While the theme and focus of this blog has been thus far the trials, tribulations and debauchery at one particular bar, I am changing the focus for this next series of blogs. But am I really changing it that much? Is a bar all that different from any other place of business? Not really.
All places require a product or service to be sold; a customer to purchase that good or service; and a customer service representative to give that customer the service or good that they expect. I, the bartender am the customer service rep. And if I bartended at Brady's in the same ignorant, unapologetic manner that the Sprint customer service representatives deliver their products through their company, then I would be working at an empty bar, and probably not working at all.
This next group of blogs will explore the ways in which Sprint has completely abandoned the customer service principle, leaving in its wake a very large segment of unhappy customers, thirsty for the type of service and respect that any old bartender happily and automatically gives. And bartenders' products cost about 20 times less than Sprint's. And their customer's length of stay is on average, a couple of hours, versus the years that Sprint takes hold of us through their iron-clad contracts and subpar attention. So why is it, that I have repeat customers by choice, and Sprint can only keep customers because they give them no other choice..?? Read on, and let's investigate.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Threesome - Not, Part 2
Three bottles of wine later. (They were walking home to the same place. Though after the ridiculousness that Jessie pulled on Anna, two of the three girls were threatening to drive back to Boston. With THREE bottles of wine in them. Uh - oh. Time for the bartender to get creative...)
"Wait!" I say to Kara and Jessie as they are about to fall their way out the door. "You can't just leave XX and XX here together. He is clearly a slimebag, and she is going to need some best friend consoling later on when she realizes it too."
This made them hesitate. "Oh fine." Jessie looked at Kara, as if to get her approval for this gameplan change. "I suppose she didn't really MEAN it when she called me a whore in the first place."
"Right." I said. "She was just hurt. She thought this new guy was going to be different than her last few." Now I am just making stuff up, hoping to sound convincing, and a hell of a lot more coherent than those two. While I am pleading with them to tend to their hurt friend (okay, save my ass, as the bartender that arguablely could have overserved them...), Anna has emerged from the Ladies' Room, where she had been hiding for the past 10 minutes after storming away from the bar and calling Jessie a slew of very unflattering woman terms.
But it wasn't Jessie's fault. And really, it wasn't Anna's fault. And in all honesty, it wasn't really "Boyfriend Mark's" fault either. These kinds of complicated misunderstandings are par for the course when there are 3 people involved. And I am talking about any combination of 3. It could be 3 women. 3 men. 2 women and 1 man. 2 men an 1 woman. Though I doubt the two men would get as catty and hysterical when a woman is the object of their competing effection. Not outwardly so at least. Men seem to have the control and objectivity to stifle their inner tears in trade for a down-the-line, much-planned-out sabotage on their buddy. Women need to act now, and they need to act hard. I give us credit for this honesty.
So it doesn't really matter what Jessie "did" to Anna, and how Mark reacted to his "girlfriend." You've seen this same night played out a hundred different ways at a hundred different venues - restaurant bar, healthclub, commuter train, business dinner. The three thing just doesn't work out. Hopefully the women could see past this one night of trouble and put their friendships back together -- either with or without Mark. And, for the bartender's sake, that they all WALK home. Well, except for Mark. He can hail a cab for all we women cared...
"Wait!" I say to Kara and Jessie as they are about to fall their way out the door. "You can't just leave XX and XX here together. He is clearly a slimebag, and she is going to need some best friend consoling later on when she realizes it too."
This made them hesitate. "Oh fine." Jessie looked at Kara, as if to get her approval for this gameplan change. "I suppose she didn't really MEAN it when she called me a whore in the first place."
"Right." I said. "She was just hurt. She thought this new guy was going to be different than her last few." Now I am just making stuff up, hoping to sound convincing, and a hell of a lot more coherent than those two. While I am pleading with them to tend to their hurt friend (okay, save my ass, as the bartender that arguablely could have overserved them...), Anna has emerged from the Ladies' Room, where she had been hiding for the past 10 minutes after storming away from the bar and calling Jessie a slew of very unflattering woman terms.
