Suck a Bag of Dicks

I don’t know about you, but for me, January was one big suckfest. I’m deluding myself into believing that means I’ve gotten all the negative shit out of the way so the rest of the year will rock. Two days into February and I’m no longer so convinced.

As if the post-holiday blues aren’t bad enough, people are really going out of their way to be jerks. I know I’m not alone in this sentiment, and as one friend so eloquently put it, “they can all just go suck a bag of dicks.”

This is my first “season” in the hospitality industry in Key West, and I can’t believe how entitled people think they are just because they’re on the ordering side of the bar. Or, they’re just plain rude. I used to think my bartender friends had to be exaggerating those horror stories. Now I know.

At the dog-friendly bar where I work, a guy picked up a dog toy off the floor, tossed it onto the bar and said, “Here, go fetch my drink.” Believe it or not, I was so shocked that I did not throw that glass of red wine in his face. God I hate having regrets in my life.

I also can’t believe how pissy people get when they come into a WINE BAR and I tell them no, I do not have anything for their children to drink. Seriously.

What I really find hard to believe is that people from other countries as a rule do not read guidebooks before they come to the United States. When I travel, I research that country’s customs (which you will easily find on any respectable travel website or sightseeing guide) so I don’t seem like a big jerk when I don’t tip on my $50 tab.

But hey, that’s just me.

Or you go into a bar during season and get ignored pretty much because you’re a local. I know you remember my face, because I sit at your bar during the off-season, and yeah, I’m the one tipping you. But that’s cool because there are plenty of other bars where I can take my business.

And you want to get bitchy with me because you don’t get your drink 30 seconds after you order? Well then, you and the three other bitches you walked in with should order beers instead of four different specialty cocktails from the drinks menu that I now hide during my shift. Drinks don’t make themselves, people.

This is why dry January did not materialize. How can I not drink when I’m dealing with so much attitude? Unfortunately it also led to a very sad realization: vodka is not my friend. I don’t know why vodka hates me because I love vodka so very much. I’m going to really miss those dirty martinis with garlic-stuffed olives at Michaels. But, I (usually) like to remember what I’ve done the night before, or walk home in a straight line after two drinks. Thank you red wine for being that kind of friend.

I was also quite disappointed to discover that apparently jaywalkers do not read my column, because they are still a major source of my stress, and the primary reason I go for days without getting in my car, no matter how badly I need groceries. (Eggs, wine and a giant box of cat litter just don’t get along in one bike basket, no matter how convenient Fausto’s is.)

And trust me, no one is inclined to save those pricks from themselves. This month as a little experiment I’ve jaywalked like four times in plain view of the police and they barely glanced my way (I did not do this in front of any moving vehicles). Perhaps someone in law enforcement might want to check out the KWTN blog, because I am not the only one gunning my engine and waiting for someone to just dare me to teach them a lesson.

Besides the major inconvenience of a car repair, are there any consequences for quickly opening your car door when someone on a rental scooter attempts to illegally pass you while waiting at a red light?

If I rear-end one of the cars that decides to just randomly stop where there is no stop sign or light in order to let another car turn in front of them, who gets the ticket? I may be willing to accrue a few points on my license to demonstrate that sometimes politeness does not pay.

One last thorn in my side: the new Netbook I bought in January that utilizes WordPad. WTF? In this day and age, I shouldn’t have to spend a freaking hour trying to locate spellcheck.

. Well, you know that’s not the last thorn in my side, but after reliving my month of hell, I need a drink. Do you hear that? Earthquake Zin is calling my name.

By bitchinparadise

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