Lesbian Night

I was supposed to stop in for 2 and only 2 beers last night.

About 7 beers later I decided that I had enough.

It was lesbian night at 1762. I didn't get the memo. Its not like I mind or anything. And I am certainly not a hater. As a matter of fact I am very fond of Zu who likes the chocha as much as I do. Still, if I had known, I would have probably just stayed home. I don't know if that crowd resents having straights coming in on gay night. I think I will discuss the proper etiquette with Zu the next time I see her.

Shelley was tending. She hasn't had a shot in 2 days. In our world that's a major accomplishment. She seemed a little stiff early on, but did loosen up after a glass or three of Pinot.

Ellie was hanging out, without Hector, who is working nights. The Met Fan was feeling no pain, in spite of his teams late season meltdown.

I have to say that we had a freaking excellent time. We were singing, dancing, drinking. The Met Fan surprised all of us with his knowledge of song lyrics and belted out the words to nearly every song the jukebox threw at him.

Ellie danced on her aching knee, which I presume ached a lot less after several helpings of "mas fina cerveza".

I decided to sample a new Belgian brew called Delirium. You can't go wrong with Belgian beer. I never sipped one that I disliked and this one did not disappoint. Terrific full taste to it. As an added bonus, it packs a wallop with its 8.5% alcohol by volume. I'm not really sure what that "by volume" stuff means. My only major criticism was the $8 price tag carried by each bottle, and it is for that reason that only 1 of the 7 that I drank was of this variety. The rest of them were Brooklyn Browns on tap. Could have been a little colder but Shelley did her best with a fresh chilled glass for each one.
The Brooklyn Browns are fairly potent in their own right, weighing in at @ 6% ABV.

The whole vibe to the bar was purely electric. Every song felt great. The company was a blast. We were all lesbians at 1762 last night!

The Night Tom Died

On a spring night, that was not all that memorable for any other reason, one of the patrons at 1762 left the bar to walk 150 feet to his front door. He never made it.

I didn't know Tom and never had the occasion to talk with him. We would say hello, but the conversation never ventured beyond that point. Don't know what he did for a living, don't know anything about his family, the car he drove, not anything more than his first name, and that he drank tap beer. Bud, I believe, but even of that I am unsure.

Tom was quieter than the average 1762er. He was a tall man in his 50's, wore thin black framed glasses, and had a shock of very gray hair that appeared to have a mind of its own. I imagine that his selection of pubs had a lot to do with the geographic location, which as I mentioned earlier was a scant 150 feet from his front door.

As a drinker, think of the implications of that. You never have to drive drunk. Never risk a DWI, never god-forbid kill innocents, or yourself for that matter, as a result of an impaired state behind the wheel. This set up for Tom was nearly foolproof. Nearly I say, because on this night Tom was not to be spared, not to be saved by the "perk" of having a watering hole across the street from his home.

On the night he died, Tom drank alone, and I am sorry for that. Croc was tending, and Shelley and I were drinking. Croc, Shelly and I huddled in a group at the end of the bar closest to the front door. We were playing bar dice for much of the night, while Tom stayed at the other end of the bar. It never occurred to me to ask Tom to play along with us. I am sorry for that as well. I can imagine now how he may have felt, alone. Upon reflection he appeared as almost a ghostly figure as his gray hair shimmered in the dim light of the bar. He had less than an hour to live at this point.

As the time of his death drew closer, Tom drank a couple of pints of tap beer. He looked lost in his own thoughts, even a little confused at some point. I learned later that this date of his death, was in fact also the date of his birth. Maybe that was the reason for his puzzled countenance as he watched us from from his end of the bar. This was Tom's birthday. And he was drinking alone. No one to talk to, no one to share his day with. Just the three of us, and we acted like he wasn't even there. Of course, he never would be again.