But it wasn't Jessie's fault. And really, it wasn't Anna's fault. And in all honesty, it wasn't really "Boyfriend Mark's" fault either. These kinds of complicated misunderstandings are par for the course when there are 3 people involved. And I am talking about any combination of 3. It could be 3 women. 3 men. 2 women and 1 man. 2 men an 1 woman. Though I doubt the two men would get as catty and hysterical when a woman is the object of their competing effection. Not outwardly so at least. Men seem to have the control and objectivity to stifle their inner tears in trade for a down-the-line, much-planned-out sabotage on their buddy. Women need to act now, and they need to act hard. I give us credit for this honesty.
So it doesn't really matter what Jessie "did" to Anna, and how Mark reacted to his "girlfriend." You've seen this same night played out a hundred different ways at a hundred different venues - restaurant bar, healthclub, commuter train, business dinner. The three thing just doesn't work out. Hopefully the women could see past this one night of trouble and put their friendships back together -- either with or without Mark. And, for the bartender's sake, that they all WALK home. Well, except for Mark. He can hail a cab for all we women cared...
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Threesome - Not
Last weekend three women walked in, happy as could be, and ready to prolong their "afternoon of fun," as they called it. Kara, Jessie, and Anna were enjoying some quality girl time together, and it was evident. And slowly, the backstory came to surface...
Kara and Jessie were friends since 3rd grade; having known each other since the tender age of 8 -- which could explain how Kara could overlook some of Jessie's clearly crazy tendencies. Like the fact that Jessie couldn't leave the house without listening to, and singing at the top of her lungs, the song "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gainer, because she felt it ensured a positive night out -- especially in the immediate months after her husband left her for a "friend from the gym" (that Kara swears was a man, but was never given the 100% assurance).
So this betrayal not only produced some silly habits like the need for the 'I Will Survive' anthem, but it also caused Jessie to doubt and question everyone in her life. Everyone, that is, except her best and most beloved and trusted friend, Jessie, whom she had cried on, drank with, and was bolstered up by during those long, emotional months-- finally enough to hit the dating scene.
Though Jessie lived in San Francisco, and Kara in Beacon Hill, their friendship had remained as solid as if they still lived on the same street, like they had for 22 years in Swampscott, Mass. Upon hearing the news of Kara's husband's cheating, she dropped everything and flew out to spend the weekend with her broken-hearted friend. And she had made the trip several times in the six months since then, treating her to shopping trips, spa days and lots of bottles of wine. Their friendship was the strongest it had ever been on this ladies' weekend, when they walked into Brady's.
But there was a third wheel. Another female. And I know from years of being a mother - okay, just being a semi-intelligent person - that the number "3" is not a good one for friends. Playdates among 3 5-year olds always end in tears, two boys always teaming up against the 3rd - forcing him to be the "monkey in the middle" or the one who's always "It," resulting in poor old #3 being hid from, pushed aside, or, if he's fortunate - just being ignored. There are only two video game chairs, not three. Two Wii controllers, not three (Though I am told I could easily buy one, two, or "a hundred more," Mom. Jeez. Yes, I clearly want these playdates to fail...) Only two favorite island stools, only two Transformer cups... blah blah blah.
And this unfair dynamic doesn't end in adolescence. No, there's always the "front seat" debate, leaving poor old #3 to ride behind the other two, straining her ear to hear the gossip over U2 cranking out of the back speakers. Though, you'd think, I, as a mother of three, not two, would be more sensitive to this stopgap to fairness. But, oh well - I also believe compromise and sharing builds character.
When there are three people, there's always one friend who hears the gossip second, gets called on the phone second, gets picked up second -- which, by all intents and purposes is 'last'. But as we get older, we mature and come to realize that being first is just a result of logistics, and not anything deeper in meaning or symbolics. Riiiiiiight. (Maybe in my perfectly conditioned family and among my similarly minded righteous friends... Maybe.)
Back to Kara, Jessie and Anna. So Kara and Jessie had about 20 years of friendship under their belts before poor #3 Anna even entered the scene. Anna had grown to be Jessie's best "adult" friend in the five years they had worked together at the same financial services firm. Some would argue that the chosen, adult friends have an even stronger bond than the childhood friends, despite the disparity in the number of years of each of these friendships.
People that we choose to become friends with later in our lives are not a result of proximity or shared softball practice schedules, but they are people that we truly appreciate and enjoy for who they are -- independent of their similarities to us. Often these friends have such different tastes and interests that they enrich each other's lives much more so than the Crazy, Jealous, Suspicious Friend that we really do love, but mostly because we have known Crazy-Jealous-Suspicious since we were both in diapers.
