When I Used To Bartend: Part 3. The Kountry Karaoke Klan

I worked at this bar, "Crusadors", from 1995-1999. On Sundays, and this really sucked for the bartenders, we had karaoke. Karaoke sucks for 5 reasons:

1) A very small amount of the population wants to hear some chick trying to sing a Fleetwood Mac song. Even if she is good, it’s still not going to sound like Stevie Nicks. No One Wants To Hear It, EXCEPT HER. Which reminds me…I need to write an entry on all the pretending our population has been doing lately (Guitar Hero, Fantasy Football, American Idol, etc.)

2) The accompanying/guiding music is bad midi (electronic) music or a shitty remake recorded by 13 year olds with ‘talent’. Basically, “Welcome To The Jungle” ends up sounding like Hanson recorded it.

3) The people who run the karaoke had the same intro every night. I mean the exact same intro.

The chick would get up and sing a D version of “Let’s Give ‘Em Something To Talk About” while swaying her 260 pound frame sexily about, and half way through she would stop singing and explain the rules of how their karaoke is run. Then right on money, she would finish her rules and dovetail right into that last chorus.

Her redneck husband would then have to offer up his even redneckier version of the original, “I’ve Got Friends In Low Places”. He didn’t start talking half way through the song, but he made up for it by talking in slow motion to anyone that had the extreme misfortune of making eye contact with him while being within his 15 foot flannel perimeter. Also, he was a close talker. *shivers*.

4) The people who ran the karaoke were country, pushed country songs, and drew a country crowd. Crusadors's was not country.

5) The people who followed this karaoke troop drank, but didn’t tip.

Now to the meat of it.

This guy with long frizzy hair, always pulled back into a pony tail, drank the shit out of Miller Lite cans. He drank so much that I think, by law, Miller had to send him thank you cards on Mondays. Crazy amounts of that shit. At the time, he could buy it for $1.25, which means every time he got a beer (we have established that it was many) he would get .75 cents back. Guess how much he left as a tip? Zero. To make matters worse, he sang a song every half-hour, and yes, they were the same country songs every week. *more shivers*

After a long winter of this thrifty, repetitive, redneck shit, someone found out, I don’t remember who, but someone found out where Frizzy worked. Hallelujah, it was a bar! And Hallelujah he was a bartender in "Villeville" and "Villeville" was only 15 minutes away!

At the time Villeville was pretty redneck. Not so much now, but back then, at their McDonalds drive through, a number 3 combo meal was Skoal chew and a Busch can.

Anyway, we find out that he works Wednesday night, Saturday night, and Sunday day. A good 6 of us* had Wednesdays off. We went in, faked surprise in seeing him and proceeded to order blender drinks, mixers with 7+ ingredients and Guinness on tap, all paying separately. We also called everyone we knew and tried to get them to come in, too. Before the end of the night, we had 15 people in there running Frizzy into a sweaty fury. We all left and yelled to him ‘see you next week, this is a fun bar!” while not leaving him a dime.

Obviously, this story would be perfect if poetic justice prevailed and he came in on that next karaoke Sunday and started tipping, but that is not what happened. Instead, we didn’t see Frizzy the next week. We saw Frizzy and his friends. This went back and forth for a month, and then it fizzled, or in this case, frizzled out.

What did everyone, including Frizzy, learn?

Never underestimate a redneck.
Always tip those who serve you.

What did you learn?

I (and believe me, there are more of us out there than you think) don’t want to hear your version of “Insert Song Here”. Reason number 17 that American Idol isn’t on at our house.

*One winter we went to a movie with loads of beer bottles in our pockets. We saw that movie where Al Pacino is the devil and owns a law firm, I can’t think of the name of it right now. Anyway, we sat in the back and one of us kicked over an empty and it rolled all the way to the front of the theater. I swear it took a full 2 minutes to finally stop. Oh yeah! The movie was The Devil’s Advocate. What was that idiot-sounding guy that was the main character?

