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...

Caught in the Act, Part 4

"Blow Job"

So, here we are, Part 4 of "Caught in the Act."

In my years of bartending I've caught more than my share of people with their pants down. Pissing their pants, flashing their boners, whatever. This one though, was a blow job in the ladies bathroom.

It was a busy evening. People were racking pool balls, tipping back tall boys and loading the jukebox with un-godly amounts of Judas Priest.

I was ready for a pee break so I made my way to the ladies room. Upon entering, I could hear some serious mouth breathing backed up by guttural groans. The effect sounded like a weird, harmonious underwater mating ritual. It didn't take me long to realize it was sexual. A quick glance under the stall doors where a pair of bare knees, Vans slip-ons and Levis in a heap confirmed my suspicion.

They didn't give a shit that someone had entered their fortress of drunken fellatio. She kept on slobbin' that knob, and he kept on moaning. Part of me could almost have been turned on, but the many nights of mopping up vomit on the very floor this broad's bare knees were, caused a wave of disgust to wash over me.

"Shit. I don't get paid enough for this," I thought, as I banged my way into the empty stall. As I drained my bladder, I hit the palm of my hand on the graffiti-covered wall next to me.

"Take that shit somewhere else!" I hollered.

As I made my way back to the front of the bar, I caught sight of the couple leaving the bathroom. She was digging for a smoke, hair hanging in her face; he was getting high fives and pats on the backs.

I took my place behind the bar and began pouring shots, shrugging off the recent events as just another day behind bars.

Check back next week for more adventures! Cheers!

LINK: Caught in the Act, Part 1 

LINK: Caught in the Act, Part 2

LINK: Caught in the Act, Part 3

LINK: Past Behind Bars columns