One of our regulars came into the restaurant last week and plopped her scrubs-wearing ass down at the bar and settled in for her night. She likes to to talk and she likes to talk loud. Lucky for me, I only go behind the bar when I need a lemon wedge or some ice, so I don’t usually have to listen to her or feign interest as she blabs away about what’s wrong with New York City. She has told me that she is from Texas which would explain four things: her volume, her twang and her unfortunate choice of earrings and hairstyle. She clearly enjoys being seen as a regular and we are all really nice to her. Well, at least we are until some of us get home and then write a blog post about her.
When the bartender goes to the restroom, he asks me to step behind the bar for a few minutes. That’s sorta like asking a kid to watch the candy store so of course I oblige. I am a team player, you know. As I am scoping out the bar to see if there are any wines that need tasting, Loud Texan Lady catches my eye and begins a story. Trapped like a rat, I listen.
“You know, back when I lived in Texas, I was a regular at a bar right by my house. I didn’t have a tiny shitty little apartment in Texas, I had a house. With a yard and three bedrooms. Now I live in a fucking matchbox, but I live in the city that never sleeps, so that’s supposed to make it all worth while, I guess. Anyway, I would go to this bar every few days and one day after a really bad day at work, I was not in the mood for anything but my gin and tonic. So I sees this girl behind the bar that I don’t recognize and I’m like, ‘Who the fuck is this?’ I ordered my gin and tonic and I’m already annoyed that I am having to tell her that I like two fresh lime wedges that were cut just for me. I hate those limes that sit in that damn tray all fuckin’ night. And she has the nerve to ask me for my ID.”
At this point, I have to wonder what woman doesn’t enjoy being ID’d. Don’t most people miss being having people think they are younger than 21? The last time I was carded was over five years ago and I remember it like it was yesterday. I even told everyone at the table to appreciate the moment because it would never happen again. I was 40 at the time and I just about did a freakin’ back flip when the waitress asked for my license. I told her that they obviously needed better lighting but I was happy to produce my ID for her. I finally found it in my wallet behind a stack of old receipts for Metamucil. My license was almost as brittle as my bones. When she looked at it, she said, “Oh, my God, you’re older than my dad.” She lifted me up so high by asking for my ID and then she let me crash to the ground. “Just go get my drink,” I told her.
“Can you believe she asked me for my ID?” the lady continues. “I was like, ‘Awwww, hell no, I’m a regular.’ I couldn’t believe that this girl was gonna ask me, a REGULAR, for my ID. I got up from that bar and marched around that restaurant to find somebody who knew me. And of course I couldn’t find any body that I knew. I don’t know where the hell all my people were but it took me forever to find somebody I recognized. But I didn’t care. I woulda walked to Brownsville and back if I had to. After about five minutes, I finally found someone I knew and told them that they needed to go up to that new bartender and tell her that I am a regular and I am of age. I don’t have to pull out my ID every time I want a gin and tonic. Can you believe that shit?” she asked me.
I decide to play along. “I’m surprised they hadn’t already told the new girl all about you. You would think they would have filled her in on all the regulars and what they drink, right? I mean, that should be part of her training. I’m from Texas and when I worked there, I remember that we were told to get to know all of our regulars and to make sure everyone knew who they were and what they liked. What a joke. I’m sorry you had to deal with that. That’s awful.”
“Thank you!” she says as if I have somehow righted the worst wrong ever to have happened. She tosses back the last swig of gin and tonic.
“You want another drink?” I ask her.
“I think I do.”
“Can I see your ID?”
She thinks this is the funniest thing in the world. She laughs so hard that she snorts and I cannot be sure that she managed to keep her panties dry. I slice two new lime wedges and pour her another drink just as the bartender gets back from the restroom. He has been gone long enough to tell me that he was either taking a poop or making a phone call. I make sure he adds the gin and tonic to the tab and I make my escape from the bar.
“Have a good night,” I tell the regular. “I will see you soon.”
She waves at me and as I am going back to my section, I hear her begin talking to the bartender. “You know, back when I lived in Texas, I was a regular at a bar right by my house. I didn’t have a tiny shitty little apartment in Texas, I had a house…”
And so it begins all over again.
BobbyAnn
BW I am honestly surprised you still don’t get carded. I had no idea you were 45 and I would ask for your ID. No offense.
Best lady I ever carded got so excited when I asked for her ID she kissed me! And then proceeded to call her 18 year old son to tell him what I had done. She was thrilled. heehee Honestly tho’? She did look under 21 – and she was 42. Beautiful woman.
