Cosmopolitans and Cosmimosas - a way of life

I know I've mentioned this in previous posts, but I felt that an entire post dedicated to this was important. People can be defined by their drinks. The chart I made for class shows a broad definition of that and this is the first post in a line of many defining a specific drink by the people who drink it.

Women specifically can be stereotyped by the drinks they order. Women, specifically younger ones, often drinkrenise, or synchronize the drinks they order, thus causing me to pass the same judgement on all of them. (It's really easier that way, then I don't have to think up individual reasons to dislike them)

A cosmopolitan or a raspberry cosmimosa is the perfect personality tests. Women of all ages love the variations of this drink (thanks Sex and the City).

The younger cosmo/cosmimosa drinkers are more often than not sorority sisters, carrying some type of designer bag and all having straightened hair. They see this drink as "grown-up," but still flirtatious, which lends itself to coyly smiling at the man passed out on the bar who they think is looking at them. (His eyes are just rolled back in his head, he's not looking at you)



The type of older women who generally order raspberry cosmimosas, while there are always exceptions, are usually past prom queens, who also deem it necessary to sit and talk about every other person in the bar and who wear incredibly too much make-up - you're 35 honey, and married, so stop looking at the group of boys celebrating their friends 21st birthday.

Now I don't mean to sound like bitch, I myself have enjoyed a cosmimosa before. There are always the women who are exceptions, some women genuinely like cosmimosas, not just the reputation that comes with drinking them.

But as a standard, most of the women who come in and order any variation of a cosmo are all be cut from the same cloth and basically need to be told the same thing - proms over and no one cares if you met the entire cast of the Hills.

Elephants (and people who work in a bar) never forget

Remembering drinks is our main job in the bar. Even when I'm out, and someone shouts over my shoulder to the bartender, I find myself repeating their order if the bartender didn't hear it or forgot or whatever. Because it seems so natural to me to remember my customers drinks even beyond the night that they are there, I am always a little shocked when they say "You remember my drink from last time?!"

Someone could have come in two months ago for the first time and I will remember their drink if they walk in tomorrow, especially if it was one with a lot of steps; like an absolute citron martini, up, with cranberry and a twist of lemon (people sometimes take a creative license and make up their own drinks and the results usually suck).

There are different kinds of drinkers and sometimes people order different things when they come in. The younger crowd is more prone to change their order, because usually they have no idea what they want/like and want to be cheap. Thus: well vodka with cranberry/well rum with diet/well gin and tonic

As a side note: it's been brought to my attention numerous times that the term "well" seems to confuse people. "Well vodka" - is the house vodka, my establishment serves our high-rollers with Bankers Club. The term "well" comes from the container the liquor is kept in behind the bar. It's known as a well, because that's where the bartenders draw their drinks from, a well like Jack and Jill's, only less wholesome.

...but I digress.

I've waited on the customer in question at least twice, I'll remember every time and this throws people into a frenzy. There is a woman who comes in and orders a grey goose martini, a little dirty, no vermouth, up with a twist of lemon. By the way that she acts, you would think no one has ever made her drink correctly since she turned 21, which is probably about 145 years ago.

Anyway, my point is, if you go into a bar more than once and they remember your drink, don't be surprised, that's their job.

If you go into a bar more than once and they remember everything you had on, your drink, your address on your I.D. when they carded you and your license plate number from when they stealthily followed you back to your car- I would probably stay away from there.

A Spending Chart

I've created this chart because:

1. We were told to make a chart and put it on our blog in class
2. I want to show the difference in spending habits between different ages/sexes

Please click on the chart to view it in a larger format

The totals are roughly the prices of individual drinks. For instance, $2.95 is the price of our Coors Lite draft special, which most younger men order.

$5.50 = a well liquor with cran/diet/coke/soda/etc,
$4.75 = the average price of our other non-special draft beers
$6.95 = a specific liquor (ex: absolut) with cran/diet/coke/soda/etc.
$9.50 = the price of our core cocktails
$10.00 = roughly the price of an expensive modified cocktail
$12.50 = is the starting price of the "good" scotch
$13.00 = is the starting price of an 8 oz. glass of wine from our wine list

All of the numbers are informally what I came up with after 6+ months of serving at my current establishment and do not include tax.

Q: What is the lesson learned from this chart?

A: Women order more expensive drinks because men usually buy them.

Lead me out of Egypt - figuratively

Vivian's leaving makes my life with the third cocktailer just that much more difficult. With only one week left in Pittsburgh, Vivian's last shifts are looming. There are 12 shifts to be covered each week; Monday - Friday's lunch and dinner and Saturday and Sunday's are just dinner. Usually during the busy shifts there are two of us. Being that I cannot work lunches, Vivian's departure leaves all lunch shifts to... the "Locust."

One witty server has coined the name, the locust, for the third cocktailer. In a previous post, I referenced readers to the Bible chapter, Exodus.

