

There is a married couple among the regulars, I see them both almost every shift.  Tonight they were hilarious...
Guy was outside, checking out a deer that one of the town teenagers shot yesterday, his wife was still in the bar with a half empty drink.  I asked if they were staying and she said she was going to wait for Guy to come back in and see what he wanted to do.  His beer was empty, sitting on the bar.
He comes back in a few minutes later, and I ask him if he wants another.  He glances at her glass, looks back at me and says "Nah, I think we're done, gonna head out."
So, to see if I can keep them around a bit longer, I say "That's not what your wife says, she wants another one."  She smiles and looks at him and says coyly "Can I have one more?"  Guy smiles, and points to his crotch.  This is funny because they are older, and you just don't expect older folks to make jokes like that.
They both stayed, had another round.  Then Guy decides he's going to head out.  They always drive separate because they stop in after work before going home.  So Guy's wife, another customer and I are chatting about how she seems to get drunk faster here than in other bars.  She thinks its because the other bar only has Pepsi and we have Coke.  I convince her its really because the other bar just has a shitty bartender.
Guy's wife says, "You always make my drinks lighter though, right?"
I tell her, "No, Guy tips me better when I make your drinks stronger."
She laughs and says, "He's wasting his money then, it doesn't help his cause one bit..."

Short commute...

My friend old guy, the one that asked me if I worked here had a great line.  We were chatting about occupations and commutes and I had mentioned that the town I live in is actually about 35 miles from the bar.  He commented on how that was a long commute and how he wanted to get a job at the Dairy right across the street from the nursing home so he could walk to work.

A "small" half-and-half...

Its probably called by other names, depending on where you are, but around here a half-and-half is a shot that consists of half 1800 tequila and Dr. McGillicuddy's Menthol-mint liqueur.  It makes tequila drinkable for those that can't handle it, basically.  One night, a regular who was really close to accomplishing her goal of getting completely wrecked asked for a "little, tiny half-and-half."
I was laughing when I told her "What you really want is a quarter-and-quarter then?"  She giggled and said yup.  I got her one, and she downed it.
Five minutes later she said "That last one was really good, can I have another?"
Drunks are funny.

Do you work here?

I have been bar tending here for more than six months.  I know all of the regulars and what they drink, and most of the "occasional" patrons too.  There is another category of visitors that crack me up sometimes though.  I call them "drop-ins."
The other day I had just started my shift, wearing my logo t-shirt, with a bar rag hanging out of my pocket already.  I was carrying cases of beer from the cooler in the back and filling the bins in the bar, right in front of this old guy that I think I have seen maybe once or twice before.  Old guy was sitting with a couple regulars and chatting away, so I knew he wasn't a complete stranger.  When I brought out the fourth case of beer, he stopped and looked at me funny and asked "Do you work here?"
I never know how to answer those kinds of questions, you know, where the answer should be obvious.  So I went with funny, if not a bit sarcastic.
"Nope, community service.  Judge is a drunk so he said I could serve it here, filling beer coolers."
Me and old guy are buddies now.

It's a Municipal Liquor Store

Not only am I a bartender, I also work at a liquor store.  No, it isn't two jobs, its one.  I work at a Muni.  The city owns and runs both businesses out of the same building and office space.  My paychecks actually come from the city, and my recent raise had to be approved by the city council.
People younger than 40 or have never lived in a small town sometimes don't understand the concept.  The other day a guy walked in the front door and saw the counter for the liquor store.  If you go through the next door, you are in the bar.  The liquor store isn't the traditional store where you walk around and fill your cart yourself...you stand at the window and tell me what you want and I bring it to you.  Complete pain in the ass when the bar is busy and Mr. & Mrs. Indecisive can't agree on what kind of beer they want to take home.
The guy stood there for a second, so I thought he wanted off-sale.  I went over to the window and said "What can I get for you?"
"Is this where you buy beer, like to go?"  I nodded.
"Like a liquor store?"  I nod again.
"Cool."
He then walked into the bar, mind blown, and ordered a beer.

My name is not Mike.

The title of this blog reflects one of the first experiences I had as a bartender in a small, Minnesota farming town.  My name is Alan.  I am affectionately known as Mike, the bartender.  Since this is the original experience that led me to think I ought to be writing this stuff down, here is how I came by that occupational moniker.
Every small town bar has its regulars.  They don't think of themselves as the town drunks, but that's essentially what they are.  Its what the people who live in the town and don't go to the bar almost every day think of them.
One of these regulars, who's nickname he shares with a famous serial killer and has a hard time with long sentences or multi-syllabic words was in on one of my first nights.  It was moderately busy, and I was working with the assistant manager, Dave.  It wasn't my first night, but close to it.  I had worked a couple of day shifts already and this was my second or third night.
Serial Killer, the nickname I'll use here, was sitting at the bar and had already disposed of several shots of Jagermeister and as many or more cans of Coors Light.  He asked me what my name was, adding that he was probably not going to remember it anyway.  Wanting to keep things simple, I replied that my name was Al.  I had been briefed that the fewest letters and the fewest number of words at once was the best way to ensure understanding with Serial Killer.
He nodded, shook my hand and said nice to meet you.  He went back to his drinking and cursing about whatever it is farmers curse about.  I hadn't figured that out yet.
A little while later, a different patron of the bar sitting near Serial Killer asked me what my name was.  The regulars don't want to refer to you as "Hey, Bartender" and six months later I know almost everyone that comes into the bar and what they drink.  I told the new questioner that my name was Alan.  Upon overhearing this, Serial Killer looked up from his empty shot-glass and warm Coors can and said "You fucking liar, you told me your name was Al!"
The couple of people who knew what was going on and knew himlaughed and told me not to even try to explain it, so I didn't.  But he continued, "Hey, Mike, I need a beer and another shot."  I wasn't sure he was talking to me, but Dave was out of earshot, making me the only thing nearby that resembled a bartender.   "I'll get ya, man!" I said.  "Thanks, Mike." he replied.
Over the next few weeks, Serial Killer continued to call me Mike. He said I looked more like a Mike than an Al or Alan anyway.  The hilarious part is that several other regulars that I either hadn't met or didn't know well yet thought my name actually was Mike from hearing him address me as such.  A few of them I corrected, others I just let it go.  Its become kind of a running joke over the last few months.  I respond to bartender, Al, Alan and Mike now.