Clueless.

Despite the fact that I have been tending bar for almost ten years, I am still occasionally surprised at how unaware the average customer can be. Tonight for example, the bar was three people deep, everybody wanted a drink with at least four ingredients, and nobody had their money ready or their shit together. I was extremely patient. I was in a good mood. I was kicking much ass. Midway between pouring three Jager bombs and collecting money for two Bud Lights and a Newcastle, I asked the next young lady (I use that term loosley, as she had been flailing her arms at me and acting quite put out that I wouldn't drop everything and rush to take her order- not terribly ladylike behavior)in line what she wanted. She asked me for a vodka and tonic, I got the Bud Light and Newcastle guy his change, took the money from Jager bomb guy, and grabbed a glass for her drink, carrying it to the ice well and filling it while handing Jager guy his change. I told her how much she owed me. She told me to get the order from two people next to her. I replied that I would get to them in a second. She responded by telling me that they had been waiting longer than she had. I said something to the effect of
"Well, it's not like I know how long each person has been here. I'm just getting whoever is next in line, and if you would just give me your money I can get to them straight away." Or something like that. But I said it very loud (a casual observer might have construed it as yelling) and with a lot more expletives thrown in for good measure. When I finally pushed the drink to her and looked up at her face, her mouth was hanging open and she looked like she might cry.
"I was just trying to help them out," she said.
"Well, I'm sure they appreciate that but you're really not helping anybody so could you please just shut up?" I said, smiling and looking directly at the people who had been waiting. They looked a little uncomfortable. The guy ordered three purple hooters. Seriously.
Three. Purple. Hooters.
I asked to see his I.D. and the girl's.
"She doesn't have one. She's not drinking."
Right.
I can't remember the last time I have been asked for a purple hooter. In fact, I wasn't entirely sure what a purple hooter consisted of. But I thought I knew, so I winged it. I poured vodka, razzberry (no, that's not a typo, the shit is just that cheap) schnapps, and a splash of sour mix over ice, shook it, and strained it into three shooter glasses. I took their money. I took the next guy's order, and brought them their change while I poured him a Crown and Coke. A couple minutes and several drink orders later, the Purple Hooter people waved me over. They had not touched their shots.
"What are these?" the guy asked. I had to ask him to repeat himself because the din from the surrounding crowd was so loud.
"Three Purple Hooters. That's what you asked for, right?"
"They look different."
I smiled, opened and closed my mouth several times, censoring virtually everything I was about to say (keeping in mind the exchange I had with my boss about the difference bewteen calling a girl a cunt and telling a girl that she is acting like a cunt), and I finally just walked away without replying.
You may be thinking that this is not good customer service, but if you are I beg you to consider the fact that most people don't know what the hell they are ordering, especially when it has a cutesy name, and that a shooter is going to be gone in one swallow, and that they were reddish, which is the color they are supposed to be. I did, in fact, attempt to look up the ingredients for a purple hooter in the middle of all the mayhem. When I couldn't find it on our house list (again- not a popular drink anymore, due to the fact that the eighties are long gone), I asked another bartender just to see if I had come close to making it right. I had. In fact, I was only off by a splash of Sprite*, which wouldn't have made much difference anyway. I guess my point is that beggars with underaged girlfriends who don't know what they are drinking can't be choosers. Especially when I'm that busy.
Other than that I had a lovely evening. I love working with A, as his attitude and demeanor and sense of humor are very similar to mine. He always keeps me in the right frame of mind and I wish he was around more, and that we worked together more, but I'll take what I can get.



*This according to her recipe, and recipes differ from bartender to bartender, as well as bar to bar, as do names for the same drink. (See also: Liquid Valium, Liquid Cocaine, Dead Nazi, Chipmunk, Duck Fart, et al.)