So on Friday night we went to a comedy showcase thingy. It happens every third Friday at the Bagdad Theater, with all sorts of local wiseacres trying hard to earn your three bucks. And they really were funny, mostly. But the funniest thing that happened had nothing to do with the comedians on stage. No, the funniest person, place or thing of the night was the "Worlds' Worst Bartender". The setup as follows: I walk out of the "theater" portion of the place headed for the pisser. I use the facilities, then proceed back past the theater to the bar. To access the theater
or the bar, you have to have first shown I.d. back at the door that precedes the bar and the theater. Essentially it would be highly unlikely, if not nigh impossible, for me to be in the theater or at the bar if I had not already passed some form of identification check. Anyhows, I place a (single) drink order with the bartender right as Tristan, the evenings m.c. and a friend of mine, walks by. The bartender asks me for an I.d. and seems put off that I don't have it ready and waiting (I think she actually said "You coulda had it out!"). Odd, but sure, what the heck, I want a beer. I make sure to pull out and set down my I.d. before I greet Tristan, so as not to be rude and further irritate her. Tristan and I shake hands, b.s. and comment on a couple of the jokes. He heads off to shmooze and I go to pay for my drink. The whole thing takes a few seconds. At this point the bar-person has not only
not started my drink but has not picked up the I.d. that is laying in front of her (next to my wallet, which I left there as a sign of my good faith and intention to pay... and because I'm lazy). She's sorta glaring at me as I turn around ( I hadn't even walked away to talk to Tristan, just turned around...) and says "Is this I.d. real?" Now, I'm a smart-ass by nature and the first thing outta my mouth anytime
anyone asks me that question is "No". I know, I know, not the smartest answer. But at this point I'm not thinking that she's truly out to deny me a beer. And she hasn't even picked up the I.d. Plus, who'd really be stupid enough to think someone would fess up to it if the I.d. was fake? Well... The bar-vendor proceeds to ask me "Really?" to which I answer "Yes, it's a real I.d. and I have other forms of state issued photo I.d. if you'd like to see them.". I'm hoping to soothe hurt feelings and all that new-age hippy crap. The carrot not the stick, per say. The bar-overlord looks at my I.d. again, tosses it at me and then says "Are you over twenty-one?". And I'm hungry. Sooo hungry. Because I get
both feet firmly in my mouth when I say "No". Sweet Elvis, the expression on her face would have peeled the paint off the wall behind me if I'd ducked like I wanted to. I realize at this point it may not be funny to anyone but me, but it was freakin hilarious right then to see her grip on sanity loosen. She turned with the speed of a cornered badger and said "Wh
aaaatttt?". I quickly reply "Of course it's real...um...", because what else do you say to the mental woman who holds the fate of your beer consumption in her hands? Yes she was tightly wound. Yes she was asking odd questions. Yes she was foaming the heck outta the beer she was beginning to pour. No, I didn't want to really piss her off because
I just wanted a beer! Beginning and end of my thought process. And you'd think that might have been it. She'd be surly, I'd tip nicely, end of story. No, it gets weirder. She gives me a full on glare that did peel the paint (honest!) and says "If you really were under twenty-one and worked for the OLCC, you'd have to tell me.". And, see, that's a myth. If the OLCC (liquor-Nazis') are gonna perform a sting, they aren't gonna tell you if the "decoy" is underage. They don't have to. The idea that they do is based on a misunderstanding arising thusly: When the OLCC does a sting they send underage persons with their own
real underage I.d. in to buy booze. If you sell to the kiddies, you're busted. So, yes they are underage. Always. But no, they don't tell you that,
ever. Their I.d. does. And if you're dumb enough to not actually look at the I.d. and just ask the kid,
of course he or she is gonna lie to you (cause that's their job!)! This is right up there with "If you're a cop you gotta tell me (so I can pretend this is baking powder)...". It's a
STING! A
TRAP! No one is gonna tell you squat! If you do your job and look at the I.d., you should be cool. Anyway, as you can tell from this rant here, I couldn't let the strange, mis-informed bartender go on thinking she was getting over on the fuzz. So I told her she was mistaken. And she swore at me. I know, shocking. I believe it was "The fuck you don't...It's the law", which sounds so well-reasoned and thought out. I attempted to relate stories of grocery stores that had been stung by minors who'd said "Yes, I'm over twenty-one" to a clerk while their I.d. said eighteen or nineteen. She wanted nothing to do with reality. The fact that I worked for one of those self-same grocers was irrelevant. I had originally said " See, I work for [blank] and it's happened to us at other stores.". In reply to this she asked "Where do you work?". I said, "At [blankity] on [blank]." to answer her (again). She says "
Where, do you
work?" (note the emphasis). I reply exactly as before, enunciating more clearly. She pauses, I launch into my rant from above once more and then the weirdness happens (ok, it's already odd...). She holds up her hand in a "stop" motion and says "I blah blah blah, at gobbledygook...yippee blah blah blah
WHAT?". That's verbatim. She actually started baby-talking to mock me. I'm not slurring my words, I'm not drunk, I'm down-right stupidified at this point (that she was this upset). I look quizzically at her and she says "
WHERE...do
YOU...
WORK?
HUH?". Very slowly and angrily. Now I've clearly told her twice before where I work, which has nothing to do with getting me a beer or anything else at all for that matter. There is no reason for her to ask or know, especially if she hasn't listened already. But I still want a beer. So slowly, politely I say "I work at [blankest] down on [blanker].", and I smile. And she scowls and says "
FINALLY!". Finally what? Only the Shadow knows. She gets the beer, slides it at me and says "Well you're still wrong wherever you work. Are you gonna pay or what?". At this point I'm just chuckling quietly because this is all so other-worldly. Bizaroo world type stuff happening here. Of course she hasn't told me the bill so I just hand her a card and smile. She rings up the drink and undercharges me, which is hilarious in and of itself. I've now taken longer to get a beer than the first act took on stage. I'm still laughing to myself and make sure to over tip, because she's obviously misplaced at the bar. She should be on stage. And I think she earned a that money as sure as any of the other comedians that night.