When it was time for him to go, he walked down to "our" end of the bar and said to Shelley in a melancholy, and very child-like way, "It's my birthday. Can I have a birthday kiss." Shelley gave him a hug and a kiss and we all wished him a happy birthday, though we knew it had been anything but for Tom. Just how unhappy, we wouldn't find out about until the next morning.

Shelley called me the next day, and said, "Tom's dead." It did take a second to process this information, my brain struggling to escape a wicked hangover. Then it was like a kick in the gut. Tom left us, safely made it across the street and walked up the driveway to his front steps. Popular opinion is that when he reached the stairs to the front door he fell backwards and hit his head. The blow killed him.

We don't know if he lived for awhile after falling, but the visualization of this man lying on the floor, his life force bleeding from him with every beat of his heart disturbs me. While we sat and laughed and joked and rolled the dice, there was a man who needed help just a few feet away.

For what it's worth, if I could go back, Tom would have been rolling dice with us and laughing and joking. People like to say that when it's your time to go, it's your time to go. If this was in fact Tom's time to go, I wish we would have made him feel more like one of us, less like an outsider, celebrated his life with him if only for those couple of hours that he sat alone. His last hours, so alone.

Winky

Went by 1762 to watch the Met game tonight. When I walked in Mets were up 7-2 on Washington in the 5th. Bottom of the fifth Washington goes up 8-7 and never looks back. Mets lost 9-8. Why do they always find a way to choke down the stretch?

The dart team had an early season bye tonight and were hanging around practicing. This is a serious group. They all have fancy darts that they carry in fancier cases. I think the darts do everything but throw themselves. I think that Gin's set even plays MP3's. Oh, check out her shoes next time you see her. You'll see why.

Lily was hanging around for a bit but bailed out kinda early. Apparently she had an appointment for a foot massage at home. No wonder why she has been in such a good mood. It's all that pampering she is getting at home.

Filsy popped in. Haven't seen him in a while. He brought in a purple Yankee banner suitable for framing for The Owner, who as most of you know is somewhat of a fanatic about his baseball team. I don't think he noticed that it was purple.

Let's get back to where I came in. I took one look at Shelley, who for the rest of this post will be known as Winky, and immediately noticed that her left eye was two sizes too small. It was a lot puffy and a little red. I thought that maybe she got popped by an angry 1762'er.

Winky claims that the damaged optical apparatus was the result of a traumatic cosmetic accident. Using a freshly sharpened eyeliner pencil, Winky attempted to draw those "beauty rings" around her eyes.

The pencil was too sharp, a little sharper than Winky, and she managed to snap the point of it off in her eye. The point floated around in her eye socket for some time before she was finally able to remove it. I think she washed it out with some topshelf booze. Don't tell The Owner. She is not wearing any eye makeup at the time of this post. While attempting to beautify herself she instead disfigures herself. Ah, the irony!

I found out about some upcoming parties and will be sure to post details as I get them. Halloween, Thanksgiving, etc. Yep. It's that time of year again.

Good crowd tonight. Always liked Tuesday nights here.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...

As I arrived last night Candy was leaving. Always nice to see her. She hands down wins "Best Smile at the Bar" award. We chit-chatted for a minute or two outside 1762. She had words of encouragement regarding this blog and also a couple of pearls of wisdom.

Once I went inside I saw Gin, who was covering for Shelly, and only two other patrons. One was Pregnant Lily, who as you may remember, both bartended and managed 1762 in the not-so-distant past. And her friend Peppermint Patti who I had met only once before, on her 30th birthday, which she chose to at least partially celebrate at 1762.

Apparently, Peppermint is Jewish and had celebrated the New Year the night before with her family. A touch of religious conversation started up about the absolution of sins to get into heaven. She tells us how she only has to apologize for her sins once a year and it is done by reciting a catch-all religious writing. The writing includes sins that have been committed "willingly and unwillingly". Well that's enough. You pretty much have all bases covered with that.

