During the course of my life, i’ve been thrown out of a few bars. Not physically tossed out on the sidewalk by a large man, with biceps bigger than my head, who is wearing sunglasses at night… just asked to leave for a variety of reasons.
Most of this occurred during my university years, but there have also been a few “incidents” while at technical conferences. Generally the Dawg Boyz have been my partners in debauchery for those…
Last night, however, it was the way we were asked to leave a local establishment that cracked me up…
One of my nephews* was in town on business, and we met in a local Mexican restaurant/hole-in-the-wall for a Bad Juan. Or two. He was accompanied by some of his mates, and we ended up meeting up with a few more folks they knew at the restaurant.
Somewhere around 9:30pm was “last call” at the restaurant, so we wandered across the street to a local dive. The kind of place that has no windows, plywood doors on the restroom stalls and an old fire truck parked out front. We got silly. We made friends with some of the “regulars”. It was just big ol’ goofy fun…
Having no concept of the time, it came as a bit of a shock to me when the cranky barmaid – a tiny, tired looking platinum blonde, leathered from too much time spent in the tanning booth – yelled “Last call!” But we were all done drinking, and mostly just yakking and telling tales. It was perhaps about ten minutes later that the cranky barmaid came by and yanked the half-empty beer bottle out of my hand.
In addition to our group of six, there were about another half-dozen regulars still hanging around. Finally reaching her limit she stood in the middle of the room and screamed “GET THE FUCK OUT! WE’RE CLOSED!”
* Not of the Trailer Park, but the son of my ex-husband’s oldest sister. A very sharp product engineer, i’ve known this kid for almost all 30 years of his life, and absolutely adore him. Was delighted when he sent me a text saying he was in town on business, and wanted to meet up for a beer…
Trailer Park Refugee 
You should have invited every single patron in that bar over to The Park, where I understand this IS no last call! Nothing is worse than a lost opportunity.
i got home at 3am, and still had to be at work by 9am. made it by 8:30, but i didn’t look so hot… this weeknight things is for the young.
I do have a sneaking admiration for her style. But then I am a curmudgeon – – – 🙂
i had tremendous admiration for her style. suspect if we hadn’t followed orders? the shotgun was gonna come out from behind the bar!
bless her heart, it’s not her fault the peroxide and uv rays always reach maximum burnout stage late at night, sugar! xoxoxoxo
(i do like the way you all party!)
if i were trying to close up and go home? i’d have been pretty cranky, too! as for the ‘party’? it’s a marathon not a sprint. i’m in for the long haul…
I tell ya, I have great sympathy for working gals in jobs like that. Since we hang out at our local McDonald’s so much with the grandkids (boy, do I walk on the wild side) we’ve gotten to know the Hispanic gal who manages the place. She has four kids and works her ass off, and recently McDonald’s went to 24 hr. drive-thru. She confided that she hates it when the bars close because the bar patrons come by and hassle her and her crew. Maybe she could take a cue from your barmaid!
Usually, i’m right there with you… it’s a personal quest of mine to brighten the day of deserving folks in the service industry whenever i can… working at a 24-hour McD’s? hell on earth!
I worked at a rodeo bar in Lewisville, Texas for a while. Every night at closing time our tiny leathery brunette manager would stand on the bar and yell something like, “You don’t have to go home but you’ve got to get the fuck out of here!” It usually started a fight.
why do i think we were separated at birth? and since we’ve never met, how the hell did we give birth to Rassles?
First of all, if you put those two things together, ewww. And maybe we’re extra-dimensional, and the Rassles thing happened on a higher plane.
Hey, baby. You know i’m from a trailer park! That’s how we roll… i’ll go with the higher plane thing. although it would have been far more fun in person.
Oh my. I can’t imagine a bar maid saying anything like that around here due to the fact we are living on the buckle of the bible belt. But I can certainly understand her desire to put some momentum into the inertia. . .
Personally, I have never been thrown out of a bar, or a restaurant, or anywhere. Well, except a certain blog. . .
thrown out of a blog…. bet that’s a tale and a half
same one as me… ‘cept i kinda walked out. hard to breathe in there for me…
We’re a bit ‘bible belty’ in these parts, too. But we are also in range of Redneck Central, so there are dive bars on every corner…
I always enjoy a subtle and tactful bar maid.
i sure as hell wouldn’t want her job. but i was pretty sure the guns were gonna come out if we didn’t get scooting soon…
Why do I get the feeling you’d get thrown out of Hell for unruly behavior?
Singing in bar bands for over 20 years has made extremely sympathetic to the bar staff.
we weren’t being unruly… no one was screaming, yelling or causing trouble. or projectile vomiting, falling down, groping other patrons… it was just her night to go home on time!
That’s when you tell her you’ll lock up when you leave and mention a cash bonus. I’ve helped clear bars at last call, of course i didn’t work there i just wanted everyone gone so i could drink and do my drugs in peace. It’s always fun to stand behind the bar as the sun rises and pour your own beer.
i’m looking forward to hanging out in your local bar with you one of these days….
I used to be a bar attendant in my early twenties. In fact that’s how I met my ex-husband. I seem to remember screaming “get the fuck out, I’m closing up” to him too. but I was long past my barmaiding days then….
*giggle* i think i’ve said that under similar circumstances, now that you mention it!
You naughty lady! I’m impressed.
In all my 43 years I’ve never been chucked out of a bar. I’ve been refused entry many times, but usually I’ve been able to talk my way out of eviction.
I was asked to leave a restaurant in Zurich following an incident involving a plate of jumbalaya, a fur coat and my being extremely drunk, but only when I lit up a fag to celebrate.
Happy days.
oh, Jon, i’m laughing at your Zurich story! and not just because i spent last night dancing with drag queens…. you see, “light up a fag” means something entirely different in my world! the fur coat probably deserved it, anyway…
Sounds like how a friend of mine in college dealt with people in her apartment well after the party had ended, better known as a game called “I don’t know you, get the fuck out.”
i haven’t played that version of the game, but i have played the “ok, kiddies, i’m going to bed – ALONE. party’s over!” version.
…ah, the poise and grace of the service industry!
she was pretty classy, in hindsight… as she was yanking the partially empty beer bottle from my hands, she said “sorry, honey, closing time!”
I’m thinking of sending a link to this post to my bar-tending daughter. She needs some kind of incentive to think up a vocational pursuit so that she doesn’t, in the long run, wind up like the doll described in your post.
i used to think i wanted to tend bar after i retire. the more i thinmk about that? the less appealing it seems. it’s a lot of work. and people suck. bar people? suck harder….