This longer term friend, however, gets all the benefit of your doubts, because you know exactly what horrible thing happened in 5th grade to her parents or just how close she was to a pregnancy scare in 11th grade, or whatnot. These friends, because of all your experiences together, can pretty much do no wrong to you.
But that doesn't mean that your newer, adult-acquired friend has any sort of empathy or appreciation for your other, crazy, childhood friend. Nope. Not for a long shot...
And this is what was becoming apparent to me during the women's 3-hour stay at Brady's. Jessie and Anna would fill me in on their thoughts and histories whenever Kara would excuse herself to go to the ladies' room, or step outside to call her newest "boyfriend." Jessie explained the background to me, the bartender she had decided was worthy of all this friendship baggage at the onset when I suggested for them a small production gruner veltliner they might like, knowing she lived in Wine Country. We also seemed about the same age, amount of fun and personality, they told me - so we hit it off, enabling me to get the full picture of their unique friendships.
Jessie wanted Kara and Anna to be best friends, just like she and Kara were, and she and Anna were. She had been trying the last few visits home to force these two extremely different women to become close, making for Jessie, the perfect group. This may have been a little selfishness on Jessie's part, wanting to reduce her duties during her short weekend trips. If both her best friends were best friends too, then she wouldn't have to spend time shuttling between Boston, Swampscott and the South Shore each time she visited. But mostly, she just thought it would be fun and enjoyable if they all got along. If only...
Queue the bottles of wine.
Kara and Jessie were friends since 3rd grade; having known each other since the tender age of 8 -- which could explain how Kara could overlook some of Jessie's clearly crazy tendencies. Like the fact that Jessie couldn't leave the house without listening to, and singing at the top of her lungs, the song "I Will Survive" by Gloria Gainer, because she felt it ensured a positive night out -- especially in the immediate months after her husband left her for a "friend from the gym" (that Kara swears was a man, but was never given the 100% assurance).
So this betrayal not only produced some silly habits like the need for the 'I Will Survive' anthem, but it also caused Jessie to doubt and question everyone in her life. Everyone, that is, except her best and most beloved and trusted friend, Jessie, whom she had cried on, drank with, and was bolstered up by during those long, emotional months-- finally enough to hit the dating scene.
Though Jessie lived in San Francisco, and Kara in Beacon Hill, their friendship had remained as solid as if they still lived on the same street, like they had for 22 years in Swampscott, Mass. Upon hearing the news of Kara's husband's cheating, she dropped everything and flew out to spend the weekend with her broken-hearted friend. And she had made the trip several times in the six months since then, treating her to shopping trips, spa days and lots of bottles of wine. Their friendship was the strongest it had ever been on this ladies' weekend, when they walked into Brady's.
But there was a third wheel. Another female. And I know from years of being a mother - okay, just being a semi-intelligent person - that the number "3" is not a good one for friends. Playdates among 3 5-year olds always end in tears, two boys always teaming up against the 3rd - forcing him to be the "monkey in the middle" or the one who's always "It," resulting in poor old #3 being hid from, pushed aside, or, if he's fortunate - just being ignored. There are only two video game chairs, not three. Two Wii controllers, not three (Though I am told I could easily buy one, two, or "a hundred more," Mom. Jeez. Yes, I clearly want these playdates to fail...) Only two favorite island stools, only two Transformer cups... blah blah blah.
And this unfair dynamic doesn't end in adolescence. No, there's always the "front seat" debate, leaving poor old #3 to ride behind the other two, straining her ear to hear the gossip over U2 cranking out of the back speakers. Though, you'd think, I, as a mother of three, not two, would be more sensitive to this stopgap to fairness. But, oh well - I also believe compromise and sharing builds character.
When there are three people, there's always one friend who hears the gossip second, gets called on the phone second, gets picked up second -- which, by all intents and purposes is 'last'. But as we get older, we mature and come to realize that being first is just a result of logistics, and not anything deeper in meaning or symbolics. Riiiiiiight. (Maybe in my perfectly conditioned family and among my similarly minded righteous friends... Maybe.)
Back to Kara, Jessie and Anna. So Kara and Jessie had about 20 years of friendship under their belts before poor #3 Anna even entered the scene. Anna had grown to be Jessie's best "adult" friend in the five years they had worked together at the same financial services firm. Some would argue that the chosen, adult friends have an even stronger bond than the childhood friends, despite the disparity in the number of years of each of these friendships.
