We shall call it; 'Wayne Regretsky'

Junkies: A love hate relationship

So there I was, awaiting the onslaught of the footy aftermath, and the fantastical failure of a final it was, when I am approached by a small woman missing her two front teeth.

Alliteration aside, I am reminded once more that life, and everything in, around and associated with it... is simply ridiculous.

"One Beer please", squawks the little commission dwelling creature.

"That'll be six dollars thanks" I say, or something to that effect.

"Six dollars", she retorts; "but I only have four!"

(awkward silence)

It should be noted that the concept of capitalism, and our lovely system of trade requiring 'capital' to be exchanged for goods and services permits me to reject the goodwill of said junkie, who in offering me financial capital, has failed to see the underwhelming connotations behind her monetary offering.

"Yeah sorry, Becks is normally 3.50 a schooner but that's just for Happy Hour, which is every day from 4 till 8pm. But that finished about 45mins ago. Sorry."

"Oh, ok. But can I get a becks on happy hour?"

"Yeahhhh.... You see Happy hour runs from 4- 8pm. It's on every day so you have 28 hrs a week of cheap drinks. But I'm afraid now the price is six dollars"

"Well, do you mind if I borrow two dollars? Or I could just ask someone here for two dollars!"

"I really don't think its appropriate I'm sorry."

"Let me just ask someone to see if they have a spare two dollars"

"You know what, don't worry about it"

I oblidged.

Junkie :1

Salts:0

Now, in most cases the brutal nature of myself as a bartender would happily see the denying of alcohol to someone of this caliber as a small victory for society. However, the nature of said junkie, being in her 40s, perhaps slightly brain dead from years of drug an alcohol abuse, and missing her prized front chompers, struck a chord with me. Surrounded by heavy applications of eye liner, the lonely, vacant look in her eyes cried out for company... or was it meth?

Clearly in this instance, the decision to allow a discounted beer prevented little miss methadone from approaching the other customers in the venue. There was greater utilty in this measure as a preventative one. At least, she would only be able to afford one beer, and would be gone soon.
I think it began to look more along the lines of;

Junkie: 1

Salts: 1

I watched as she awkwardly tried to mingle with various social groups, staring at the ceiling and inspiring me to write about ridiculous things. Her return visits to the bar requesting water led us into extra time, and she returned to the fray still clutching the same initial beer yet to be consumed over the course of an hour. Then, while I engaged in other bar-like activities, she had disappeared. No longer seated atop the deep maroon ottoman she was perverting.

Junkie: 1

Salts: 2

Despite extra time, and a minor victory for society, I am certain that this game of cat and junkie will be repeated next week.

Day: Sunday
Time: 8:30 am
Location: chapel street
players: big issue seller, regular customer at RT's, party animal.

Its Sunday morning on chapel street, and as you may know this is an interesting time on the strip. Cafes are buzzing, tourists and families are feening for a good breaky and a ripper latte. Whilst many others are still feening from the night before.

Party animals that have had a ripper night are beginning the walk of shame. Having to conquer two flights of stairs, without tumbling down them. (Maybe revolver should do something about that.) and then trying to make it all the way to their abode without anyone sighting them.

RT’’s was pretty busy, families spanning across all of the tables. As per normal customers eating breakfast are observing party goers in discuss, but don’t dare say anything. Although this particular morning a party animal is racing, and takes it upon himself to mouth off to the peaceful man selling the big issue, a regular customer at RT’s has observed this occurring and takes matters into his own hands….


And belts the daylight out of the party animal. Why didn’t he just put his head down and made the walk of shame back to his abode, every one else has to.

Just a side note: the man who sells the big issue on chapel street is a absolute legend, please buy the magazine, it makes for a good coffee table mag.

And the Darwin award goes to...

Old mate from the U.K. over the weekend who ordered tequila slammers, grabbed the shots with his hands and picked up the salt with his mouth.

Next time how bout you just start spitting in peoples drinks cause it would save me the trouble of having to throw it out and buy a new one.

...as the dust settles

Bartending theory of Quantitative De-evolution

For those of you who are not familiar with Darwin awards, it is a simple concept whereby members of the human race can receive an unofficial award for an uncanny ability to destroy the validity of Darwin’s theory of evolution through Natural selection.

Darwin indirectly states, that members of a species compete in the game of life whereby only the strongest and smartest contenders are successful in the mating game. Hence, they are able to reproduce offspring of equal and greater potential in order to propagate the success and survival of the species for generations to come.

When we explore Bartending as a school of thought, one quickly learns that Darwin’s theory often falls way short of the mark, when numerous examples continue to prove that the broad cross section of humanity appears exempt from such evolution in any form.
Stay tuned...

Friday Night Nonsense

(Girl walks up to the bar)

Girl in her 20’s: Excuse me, do you have any tissues?

Bartender: Yeah, actually I do.

(Reaches behind the bar to produce a bunch of fresh tissues)

Girl in her 20’s: Awww thanks so much.

Bartender: Yeah don’t worry about.

(She blows her nose)

Girl: Sorry, do you think it would possible to get some drinks aswell.

Bartender (shaking head): No, we only have tissues I’m afraid.

Girl: Really?

(Contemplative pause)

Bartender: Yep.

The Beginning

"Bar vs. Wild."

The central theme of this thread purports the wild world outside as a vacuous entity, filled with moronic ape like imposters whom do not possess basic social skills nor can they grasp simple concepts of manners or courtesy.

Stay tuned for weekly updates from all sides of the equation. Those of DJ, Bussy and Bartender, as they sift through this gigantic influx of weekly occurances, to bring to you the very finest examples of customer's social retardation and developmental regression.

Salts Badge

Saturday night banter feat. Meathead Bogan

Bartender: Just waters for now mate

Customer: Yeah sure thing mate.

(2 waters and 10 mins later)

Bartender: How you going there?

Customer: Ah all good champ ...Was just talking about keys.

Bartender: Excuse me?

Customer: Ya’ know, keys. Like musical keys. Cause I study music at uni and today... Do you know that Limp Bizkit song; ‘Behind Blue eyes?’ (Starts to sing)

Bartender: (cutting off) Yer I know it... but I think that was a cover hey.

Customer: Yeah it was originally done by ‘The Who’.

Bartender: Sure

Customer: Well, it’s supposed to be played in like D key, but today I was mucking around and ended up playing it in C key... that was pretty tricky.

Bartender: Yer sweet dude.

(awkward silence)

S.B.