Be Careful of this Bartender
Rolling out of the Tunnel Top last weekend, we careened up Bush Street to Chelsea Place, a dive bar more in tune with my sensibilities that night. It was only too bad the bartender wasn’t in tune to anything resembling competence.
First off, like Lebanese bartenders, she had never heard of my drink, the simple vodka gimlet, and then tried to sell my date on her “special exotic drink” – a poorly made Blue Hawaii.
Still I gave her initial credit for trying, I was a server for years and can identify with a training day, but this was not her first time and her performance only got worse as the night wore on.
When a crew of guys came in and asked for a dozen Irish Car Bombs, everything went very pear-shaped very fast, starting with “What’s that?”
Soon, guys were holding various amounts of Baileys and Jamison concoctions over semi to full glasses of Guinness. As the cheer to drink went up, serious yelps came out as drinks when in – beer sloshed over container sides onto people, clothes, shoes.
Later, as the “who pays what” crescendo peaked, bartenders accusing customers of shorting, patrons arguing over what was a drink or not, we took our leave.
While the Tunnel Top wasn’t as homey or cheap, at least there the bartenders know what they’re doing.