The Catholic version involves weekly visits to church to tell a priest your sins for the week. He gives you a penance. Could be 4 Our Fathers, 12 Hail Mary's, etc. Not so bad until you consider that the Catholic way involves verbalizing to the priest the actual sins committed. So they can go something like the following:

Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been (length of time) since my last confession. I blah blah blah'd my best friends girl. I blah blah blah'd an 8-ball while waiting outside my kids school.

I think that it would be interesting to explore here what a couple of popular culture figure's confessions might be.

• "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been 5 years since my last confession. I know that is a long time but I've been kinda busy. I have sacrificed the lives of American soldiers in the name of a War on Terrorism. I played upon the vulnerable state of the American public's psyche following the 9/11 attacks. I have entrenched my country in a war that should have ended long ago, if ever entered at all. America's interests are purely Imperialistic, as we seek to spread our influence to the farthest reaches of the globe, in a quest to expand our own economic profits at the cost of the lives of those that are weaker, poorer, and not as important as me and my constituents. I have allowed the death of men, women, and children to occur so that the elitists of the United States can further secure their seats of power." - President Bush

• "I have disgraced the sport that has made me a handsome living. I have cheated and diminished the integrity of the sport of professional football. I have unwittingly told every child that puts on pads in a Pop Warner league that your parents and coaches have been lying to you. Winning, is in fact, everything. It is not about sportsmanship. It is about cheating your way to the top to secure your legacy in the NFL." - Bill Belichick , head coach of the New England Patriots

As the night moved on Gin found that she had a nice little crowd brewing. Some new faces. Dino and his brother hung around for awhile. Played some much appreciated classic rock. Beats that screamo shit I endured here last week.

Chucky dropped in after work. We had a good chat on kids and growing as men as we go through the process that is fatherhood. He sounds like a great Dad, involved and tuned in to his child. I recommend that any new fathers at 1762 spend some time with Chucky and get some real insight into what it means to be a Father.

The Owner came by. He was in an upbeat state of mind. New bartender is working out. Staffing issues under control. Full bar at 2AM. Nice.

Finally, as a point of interest, Gin picked up Friday nights. Nice kid, get down and see her.

"Voting with my feet"

Entered via back door. Great crowd present. Saw Candy, Reuben, Father L and Son R, Shelly behind the bar, the country music couple, Cowboy E and his gal, but mostly I was happy to see Timmy. Looked like he had a good load on.

AC still broke. Over 2 weeks now. The part to fix it is still sitting behind the bar. Fuck that. I exited via front door without saying hello to anyone.

My house is cool and I have some premium beer on ice. So fuck it. I'm drinking at home.

Short Stay

I ended up stopping in last night after all. Shelly was working, breaking in a new bartender. Nice kid. Familiar with1762 and its characters since she plays for the dart team.

Despite the broken AC, the temp inside the bar was comfortable. Both doors were open, fans a-blowin'. Lots of blow[in] going on from the looks of the runny noses and white residue in the dried mucus. Whatever. Not my problem.

The bright spot, at least for me, was having a perfect Big Buck Hunter Pro game. I nailed all 45 bighorn's and amassed a score of over 28K points. Hooray for me. I have noticed that one of the younger patrons, goes by "ANT", has been challenging my dominance of the game. I will have to stay sharp. I have definitely noticed that I am wasting $$$ if I play the game after more than 2-3 drinks. Definitely have the best reaction time when sober.

Here's a challenge! Beat me ANT! 15 perfect sites. Perfect streak to match...Hehehe I am such a kid.

In other gaming action, the golf game has been replaced by a bowling game. Shelly had something like 19 of the top 20 scores, and was second only to "ERL". I'll let you figure out who that is. Anyway, four of us played against each other. Me, The Met Fan, Shelly, and our other resident biker, Jon. I had played this game once before. Not wild about the controls, or lack of it. Jon and Met had never played before. And obviously, Shelly has some experience. When all was said and done, Jon took the high score on his maiden voyage, which apparently pissed Shelly off. Definitely a good 1762 moment. And it was appreciated as they have been far and few between.