People that we choose to become friends with later in our lives are not a result of proximity or shared softball practice schedules, but they are people that we truly appreciate and enjoy for who they are -- independent of their similarities to us. Often these friends have such different tastes and interests that they enrich each other's lives much more so than the Crazy, Jealous, Suspicious Friend that we really do love, but mostly because we have known Crazy-Jealous-Suspicious since we were both in diapers.
This longer term friend, however, gets all the benefit of your doubts, because you know exactly what horrible thing happened in 5th grade to her parents or just how close she was to a pregnancy scare in 11th grade, or whatnot. These friends, because of all your experiences together, can pretty much do no wrong to you.
But that doesn't mean that your newer, adult-acquired friend has any sort of empathy or appreciation for your other, crazy, childhood friend. Nope. Not for a long shot...
And this is what was becoming apparent to me during the women's 3-hour stay at Brady's. Jessie and Anna would fill me in on their thoughts and histories whenever Kara would excuse herself to go to the ladies' room, or step outside to call her newest "boyfriend." Jessie explained the background to me, the bartender she had decided was worthy of all this friendship baggage at the onset when I suggested for them a small production gruner veltliner they might like, knowing she lived in Wine Country. We also seemed about the same age, amount of fun and personality, they told me - so we hit it off, enabling me to get the full picture of their unique friendships.
Jessie wanted Kara and Anna to be best friends, just like she and Kara were, and she and Anna were. She had been trying the last few visits home to force these two extremely different women to become close, making for Jessie, the perfect group. This may have been a little selfishness on Jessie's part, wanting to reduce her duties during her short weekend trips. If both her best friends were best friends too, then she wouldn't have to spend time shuttling between Boston, Swampscott and the South Shore each time she visited. But mostly, she just thought it would be fun and enjoyable if they all got along. If only...
Queue the bottles of wine.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Rules and Engagements
As some of you may have thought, I did NOT give up blogging as my New Year’s Resolution. No, I have just been on hiatus from the very drama-filled Brady’s for three weeks, enjoying my own bar-hopping in Disney World; mixing drinks in my own home for family event after event after event (requiring strong drinks and plenty of them); and designing our very-own basement bar, which hopefully will be a place where I can mix drinks -- like I like to do, and avoid the bar-drama, which I wish I could. Then again – what would I blog about?
So although I had not been mixing up mojitos and martinis at Brady’s, I had not been completely away from the scene either. And when I did venture back this past weekend for my usual Friday/Saturday shift, it was as If I had never left.
As usual, the whiteboard was full of not-so-subtle tips from Jason on how we staff should behave:
Hey, the “dining room” is not the “bar” so I was free from that ridiculous rule. Though sometimes, I wish I were not, and could enforce this mandate, at my very whim, on the most egregious barstool offenders.
Then I would be able to turn to Annoying Cling-on Claudette, who would tell every single person that sat down anywhere near her that she was “Suddenly Single” and out to celebrate that fact tonight; and tell her that she needed to keep her high-tar cigarette-voice DOWN?!. Could I actually stifle her male-bashing pundits, before she then acted as if the person next to her was inviting her into conversation about the last 10 years of her “horrible life” that she had just “escaped from” today, simply by responding “Oh,” to the “suddenly single” tidbit? Interesting…
And then I would be entitled to “Shhhh” the 4 past-their-prime one-time-socialites, all divorced now and talking of “promise rings” and “sex after 60” over in the corner. Ick. They actually made Bar Back Chris leave the room by loudly discussing their thinning hair, hot flashes and botched botox jobs, while ever-so-slowly sipping their social drinker cocktails – no mojitos or old fashioned’s for them. These mimosa- and madras-connoisseurs would need all the time they could get to nurse their drinks and make eye contact with every “eligible bachelor” that walked past, before finally assuming their seats in the dining room, having taken just long enough to block the bar from actual interesting patrons that left for other places because these Cougar-Wanabees took up far too much space and much too much time. And not nearly enough of their money.
