Off-button? Please?

The Robo-Barman has, and is in, a new setting. Having began to stand, and being paid to stand in a room with alcohol merely to see what happens, in now a third country, I think it's time to perceive the practice as no longer being a job, but rather a lifestyle. The fact that I still like to go into other rooms, yet alternatively having to pay rather than be paid for the experience, would seem to back this up. Therefore, this lifestyle has 'embiggened' certain characteristics in me, such as prejudice, distrust, irritability and, of course, cynicism.

(There are of course good characteristics that often show themselves...if you give me a while I'll think of...some.)

The Robo-Barman had a maintenance day today and, although not really physically tired, my wee head needs a rest. I have had to learn at least TEN different persons names in last 6 weeks or so. This, for me, is immensely difficult and can only normally be mastered with the help of considerable concentration and varying types of computer spreadsheets. Therefore, my mental yoga is simply to take myself out, normally...actually regularly, to a bar, to have a drink, and to watch the world go by. I did this tonight. I went to a bar as a normal human being. But, I am a barman, in a bar, thus I can no longer be normal.

Having needed to stabilise my rampant addiction to Guinness I went across town to a bar to try out a recommendation. After being pleasantly surprised it was decided that I was hungry, so I went in search of a bar endowing my most favourite world in hospitality in Australia: "Meal-Deal". I still regularly weep at the food and drink prices Down Under...that will never change. So, $12 pizza and pot (half-pint)?... Done. I went in, ordered, found a paper, started drinking my cheap (but free) beer and wished very much to be left to my own devices.

Midway through the first paragraph of the first article I began to do the natural barman thing of pretending to be concentrated on something, but rather actually ascertaining as to what is around you. Who is there, Why are they there, With whom are they there, What are they talking about there and Which of them, ah...there could be potentially funny, boring, attractive, unattractive, aggressive, intelligent, vindictive, welcoming, psychotic, Elvis, or even a life mate. The '5 Ws' of the barman's curiousity.

Sitting in a corner, there were two groups of people in front of me, one of which seemed, at first glance, to all be colleagues out after work. The other was, categorically, a group of student girls.
 
Utilising that most potent of bar-work nuances, I began to eavesdrop on the work-colleagues group. They were obviously working in I.T; meaning I lost unequivocal interest in their 'convo' with light-speed...that is, until I overheard the utterance 'social gathering'. They had all stood up, to wish a departing member goodbye, and, to 'thank' him 'for attending the social gathering'. For me, the words 'Piss Off' and 'Social Gathering' should be beside each other. It was embarrassingly awkward... I wanted to break it up, have it immediately stopped. I looked forlornly to the SECURITY for intervention, none came. Just imagine their day, I thought...It must be planned out like one of my name-spreadsheets..."Get up", "Go to work", "Feed", "Go to colleague-based social gathering". I remember thinking that there was no way I could attend a 'social gathering' with any of them. "What an utterly boring shower of whatevers", I deduced.

So, what's the craic with the students then? Well, this brought up personal queries. "Mmmm, whyyyyyy did you not concentrate on the young student, ah, females...first, why...why didn't you do that"? That will be put down to maturity/age, whichever looks better. After a while, however, my self doubt lowered because they were obviously idiots. I couldn't understand them, they seemed to throw more food over them than in them, my ears were on strike and they were transfixed on the TV, which was playing 'chart' music videos...Well, I say 'videos', it might have been the same one. Now. My feelings towards 'chart' music are numerous, let's just say I don't like it. That person who went on stage wearing a mankini on that music awards show thing (the one I recently heard being described by an Aussie colleague as a 'paedo-trap) ...(like someone falling over, not nice, but funny). Well these girls loved this noise made by this person. "Oh, I so hope I wasn't like that as a student", I thought.

So, there they were, two groups pf people I had decided I didn't like. Ha! I thought. I know a thing or four at this stage. Good, that I'm by myself and not sitting with those people, I could---n't sit with those people, how can the staff cope with such Eejits, how aaaawful, I thought.

Then, between mouthfuls, one of the students shouts over to one of the dreary people. "How's your night been"?...A conversation ensued, first between the two, then between the two groups, until a full scale 'social gathering' ensued. Now. I will paraphrase the next bit, because it's fairly demoralising, and because my fingers hurt. Basically, they all got on like a house on fire. The term 'social gathering' turned out to be an in-joke, a term their boss used, and they repeated, sarcastically, before he left. The students were imitating other people in their class, they were actually quite normal. They expressed a like in travel...Good.

