So, after nine nights of working with the public, I think I am ready to take a little break. Nine nights of pouring wine and making cheese plates – whateves, I can handle that. But nine nights of TALKING to people? I can’t deal.

I’ve got one more night and then I am done till the next time the owners of the wine bar, my friends, go on a trip again. So I am done for a year.

Funny how everyone wants to talk to the bartender. Well, at least, the people at the bar do. The people at the tables are in a zone where they get their wine and then leave the bartender alone for a while. But the people sitting at the bar… they are in need of something to do, and often, they are staring, and trying to talk to, the bartender. Which is cool, unless the bartender (let’s just start calling the bartender “me” now) is trying to go to a table to take an order, deliver wine, make a cheese plate, polish glasses, or whatever work function I must perform at the time. I might be listening to you in sort of a freeze frame, so that as soon as you finish your sentence I can run to the next spot I must inhabit.

And the small talk, and the no-talk. The opening of mouths and the issue of meaningless babble. I am no intellectual, but mi dio, sometimes all the babble (also the weirdness in the babbling people, not as hidden as one may think) is extremely boring. Here is an example.

Last night, a very soft spoken military weirdo came in. I know he was in the military, because he told me he worked at Fort something or other near Barstow. He had been swimming, and at first he spoke of how warm the water was, but soon the train of thought turned to sharks. And sharks never left his mind the whole time he was in the bar (two glasses Pinot Noir, one cheese and olive plate.)

“I love being in the water,” he says. “Except I’m scared there might be a shark.”

“Well,” I say, “I suppose they are out there.” Thinking that would be it. Yeah, right.

Little sputterings happen everytime he can get something in between the other orders and the glass polishing. Quietly he babbles… “I always try to stay away from seals, because where there are seals, there could be sharks…. have you been to Sea World? I’d go, but I don’t want to see any sharks… if you are in the water, and see a shark, don’t splash, because the shark might think you are a wounded fish…”

And this went on and on for quite a while. When the guy left I couldn’t help it. I yelled as he was walking out, “watch out for sharks!” He nodded, solemnly.

For the most part, people are pretty cool. My venting now is sort of like the venting you hear at the airport when all the flights are delayed. Like every flight you ever took has been delayed, but of course that is not the case, it just seems like it.

After the shark guy, I was in no mood for another trying customer, but at the end of the night I got a doosie. A blond woman came in 45 minutes before closing, and talked on her cell for 20 minutes, at the bar, only coming up for air long enough to order a Cabernet tasting. When she was done, of course she wanted to talk – to me! Because people that talk at a bar on their cell phone for 20 minutes, HAVE to talk. If they don’t, they will shrivel up and die.

Anyway, Ms. Thing was waiting for a guy, and he was very late. He finally got there 10 minutes before closing, a bit buzzed, apologizing all over the place. I immediately hated him. “Can I have a glass of wine?” “SURE, I say, how about a HALF GLASS of something.” (We serve half glasses, so people can try lots of wines.) “I have been drinking HALF GLASSES all night.” He says. “Can’t I just have a FULL GLASS?” OK, asshole. Prick. Here is your fucking full glass, you fucking fuck.

Anyway, now I am done with everything and ready to go but instead, I have to sit at the end of the bar and listen to this complete nothing talk to his date. Take the shark guy, multiply him by 8000, and you will get what I am talking about. He went on, and on, and on, to his date (who was hanging on his every word, because she was a bimbo and also, desperate) about his sisters, how he got held up with one of them and that was why he was late. He talked about his business and himself and then his sisters again. He went on and on, slurring a little more as he drank some of his full glass. He wanted to take the bimbo home, which wouldn’t be too hard as she was getting all smoochy and snuggly. I wanted to scream at her – what the hell are you thinking? The guy has been talking for twenty minutes and hasn’t once asked you a question! (Right at that moment, he says to her, “so what about YOU?”)

He was vile and repulsive. You can’t get much worse than that, unless you are a peeping tom masturbator guy.

Anyway finally they got up to leave, muttering, “I think she wants to go home.” I noticed there was no tip on the bar. I was like, you mean to tell me, I just sat here for half an hour past closing listening to this drivel and he’s not even going to TIP me? I walked over to them and got the empty glasses off the bar, giving the guy a glance I only use on possible pickpocketers and small children who scream in restaurants. “Uh,” he says, stupidly, “did I pay you?” “Yes,” I say. “Did I TIP you?” “NO.” I say.

He fumbles through his wallet. He cannot find the bill he is looking for. Plus he must impress the bimbo who he is going to try to get it up for. So finally, he throws down a twenty. I pick it up. “That’s what you get for being patient,” he says. “Thank you,” I say, and lock the door behind them.

This entry was posted on Saturday, October 16th, 2004 at 12:43 am and is filed under Tales from a Strange Land. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.