Rules create boundaries that are necessary for all men and women to coexist peacefully. Whether they be moral, ethical, theoretical, local, state or federal. They must be followed to some extent for everything to work smoothly. That being said, there are two types of people; Those who follow the rules, and those who don’t.
Now if you’ve ever spent any amount of time on this site you know that I am a champion of proper bar etiquette. Specifically the holy sanctity that is the bartender – drinker relationship. There are rules and guidelines set in place that ensure bartenders and drinkers exist in damn near perfect harmony. Follow the rules and the patrons get stiff drinks and the bartenders get big tips. Don’t, and you get long waits for watered down drinks and bartenders who have to get day jobs.
On a recent business trip I had the privilege of experiencing both ends of the bartender spectrum. My journey started out in the oasis in the desert – Las Vegas. This was my third visit to the desert this year and I was at the 2008 Blog World Conference after party at the BARE lounge. It’s a swanky outdoor bar with a pool in the middle and well-endowed waitresses in blue string bikinis. The photo is an actual photo of the party and the par is the over crowed white thing at the end of the pool. Normally I couldn’t afford to even step foot in this place and drink due in part to the $40 cover at the door. Fortunately like most after parties this one had a sponsor which meant open bar. Unfortunately open bar meant standing in line for half an hour sweating like a whore in church just to get a drink. No wonder Pete Cashmore was sober.
Once I finally made it up to the bar I had to wait another 15 minutes or so until the bartender decided to acknowledge me. I ordered my free Tanquray and pineapple and tipped her a $20. She said than you and continued on with her duties. Surely this girl was going to take care of me the rest of the night. I mean who tips like that for a free drink. I wasn’t showing off. I was merely buying convenience.
About 10 minutes later I needed another Tanquray and pineapple juice. Now there was no way to avoid standing in the line. That was a pain we all had to endure. Once I got to the bar I looked over in the direction of my bartender and waited. And waited. And waited. She looked in my direction several times but made no attempt to come over. I thought to myself, “what an ungrateful little bitch.” About that time another bartender asks me what I’m drinking. This guy looks like he knows the score. I order 2 Tanquray and pineapples and tip HIM a $20. I could tell this guy was a seasoned veteran. He wouldn’t leave me hanging.
WRONG. After waiting in line another 20 minutes before getting up to the bar this douche bag did the exact same thing the first girl did. I waited for 15 minutes before yet a third bartender asked me what I wanted. I ordered 4 Redbull and Smirnoffs and walked away. There was no need to leave these cretins any more money. I wouldn’t be back. Fuck Las Vegas. The next morning I boarded a plane and left that God-forsaken city. I was headed to New York where I would later experience the other end of the bartender spectrum.