8 Ways the Bartender Made Me Hate Him

My husband and I went out to dinner to a restaurant we’d never been to, but a place that calls itself “Redacted Because I Feel Kinda Bad” sounds like an open invitation for decadence, so we went. Upon hearing they had a happy hour, we were even more intrigued. We sat at the bar as we always do and within minutes, I knew I had to write a blog post about our bartender because he was like a walking advertisement of everything you should not do as a bartender. I really didn’t like him and I tried to, I really did. He just gave me so many reasons dislike him.

And here they are:

  1. He didn’t say hello to us. At least pretend like you want to be there. I mean, I know you don’t, because who the fuck wants to be at work, but come on. Fake it. That’s what we do in the service industry.
  2. He was clearly aggravated that I couldn’t read the happy hour menu. It was a tiny sign posted on the bar wall way too far away for my 51-year-old eyes to read. When I asked him what it said, he handed me a table tent that had the same info on it. His irritation was obvious. His eyes may be twenty-five years younger than mine, but my attitude is twenty five years older than his, so this bish needs to watch it.
  3. Giving us menus seemed like it was a pain in the ass for him. Yes, we wanted to eat, so yes we needed menus. The menus were not carved in granite tablets so I could have done without the audible sigh when he placed them before us as if it took every last ounce of strength he had in his body to move them from one shelf to the bar.
  4. He didn’t pour us water. I don’t expect water to automatically appear, but when we asked for water, making sure to say please, he hurriedly placed two empty glasses before us and returned thirty seconds later with a full bottle for us. This bottle, he placed on the edge of his side of that bar and walked away without so much as a look in our general direction. If you’re not going to pour it, at least put the bottle close enough for me to reach it without having to sprawl across the bar to do it myself.
  5. He never asked how our food or drinks were. It’s. Your. Job. The food and drinks were all more than fine, but if there had been an issue, I would have had to flag him down and pull him away from his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He cleared our dirty plates without even talking to us.
  6. He wasn’t personable at all. I don’t need to become best friends with my server or bartender, but if you’re a bartender, you should expect to have to make at least a little bit of fucking small talk to your customers. You’re literally standing directly in front of me for 90% of the time I’m eating, so to avoid all conversation seems like more trouble than it’s worth. If you don’t want to talk to your customers too much, be a server so you can hide in the side stand or the kitchen. As a bartender, you don’t get that option. Suck it up, buttercup.
  7. He was in no hurry to run my credit card. I placed it on the check immediately upon receiving it, but then he ignored it for at least five minutes, which was weird because the whole time we were there it seemed like he couldn’t wait for us to get the fuck out. And then the second he had the opportunity to get us out of his bar, he ignored us. I watched him walk past it at least four times, but I guess checking out his hair and talking to his co-workers was more important than running our credit card.
  8. He didn’t say goodbye or thank you as we left. I said both of them. Totally fine. It’s clear this guy either hates being at work or hates us. If he wasn’t gay, I’d have thought he was a big ol’ homophobe, but he was flamier than a fire at a Yankee Candle Outlet Store, so maybe he just doesn’t like older gay men. Or maybe he just sucks at his job and is a miserable person.

Overall, the whole meal was lacking. While the food was good and the drinks were more than fine, we never felt like anyone was happy we were there. As servers and bartenders, it’s part of our job to contribute to the overall dining experience of our customers. If a restaurant has great service and decent food I am much more willing to go back than if a place has bad service and decent food. Too many restaurants forget how much the service affects the likelihood of a customer returning.

Yes, I still tipped this bartender 20% and even though he had his back to us far too often, his ass was beautiful so that was alright.

5 thoughts on “8 Ways the Bartender Made Me Hate Him

  1. Kristen

    THIS is why I had to get out of the service industry! This generation that for the most part are entitled little pricks who don’t know how to socialize nor do they know the meaning of hard work. If I heard “it’s not my job (table, ticket, etc), ONE more time, I was gonna cut a bitch. Bless your heart, Bitchy. I don’t know how you still do it.

  2. Dana

    I was prepared to think you were just being bitchy, but YIKES! This guy is the worst. I tended bar for years & the only thing I MIGHT have done was not pour the water & then ONLY if I was slammed. Otherwise, you treat water like a $1000 bottle of champagne and your guest like he/she is a Rothschild. And I’ve worked in dives & 5 diamond resorts and everywhere in between. You’re always nice to the people giving you money.

  3. Harvey 6 3.5

    While he sounds like a disaster, I wonder if this bartender felt objectified? It would have been interesting if other people at the bar, maybe a straight couple, got better service.

  4. Düg

    Bitchy, you should NOT have tipped him as if he did his job well! Bad service should not be rewarded; that reinforces the bad behavior.

  5. R

    I’m ashamed to say it took me binging archives through April 2016 to finally buy your book but my god, I’m glad I did. I’m a 911 dispatcher and I’ve been using your blog to keep me awake on overnight shifts. While I sold myself to the police department with my background in social work, in reality bartending is what prepared me for dealing with high stress situations, rememering insane amounts of information at one time, and reasoning with irrational human beings that yell at you for situations they created for themselves with their own poor choices. Thanks for brightening my night by serving up grammatically correct snark and sass. You warm my cold, dead heart.


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