The Limpin' Pimp made an appearance. He did his usual, let me buy the bar a drink thing. I declined because this guy is probably the littlest weasel and biggest scumbag I have met at 1762. Eff him. And his fucking money. And his fucking heroin. And his fucking arsenal of guns. And his fucking limp on his gangrene infested hoof. Wikipedia sleaze and there he is. Ready to hook your sister/daughter on junk for his own perversions. The story of Herrin, one of his heroin slaves from the Far East, I will save for another day.

Whilst at the bar I conversed with Croc via text message. Apparently he has been fired.

So, with the appearance of Gin, the new bartender, we can reduce the total number of hours per week for Shelly. The hour total stood at a whopping 95 hours. Gin is taking Tuesday day shift. So now Shelly is left with a paltry 87 hours per week, and still no days off.

Staffing issues!

I had no intentions of hanging out at 1762 last night. I went to a car show in Bellmore with family and friends. We had heroes and a huge cooler of cold ones. It was a good time with lots of great cars if you are into that sort of thing.

I stopped by 1762 for a quick minute on way home. I didn't even have a drink. The day tour bartender was closing up. She was there all day and night and was very tired. Apparently her relief never showed up. The place was like an oven. STILL NO FREAKING AC. As a matter of fact it was so hot in there, that even if the bar wasn't closing near midnight, I wouldn't have stayed.

Apparently there are some serious staffing issues over there. While some recent losses are not the fault of management, if you treat employees poorly long enough and subject them to bar temps of 90+ they will not want to work for you anymore.

Recent Bartender Losses:

Kat - Hope all is well in your real job!

Jessie

Pregnant Lily

and, yes, soon to be Croc...his last day is Wednesday.

OK, let's do the math here...

There are 14 shifts per week to cover, 2 each day.

Fri, Sat, and Sun day tours are covered.

The bartenders covering those shifts all have other jobs, so they cannot cover any other shifts.

That leaves 11 shifts per week that need to be covered by the remaining bartenders...But wait...there is only one bartender remaining once Croc rides off into the sunset on his Kangaroo.

So...
Shelly's new schedule is as follows:
Monday 11AM-4AM
Tuesday 11AM-4AM
Wednesday 11AM-4AM
Thursday 11AM-4AM
Friday 7PM-4AM
Saturday 7PM-4AM
Sunday 7PM-4AM

That is a WHOPPING 95 hour work week!!!
But wait, with shift pay she will make $440.
That's $4.63 per hour at a job with no days off, no benefits, and no future.

Just thought of another stat to consider...of the 95 hours worked per week, how many of those hours are low or even non-tipping hours? The implications are making my head ache.

I offer some advice here:
Shelley - get a freaking raise or move on!
Owner - give her a raise and free booze and be nice to her!

Happy Labor Day

Here we are, the last officially unofficial day of summer.

Thank God...As far as 1762 is concerned anyway. AC has been broken more often than not it seems. Shelly keeps showing me the part behind the bar for the AC unit. Hasn't moved in days.

Some quick catch-up:

Croc, the Aussie legend, may be shuffling off to Buffalo. It seems that he misses the big ass lasses from up north! Eff the BILLS!

Shelly got an unexpected visitor on Sunday night...I'll let her tell you about it!

And, OK, I have to come clean here...I stopped in Friday night...Dino was there...UGH...I hate to do this...

I talked to him.

I don't know why. I still find the assault on Croc deplorable. Ugh.

The posts have been fewer and will continue as such since the new semester has started. I have a pretty full workload ahead. Taking 16 credits. I will probably need to utilize the brain cells I have left. College textbooks are hard enough to get through without a hangover. So things being what they are, my visits will probably be reduced to 1 or 2 per week, which is a drastic reduction from 7 or more per week.