Yes, I Can Smile, but You're Not Nathan Fillion.

My jobs are driving me to drink.  I’ve been thinking about including a drink review section to this blog, since I have so many ideas and new and interesting things I want to talk about and share with people, so you may start seeing that as a feature.

Tonight I was drinking Sambuca and gin.  Not together, because that would taste like Satan’s candied asshole.  I keep my Sambuca in the freezer because I like sipping it straight, but nice and icy cold.  I love black licorice.  I can’t have black licorice, because it’s full of wheat flour, which is my kryptonite, or my palladium poisoning, however nerdy you want to get.

If You're Going to be a Perverted Twat, at Least Tip Your Server.

To start this entry off, I'd like to state that I want to keep my specific job locations anonymous.  The things I say on here could, potentially, reflect on my places of employment in a manner that could offend certain customers.  So, if you do happen to know exactly where I work, please keep that and all specifically identifying details in private.  Thanks!  The reasons for me stating this should become apparent, but I intend to discuss some issues that are rather sensitive.  With that said, Lay on, McDuff.

Monday night I was bartending, and since the lounge server didn't come in, I was taking care of all the tables, too.  Totally doable, as Monday nights aren't too busy and because I can multi-task like a mofo.  Efficient is my middle name.  The Fat 'Efficient' Ho... Hah.

Golden Showers and Old Jobs From a Different Perspective

This is Rex.

He's huge, probably taller than I am, if he were to stand on his back legs.  The only reason he was sitting still in this picture is because of the treat I was holding out.  My boss is constantly telling me I have to use my 'Angry Voice' when talking to the dogs, because I'm too soft on them and will just let them jump and take the cookies too soon.  I'm practising with Rex, only he gets a little impatient sometimes and then you've got a 200-lb dog lunging at you.  Most times I just drop the cookie into his mouth and back up a step.

The Art of Conversation.

I was not a well-adjusted child.  I was very introverted and shy, and I felt like I never knew what to say to 'sound normal.'  This might come from being home-schooled until I went into grade 4, because it was just me and my sister at home, with our mum sitting us at the kitchen table to go through our workbooks.  Hell, I was so awkward even the other kids at church hated me and made fun of me.  I never had a brain-to-mouth filter and would just say stuff without thinking how rude it made me sound... Actually, I'm still working on that.  Cunt.

When I was a teenager, even in my early 20s, there was no way I could've done the job I do now.  I took a personality test in high school and I came out with type INFP , which I was told was the rarest of all types, existing in some 4% of the world's population.  I haven't taken a recent personality test, even though there is a link on that page I gave, but I imagine it would be quite different.

Twitterpated.

Before I got into the liquor industry, I never really understood why some people will use any excuse, no matter how thin and flimsy, to drink and get drunk.  Friday night?  Get drunk!  Saturday?  Drink all day!  Birthday?  DOUBLE DRUNK!  Those are passingly normal reasons for drinking, but from there on out it gets sketchier.

Thursday?  It's almost Friday, so it counts as Dirty Thursday.  Christmas?  Yep, totally a drinking holiday.  St. Patrick's Day?  Naturally.  The Irish are always drunk anyways.  Ash Wednesday?  Fer sher.  Easter?  Why the fuck not?  Maybe the Easter bunny will deliver you some of those little liqueur chocolates.  I don't really have a problem with any of this, I don't judge anyone.  I see a lot of regulars, some of them every day, some every two days, some less frequently.  Okay, I lied.  I judge some people.  If you're counting out nickels to get one of the smallest bottles of beer we sell - which is only 89¢, by the way - I'm going to feel something.

Never Be Ashamed to Buy Your Own Lube.

Saturday night at work was the busiest night I've worked since before Christmas.  There was a great combination of circumstances that lead to this, but mostly I think it was just that time to get fucking wasted.

January is usually pretty slow, everyone's bogged down with bills or has drank their fill through the holiday season and hasn't quite yet forsaken their resolutions to not drink ever again.  Considering that most people's resolutions, particularly those to never drink ever again, usually come across like a 16-year-old's protestations of future sobriety an hour after downing their first micky of white rum and then puking in five different places that night, I don't really have any respect for them.  Empty threats, things that will be said and never done.  I totally respect people when they do decide to stop drinking, forever or for a certain time period, but the vow usually has a different level of sincerity when it's spat out between mouthfuls of vomit and tears as you cry into the shrub by the front door.

I'm Never Shopping Here Again!!

I’ve been threatened at work more times than I can remember.  Some customer will come in and find that something isn’t the way they want it and throw those utterly horrifying words at me:

“I’m never shopping here again!”

The funny thing is that that phrase is never mentioned when it’s deserved.  Well, actually, I’m not sure.  I’ve never been around for or created one of those situations, so I’m not sure if they’ve ever been said appropriately or not.