Then, to end, one member of one group turns to a member of the other and says, "God, Mr Lonely Pint over there keeps looking over at us"! That would be me then.

"Prejudice, distrust, irritability and cynicism": check.

Lesson learned.

If I can ever remember the positive bar characteristics, then I'll try doing them...instead...


...whatever they are.

 

Tamaro and Big-Momma-Take-No-Shit.

The Italians have a word for the stereotypical flash-sleasy-greasy-guys which they do so well. 'Tamaro'. The shine from their hair can be seen from space, they provide 95% of the steady income of Alfa-Romeo and they induce a healthy mixture of revulsion and envy among other men (let's be honest, they succeed with women more than they should). They, and only they, can pull off wearing sunglasses indoors as they have already accepted the fact that they are cocks. They have other priorities.

They are among my favourite people to observe in bars, drama always ensues. As it did recently, when one of them walked into the bar at 4am with his latest catch. The lucky lady in question was African-American, with dreadlocked hair and could be described as being (I will try to put this as nicely as possible)...ample. The MTV-Generation would describe her as being well equipped in 'boo-tay'.

The sight of the pair of them was immediately comical. Two more different looking people you could barely imagine, like a Russian doll on drugs. They pulled up a seat at the empty bar and ordered. "You-a most-a expen-sive-a Whiskey, what is-a"? "Bushmills", I replied. "Due, bitte". Wow, 3 languages in one order, B-M-T-N-S was clearly impressed. He had made a good start.

I, however, was curious, and therefore found a glass and decided to devote a considerable amount of time to polishing it, ensuring it would be the cleanest glass concievable come the end of my skillful evesdropping. The conversation started badly, as the language barrier began to cause severe communication difficulty, but the whiskey was going down a treat. I nearly broke the optic it was going so fast, always a sign among couples at a bar that the flirtation process isn't going that well. She was definately getting bored as she was now moving on to the doubles. "Can you make mine a large?", she asked, to which he replied (...) to which he replied..."You-a like-a large-a things-a"? ...whilst winking.

No joke, the glass I had chosen for over-polishification was a Hefe glass, which are fairly thin at the top. The urge to burst out laughing was so strong I snapped almost the entire top half of it off. A cleverly disguised cough got me off the leash as I retired to the sanctity of the cool-room to sprawl over a keg, choking. I have never seen anyone's head swivel at such speed, it created a draft. As she stared right through him, with what looked like steam coming out of her eyes, he knew, immediately, that he had made a grave error. Then came the noise...

"WHAT U SAY MUTHAFUCKA?" "WHAT, YOU SOMEKINDA CREEP O WHATEVA?" As I watched, through an almost fully closed door, having already provided myself an observation-beer, I remember wondering if it was possible to die from laughter. She flung and hurled and javelined abuse into his face. The force of her language created sufficient wind-power to slightly blow his shades off of the perch of his nose. Imagine a bear having an argument with a squirrel, the winner is apparent.

With superfluous use of the word "Scusi" he managed to calm her down to the point where his perfectly styled hair now seemed safe from the onslaught of Hurricane BMTNS and also to the point where he felt compelled to remove his glasses, look into her eyes and deliver a heart-felt apology. This was his second mistake. What he whispered into her ear I will never ever know, but it must have been biblical. From 15 feet away the whites of her eyes revealed themselves, bulging in disbelief. Without looking, without taking into consideration distance, trajectory or angle, her hand instinctively swept across the bar, taking her whiskey with it and delivered 10 years of Irish Whiskey distillation know-how straight into his now unprotected eyes.

As he clutched his beautiful and now triple-distilled face she took leave, knocking over 3 bar stools on her way to freedom and self-satisfaction. I now felt it safe to emerge (even know my face was now as red as his shirt) and, measuring the situation impartially, immediately decided to present him with the bill, just to get it out of the way, you see. Tamaro-whiskey is 4€ a pop in my bar, and 48€ is a wonderful multiple of this price for a prima classe prick.

"Quarantotto Euro", I said gleefully.
"Si", he replied, however not so gleefully.

"Si"... S+I, half way there, in the spelling of the word "Shit".

Seemed fitting.