For those who have no contact with the Qur'an, the Bible or the Torah, the exodus includes the 10 plagues, number eight being hoards of locusts that descended upon the land to destroy anything living that number seven plague (hailstorms) didn't get. Thus - cocktailer #3.



Not only does she have the personality of a locust, but if you squint hard enough, she resembles one as well; small stature with beady eyes (as I imagine a locust having) plus her hair is roughly the same color.



It's easy to look past her rude demeanor, incorrect grammar and lack of people skills, but her greediness is a problem. There will always be issues in the restaurant business with fairness in the number of tables each server gets. It's worse on the bar side. We don't have a hostess, so we take turns, taking every other table that comes in.

The locust almost always has more tables than me and if I ever try to even it up, she runs to the managers like they're her mother. Usually, everyone just chalks it up to the luck of the draw. This past Friday was one of the worst days. Her sales more than doubled mine. I walked out with $87, she walked out with $180 - how she even made that much I'll never know. Customers frequently complain about her prickly manner and rude service.

Plus, she doesn't even remotely follow the guidelines I listed for prime tip making. She rarely wears make-up and her hair is usually a mess. Not to mention, it really benefits us to not act like a giant bitch - apparently she didn't get that memo.

For awhile I was holding onto the hope that she would get fired, but with Vivian leaving and me working three shifts a week, that's definitely not happening now.

I guess I'll just draw my patience from Moses and just keep my legs crossed and my mind on Jesus.

St. Patrick's Day Eve - an oxymoron

Fitting in nicely with the drunken revelries of Saint Patrick's day is the Physics convention that has come to town.

Monday night started off like any other, slow, uneventful and cheap.

While I was busy consuming loaves of break and diet coke out of my boredom, the fun began.

Usually we don't get too many foreign people in our place. Everyone knows that they are notoriously bad tippers and we have our fair share like everyone else, but Mondays are usually devoted to regulars.

Fortunately for me, but for no one else, by 6:30 the room was filled with the sweet cacophony of Eastern languages. The Physics convention attendees had arrived.

I strolled around the tables, taking in all the formula glory and flirting with as many Asians as possible.

After filling all of the tables that our servers could handle, the hostess began to seat them with me, in the bar. Of course, one of the few Americans sitting was quick to point out that everyone there was a nerd, so they weren't going to drink much - boy was he right.

I don't think that we have ever served such a high volume of people with such a low volume of alcohol.

After one round of yuenglings, which took about 20 minutes to order because of the pronunciation, my first 4-top was done... and continued to sit at the table and write down equations on the bev napkins for 30 minutes. (I offered them shots, and then extra paper, but they declined both)

My next table was a group of five men, who ordered one bottle of wine... for all five of them. I could have drank that myself in the time it took them to pick up their glasses and take the first sip. The worst part was pouring the remainder of the bottle down the drain - they hadn't finished it all.

Other restaurants felt the wave of foreigners too. Many people asked me what there was to do in Pittsburgh (drink of course!) other than that, this late on a Monday - nothing. But the worst part was trying to describe the difference between draft beer and bottled, with hand motions.

All in all, no one drank (not one person ordered a Guinness!), everyone tipped poorly and at the end of the night, the restaurant was littered with fluttering bev napkins, covered in numerous physic-like symbols.


It's almost a affront to the Irish.

Goodbye [Vivian Lorraine] - Like a Candle in the Wind

My dearest co-worker, Vivian, will be leaving our corporate work establishment in just three weeks to pursue other opportunities on an island in the south. I have a few words of farewell that I would like to say to her in this post. I realize I am bit early in my goodbyes, but I want to ensure that I'm not pissed at her when she leaves.

Firstly, I am so glad that you are finally going to be using one of your two degrees. If you ever need a friend to come visit you during the week over the fourth of July, free of charge, I'm your girl!

Secondly, I hate you for leaving me. Not only are you leaving behind all of our memories, like Rico, your other boy that mysteriously ended up in Dubai and the list I've made you of boys that you are not allowed to date (don't worry, I've already mailed two copies to your new address, the post office is holding them for you, and posted one on here --> see below), but you are also leaving me abandoned with the Locust (see Exodus).

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Vivian's Untouchables:
1. those who have a job that needs "bailed out"
2. line cooks (including by not exclusive to; fry cooks, salad prep, sous chefs, head chefs)
3. anyone else we work with
4. people who don't have a job, but do have a large drug habit
5. people who move to the middle east for a few weeks
6. people who have tax exemptions
7. those who have psycho girlfriends, or any girlfriends in general
8. valets
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Lastly thanks so much for the great friendship. Your mother, the Queen, has imparted some dear wisdom and fear into my heart and I hope that she continues to lecture, despite the miles between you. Thanks for gossiping all the times at work when I was bored and for the education that you gave me on African American hair.

Lastly I want to remind you of your sister Jordan's infinite wisdom:

"Just because he's human, doesn't mean you have to date him."