You accidentally capitalize and punctuate the word verification in someone’s Blogger comments.
Archive for November 21st, 2005
After leaving the oh-so-shitty Baja Beach Club, ACWF and I ventured (and when I say “ventured”, I mean “Hauled our asses halfway across the state”)* to see “Harry Potter and the Whatever of Whatever”. It was okay. On a scale of Gigli to A Handjob While Watching the Simpson’s, I’d rate it Denver the Last Dinosaur. Does that make sense? No?
Here’s a good way to figure out if you should see this movie in the theater:
Don’t go see this movie in the theater.
It was interesting enough, but not exactly visually compelling like the other movies have been. It’s worth seeing if you’re into the whole Potter fan-club, but if you have a passing to waning interest, just say no.
*See? It’s this far!
This Friday ACWF, her coworker Kim, and I went to a crappy bar to meet one of their other coworkers for a happy hour. It turned out that ACWF’s coworker didn’t even tell us the name of the proper bar, so we were a little bit miffed.
Let me paint a picture for you about what type of place this bar is. Imagine the crappiest bar in your town. Now staff it with frat boys, and fill it with more frat boys. Hang bras from the rafters for ambience. That is the Baja Beach Club in Baltimore. Baja Beach Club is the shittiest bar in the city, nay, the state. Baja Beach Club is a terrible, terrible, terrible, shitty, terrible, awful, shitty, terrible, shitty bar. Baja Beach Club sucks.
First of all, we had to pay cover to get it. For the ladies it was 5 bucks, for me it was 5 bucks with a 1 dollar penis-surcharge tacked on. Awesome. So as soon as we walk in I go up to the bar to exploit their silly 25 cent bottle beer promotion.
“Four beers, please.”
“You got four people?”
“I have three.”
“You get three beers.”
So the troglodyte behind the bar serves us our three beers and I wait to get my quarter back while wondering whether these douchebags even deserve to be tipped a dollar. I decide that it’s not their fault that they ate paint chips as a baby, so I prepare to get a buck out of my wallet. The mentally deficient bartender puts my quarter down on the bar and walks away, pointing over his shoulder a la the Fonz while saying, “Thanks a lot buddy.” I guess he wanted me to tip him the quarter or something. I figured tipping a quarter would have been a bigger smack in the face then tipping nothing at all, plus I was pissed that I had to pay a dollar for having a penis, so I decided not to tip anything.
So we sat down and took in the wonderful frat boy white trash feeling of it all, wondering when the first fight would start between crainially slighted chimpanzee look-a-likes. The ladies each took a turn getting beer.
When it was my turn again I went up to the bar and bought 3 more beers. I was served by a new bartender (whose nametag would read “Mongo” if he would have been wearing one) and I once again wait for my quarter back, this time ready with a dollar to tip.
I look over my shoulder while I wait for the new beers before turning suddenly at the sound of something hitting the counter with a bang. I looked down at the counter to see the first bartender leaning over the shoulder of the second bartender. He lifts his hand off the quarter on the bar and points at my face and says, “That’s the fucker who wanted his quarter back last time.” Then he grabs my empties and slams them into the trash. If the bar hadn’t been so loud, I would have whipped out a five and said, “Damn, I was going to leave this for you, but I don’t tip whiny bitches.” Instead I just shrugged, took my beers, and walked back to the ladies to relate the story.
I don’t understand it. I mean, it was clear that they were dirty, stupid people, so they may have been using the quarters for laundry or something, but I really thought it was rude to leave the quarter as a tip. I guess when you’re a frat boy working at shitty Baja Beach Club with a sense of entitlement and a Napolean complex, you need to take your tips where you can get them. Really I think he was pissed because I showed up with two ladies. Two of about 20 ladies in a packed bar. Baja Beach Club is a sausage factory. And it sucks.
The worst part about this whole thing is that I love to tip. I regularly tip 20%, and I love it when I can tip even higher than that. I know the service industry is a tough industry to work, but being a little douchebag at your job isn’t going to get you the tips. I’m sorry that you decided to be a dumb piece of shit bartender (and give all bartenders a bad name because of it) that gets his jollies off of ogling women and wearing shirts that say, “We know how to handle our hoes” with a picture of a fire hose on it (I guess you skipped Spelling 101 for a kegger with your frat, because you would realize that your t-shirt is retarded) but it doesn’t mean that I’m going to give a shit about you when you die face down in a gutter drowning in a puddle of your own puke. Maybe then I’ll give you a quarter. Douche.
By the way, Baja Beach Club is a crappy shitty dirty stupid ugly boring lame dumb expensive bar and it sucks.
