REAL STORIES FROM REAL BARTENDERS >>>

I've been a bartender for a long time. I have met countless freaks, jerks, pervs, sweethearts, rockstars and crazies. Even though it's a physically and mentally exhausting job, these are the colorful people that make it all worthwhile. Well, that and the tips.

I'd like to share with you some of my personal experiences behind the bar, along with the stories from some of my fellow bartenders. Each week - under the clever heading of "Behind Bars" - I will dig into my memory bank - and the incident log books that all bars keep - to bring you some of my favorite stories.

Names of bars, bartenders and patrons have been changed or withheld to protect the innocent.

And the not so innocent.

Cheers!

This week...

No Texting

Customer service has taken its turn into the kingdom of texting. I text with my bank, radio station, boss and even cab companies.

But, for some reason, I just can't get over texting in line at the bar. Right next to the "Cash Only" sign, my crotchety ass wants to put a sign that says "No Texting."

But, even more so than the no eye contact, murmured, ineffective, time-wasting and undoubtedly repeated drink order of the texter, I hate the pretentious, often-complicated, ineffective, time-wasting and undoubtedly repeated drink order of the person who hands me their cell phone with their ten friends' orders on it.

Two White Gummi Bear shots

Four Hurricanes, one light on pineapple

Bud light

Vegas Bomb, extra Crown

You know what? I realize the bar is crowded, the line is twenty hipsters deep, the Cars are blasting through the jukebox and it can be difficult to hear, but criminy people!

I'd much rather yell across the counter and risk mistaking an order than be treated like a fucking machine that just spits out drinks.

At least use the old-school courtesy of universal bar sign language: A hang-loose sign tilted to your mouth for bottled beer;  index finger pointed out and extended in a wide circle to signal another round; hand in the shape of a half circle for a can or draft.

Using these simple signs, along with reading lips, has gotten the job done for years. Who needs these young kids whipping out their cell phones, thinking they're all clever?

Not me! That's who... And I tell you what - when it happens it makes me wanna whip out the universal sign for F*** You!

Thanks, readers, for letting me vent. Guess I'll go find my favorite knit shrug and settle into my rocker with a tub of bourbon now.

G'night.

LINK HUB: The Behind Bars Collection