If you’re old enough you should never be cranky if someone asks for your ID. Plain and simple, they are doing their job. It is the youngsters and the jerks that take it as a slight. I always like the ones we “knew” were over 21, but had to check because of the “we card under 30” rule that couldn’t produce ID then proceeded to sputter and spit out the outrage. Ah well…you are a SOOL.
Bella B. Blessed
Not all Texans are bad dressers or hillbillies. Nor are they all grammatically challenged. Did she really say “I sees this girl?” Stereotype much? Sadly, stereotypes are often proven true, especially when it comes to snotty waiters expecting their customers to behave according to their standards of what is considered proper. Goddamn that woman for being herself. I hope she pooped hot Texas chili in your station. C’mon, now…that was just mean. I expect more from you, I’ve learned so much from your posts about being a proper restaurant patron, but now I’m just disappointed. Really?
Mark W
Bless your heart.
Bella B. Blessed
Not all Texans are bad dressers or hillbillies. Nor or they all grammatically challenged. Did she really say “I sees this girl?” Stereotype much? Sadly, stereotypes are are often proven true, especially when it comes to snotty waiters expecting their customers to behave according to their standards of what is considered proper. Goddamn that woman for being herself. I hope she pooped hot Texas chili in your station. C’mon, now…that was just mean. I expect more from you, I’ve leaned so much from your posts about being a proper restaurant patron, but now I’m just disappointed. Really?
Jared
Whatever
BobbyAnn
If you missed the part about BW being from Texas then perhaps you missed that he wasn’t using Texas to stereotype this woman. The point was she was blabbering on about how great Texas was compared to NYC. She pigeonholed herself by bringing up her home state, BW didn’t have to do it for her.
And if you think the use of the word “sees” is perpetuating a stereotype then I can only imagine you must be really fun in reading comprehension class.
Ange
#notalltexans
Kenneth Ketron
Really. It’s not mean. It’s a southern thing. I don’t think that there was any offense intended. I work in an upscale restaurant in South Carolina and we say honey, babe, sweetie and send kiss lips in text messages. It doesn’t mean anything.
jamie
I ALWAYS tell people, females especially, to be NICE to your servers from the get go. im sorry you had to wait soooo long for a table and so and so wasn’t nice to give you a booth first, BUT my guilty pleasure when meeting said rude people when I great a table is… ID PLEASE when you order alcohol.. even if you look old enough, this gets that snotty attitude checked backed to nice real quick.
OH AND BY THE WAY…. I know many many people all over the world are in some form of military one way or another. But PLEASE PLEASE do NOT come into a restaurant with just a “port authority” ID that expired 5 years ago , has no picture, and says DO NOT ALLOW INTO THE US after so and so year… (yea I had this happen) and then wonder why I CAN NOT server you any alcohol… due to the face I don’t want to go to jail.
Mark W
Bless your heart.
Robert
The fact that you were able to convincingly say to her what you did instead of, “Of course she asked for your ID. She didn’t know you from a hole in the wall and it’s her job to make sure you are of legal age before she serves you a drink” tells me that if this were a fair and just world you would be writing a blog called The Bitchy Actor instead of The Bitchy Waiter.
Fitz
Haha I ID people and it pisses them off. I mean I’ve had 22 year olds get pissed off that I ID them. Dafuq?? Oh well, I looked at this old bitch once and told her she could be as old as she wanted to be but it was illegal to drink without your ID. We’ve had so many stings lately I’m not taking any chances.
My favorites are the ones that pull the “Oh last time I was here I had a blahblahblah I’d like that again.”
“ID please.”
Bitch is 19 years old. EVERY. DAMN. TIME.
joeinvegas
You really are a nice guy when you try.
If people like where they were from so much why don’t they go back?
I once heard a definition of the ‘Bless her hear’ phrase, I think Carol Burnett did a skit on it once. Nice expression.
Kathy Bishop
Oh bless her heart. (I was born in Oklahoma and they used to say that there.)
Heather
That’s southern for fuck you, isn’t it? I’d rather say fuck, personally. It’s therapeutic.
Mark W
No, it’s not southern for “fuck you.” It’s southern for “Isn’t he special?” Or “He’s not quite right in the head, is he?” Or “Look at the mentally deficient sap sitting here thinking he’s normal.” Or any similar thing. I can see where you might think it means “fuck you,” but it’s a fine nuance.