Fat Cubs Eat Iron Tires

When I got down to Wrigley, my boss called to tell me that he wouldn't be there for another 45 minutes. Since he had my ticket I went to this Goose Island bar that had tasty beers. Not long after my first sip a strong poop urge hit me (despite my full poop earlier in my hotel that morning) so I high-tailed it to the bathroom - which was upstairs. I got in the stall, got my pants down and blabooberooblaaa! Horrible. The guy next to me started laughing, as well as I did. But then the smell got me and I started gagging. I pulled my shirt up around my nose, but that was no use: it was really bad. The night before, I drank nothing but Beck's and Fat Tire, and at the (Iron Maiden) show I consumed a bunch of cheap drafts, hot dogs, and pizza. Then we went to Steak ‘n Shake and I ate a triple steak burger, bowl (not a cup) of chilli, onion rings, fries, a large chocolate shake and a large coke. Ignoring the booze, hot dogs and pizza, Steak ‘n Shake alone added up to 3032 calories. So this poop is really, really bad. And then the guy next to me lets out a little cry and starts gagging too. Now I start laughing again because his little cry was hilarious. But then I start gagging because I am breathing so much "air" in. So he gets out really quick and then I get down to the serious business of getting this cheeseburger-chilli-onion ring-pizza-shake-hot dog-German beer-Fat Tire-poop out of me. I leave the stall, wash up and get out as fast as I can before someone else comes in. I walk around upstairs for a while and act like I am looking for someone just to air out whatever has permeated my clothes.

Now I am back at the bar enjoying my beer and this guys sits down a couple of seats down from me about 3 minutes after I sat back down, and he says to the bartender, "Someone must have shit all over one of the stalls, you can't even go in there to pee." Since I had asked the hotty bartender where the pisser was 10 minutes earlier, she looks directly at me and asks me if it was bad in there, and I say, "Yeah, it is not good." And the guys says, "Not good!? You can't even go in there; I peed next door like everyone else is doing!" Then a barback shows up and is complaining to the bartender that he has to go clean up the men's bathroom because someone shit all over. Of course, I didn't shit all over, it was just that bad. I finished the beer and left, the bartender wouldn't even look at me, let alone get me another beer. Anyway, that happened.

Guess What We Don't Want...

...BUT THEN THEY WENT AND TOTALLY REDEEMED THEMSELVES!


Seriously though...

I am compelled to write about this because last week I witnessed something amazing. My wife and I went to some friends of ours house to help her with their twin 2-year old girls since mommy is recovering from ankle surgery. We were there about 2 hours, and during this time I watched the twins at the “terrible two stage” not be terrible at all. Sure one of them fell into a cabinet and got a bump on her noggin, but that is not what struck us. The girls were unbelievably well behaved, they spoke and understood what we were saying, and they played on their own, peacefully. We stayed for feeding time and what do you think that they ate? Mac and cheese? Ravioli? Nuked chicken parts? No, they had salads with actual vegetables. Then they had organic chicken and some cheese wrapped in a soft tortilla. I am not advocating organic, and there certainly isn't anything wrong with organic, its just that with the added cost I would feel the need to buy rot gut bourbon instead of Maker's. Getting back on subject: The kids had raisins for dessert. Fucking raisins! No twinkies, no cookies, just the raisins. And here is the neat part: They get really excited at the mere prospect of raisins! Our friend explained that they have never eaten surgery treats, but the nice lady at the bank gave them some once. What did the girls do? They looked at the foil wrappers and eventually stomped on them because they didn’t know what they were and weren’t fun to play with. The girls aren’t given sugar for a good reason: at that age sugar is like crack, which probably plays a part in their wonderful behavior. Besides, they can eat all they sugar they want when they are 10. Next, mommy brushed their teeth, complete with the girl’s cooperation with them making different noises and subsequently different ‘mouth manipulation’ that allowed mommy to brush all the different teeth. When that was over, they asked if they could be excused. Of course we were amazed because all my wife and I have ever seen is a madhouse of fits, crying, constant attention and want, want, want with some play mixed in here and there. Mommy then told us that if one of the girls does not get their way – she explains to them that all that crying will do is force mommy and daddy to leave the room; the outcome remains the same, except that they are left alone. Awesome. It almost made us want to have kids, but we aren’t going to, instead we are going to keep on drinking and retire early. Sorry Mom. Anyway, it was a cool and refreshing experience.