And I would totally be within my rights to tell the obnoxious “in-the-middle-of-a-nasty-divorce-and-looking-for-a-good-woman” roofer that, No, I did not find it appealing that he works on Bill Belechick’s roof and will be “pulling in hundreds of thousands of dollars” from all his fancy neighbors and rich friends because he is so skilled at what he does. Then, when he leans in and says lewdly, “If you know what I mean,” intimating that his bedroom skills and not his construction talents are what landed him these jobs, I could say “Sorry – the rule here is 'No Talking.'" And, before he tells me I "barely look 25” and like I would be a “great dancer”, and that he knows of a nice hotel bar with live jazz music, I would have been able to use my white-board authority and told him to “Shut Up.” Damn that I don’t work in the “Dining Room."
But I don’t. And it seems that Jason has gone White-Board Crazy since I have been gone. Oh well – just as I have to put up with the Uninterestings, the Overentitled’s and the Can’t-Take-a-Hint’s, so do I have to deal with White Board Rules. Or at least, note them and make fun of them later in my blogs.
Funny how "No having affairs with married coworkers or bosses" doesn't appear on the list at all. I guess Jason must feel the same way I do sometimes -- that rules -- whiteboard, or otherwise -- are meant to be broken.
Numbers 2, 3 and 4 were just as ridiculous. Let’s see who will break those first NEXT weekend.
So although I had not been mixing up mojitos and martinis at Brady’s, I had not been completely away from the scene either. And when I did venture back this past weekend for my usual Friday/Saturday shift, it was as If I had never left.
As usual, the whiteboard was full of not-so-subtle tips from Jason on how we staff should behave:
1. If you cannot keep your voice to an undetecteble[sp] wisper [sp], then there will be NO TALKING AT ALL in the dining room.” (I never did find out if Jason went to college -- or even passed remedial English in High School. How can I adhere to a rule that was made by someone who cannot even spell the rules CORRECTLY?!)
Hey, the “dining room” is not the “bar” so I was free from that ridiculous rule. Though sometimes, I wish I were not, and could enforce this mandate, at my very whim, on the most egregious barstool offenders.
Then I would be able to turn to Annoying Cling-on Claudette, who would tell every single person that sat down anywhere near her that she was “Suddenly Single” and out to celebrate that fact tonight; and tell her that she needed to keep her high-tar cigarette-voice DOWN?!. Could I actually stifle her male-bashing pundits, before she then acted as if the person next to her was inviting her into conversation about the last 10 years of her “horrible life” that she had just “escaped from” today, simply by responding “Oh,” to the “suddenly single” tidbit? Interesting…
And then I would be entitled to “Shhhh” the 4 past-their-prime one-time-socialites, all divorced now and talking of “promise rings” and “sex after 60” over in the corner. Ick. They actually made Bar Back Chris leave the room by loudly discussing their thinning hair, hot flashes and botched botox jobs, while ever-so-slowly sipping their social drinker cocktails – no mojitos or old fashioned’s for them. These mimosa- and madras-connoisseurs would need all the time they could get to nurse their drinks and make eye contact with every “eligible bachelor” that walked past, before finally assuming their seats in the dining room, having taken just long enough to block the bar from actual interesting patrons that left for other places because these Cougar-Wanabees took up far too much space and much too much time. And not nearly enough of their money.
And I would totally be within my rights to tell the obnoxious “in-the-middle-of-a-nasty-divorce-and-looking-for-a-good-woman” roofer that, No, I did not find it appealing that he works on Bill Belechick’s roof and will be “pulling in hundreds of thousands of dollars” from all his fancy neighbors and rich friends because he is so skilled at what he does. Then, when he leans in and says lewdly, “If you know what I mean,” intimating that his bedroom skills and not his construction talents are what landed him these jobs, I could say “Sorry – the rule here is 'No Talking.'" And, before he tells me I "barely look 25” and like I would be a “great dancer”, and that he knows of a nice hotel bar with live jazz music, I would have been able to use my white-board authority and told him to “Shut Up.” Damn that I don’t work in the “Dining Room."
But I don’t. And it seems that Jason has gone White-Board Crazy since I have been gone. Oh well – just as I have to put up with the Uninterestings, the Overentitled’s and the Can’t-Take-a-Hint’s, so do I have to deal with White Board Rules. Or at least, note them and make fun of them later in my blogs.
Funny how "No having affairs with married coworkers or bosses" doesn't appear on the list at all. I guess Jason must feel the same way I do sometimes -- that rules -- whiteboard, or otherwise -- are meant to be broken.
Numbers 2, 3 and 4 were just as ridiculous. Let’s see who will break those first NEXT weekend.
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