Un-Fucking-Believable

The dialogue you are about to read is true, not verbatim, but as close as I can recall. The names have not been changed because I didn’t need to protect anyone.

When I arrived at the gym at 11am on Monday I was shocked to see that the place was overrun with kids. First instinct was to cut and run, but I was already through the gate by the time I noticed. Actually, it was a pretty benign experience…until. Until, what I will call a “Center Of The Universe Syndrome” sufferer came into the weight room with his little friend.

I had just finished my 4th set on a bench and was sitting there, basically breathing and focusing in on Slayer on my ipod, when I noticed this kid (maybe a freshman) walk in and mill around, glancing in my direction and gesturing towards me while talking/complaining to his friend. I got up to get a drink from the fountain and had to walk past him. He stopped me and asked:

Mr. Center Of The Universe: “Hey, how many sets do you have left?”

So far - so good, that is good gym etiquette.

ME: “Three, but if you guys want to work in with me I…”

Mr. COTU: “Three!? Really!?”

Me: “…have no problem with letting you guys do that. My last set is a strip set. Yeah, three.”

It is considered good gym etiquette to offer another an opportunity to work in. I did.

Mr. COTU: “Three!?”

Oh fuck, I can‘t hold back. I know how this kid is, time to go deep.

Me: “How many sets are you guys wanting to do?”

Mr. COTU: “I don’t know, 5 or so.”

Me: “Well, I too will want to get in that many. Isn’t that weird?”

Mr COTU: How long will it take you!?”

Me: “OH! Well, Mr. Center Of The Universe, and I know your parents’ made you this way, so it’s not your fault, but you are going to have to wait. I would suggest that next time you either get here before me, or make arrangements with management that Mr. COTU needs to use whatever he wants, whenever he wants to use it.”

Mr. COTU: “Look, I was just asking.”

Me: “I know, and I told you. What was the Really!? and Three!? thing about? You asked and I told you. Got it? Most people do 5 or 6 sets, so why did you act like it was outlandish that I had three sets left? I know you are ultra important. Mommy and daddy have always said so, right? I am sure they pulled up as close as they could to the building when they dropped you off lest you had to walk more than 20 feet to get in here, right? You can wait or use the other one over there.”

Mr. COTU: “There is another one? Oh cool! Come on Kyle.”

Fuck Me. God help us all…

What will be arriving next week to my house, you ask?

This:



Muauahahaha!

Burn Victim Slain In Robbery Attempt At Suicide Prevention Safe House

Peoria, Arizona. Police arrested Jonathan Dean Fribs Friday for the murder of Zane Walters. Police said that on November 19th, at approximately 1:15 am, Fribs broke into Peoria County Mental Health Center. After he encountered Walters, he panicked and shot Walters in the face and neck with a small caliber handgun. He was pronounced dead yesterday after suffering for three weeks in Proctor Hospital’s intensive care unit. Readers may remember Walters when he caught fire three years ago while freebasing inside the Red Devil Turpentine warehouse where he worked. He sustained third-degree burns over 97% of his body and lost a hand, a leg, and an eye. Walters stayed in a rehabilitation center until he was released in August of last year. In September, Walters attempted suicide by crutching his way in front of one of his former employer’s trucks, but broke his back and pelvis instead. After that rehabilitation he was then was handed over to the Peoria County Mental Health Center on a suicide watch where he was then shot and killed by Fribs in the botched burglary.

It IS on the rise...

Objects In Your Man Day May Be Closer Than They Appear

I know I am crossing a line here...

Sound familiar?