Well we got through Memorial Weekend, the official summer kickoff holiday, and from where I stood, it was huge. Now granted, I have no highly sophisticated or deeply scientific means of coming to this conclusion. Like the town of Ocean City for example who uses the number of local toilet flushes as the barometer to gauge how many visitors came to our quaint little beach town. No, I’m serious. I’m sure there’s a formula they use that makes the math work out some how. All I’m saying is that just in my house alone, I have 2 kids at different stages of potty training, a pregnant wife, and I have ulcerative colitis. So if that is their only means of census taking, there are some days that they must think I have 60 people at my address.
No, I used a much more primitive means, my untrained naked eye. I based my opinion on how many cars were on the road, how many people I physically could see, and how many buffoons were shouting incoherent demands, and monosyllabic grunts over the bar at me. And by my count, it was umm, a lot. Personally it was the best Memorial Weekend I’ve had in the past several years. This makes me really optimistic for a great summer. Even Mother Nature seemed to Midol up and give us a little break for the holiday weekend.
Being a bartender, I of course spent the weekend on the front lines witnessing the age old battle of three day weekend versus common sense. Take a guess which of the two remains undefeated. One of my dearest lifelong friends put it best to me a while back when he said that common sense has become like a superhero power now. I couldn’t possibly agree more. The phrase itself has become oxymoronic. There is nothing “common” about it. It’s about as common as having a box of Cheerios containing weapons-grade plutonium hand delivered to your breakfast table by a talking purple prairie dog wearing a fedora and riding a unicorn.
Now before I commence my observational assault on these folks and their silly behavior over the weekend, I’d like to first remind them why they were even here. Or at least why they had a three day weekend. Because I’m willing to wager that a tragically high percentage had no idea why they had a holiday. So let me remind you all so you at least know who to thank for your weekend of debauchery.
Memorial Day is an American holiday observed on the last Monday in May each year. It is a day to honor the men and women who have died while serving our country in all branches of the military. It was originally known as Decoration Day in the years following the Civil War and has officially been a federal holiday since 1971.
That being said, I think that as each of them gave their lives they were hoping it was for a loftier goal than for you to see how many “yaguh bawms” you could drink in one night followed by seeing how far you could piss from your balcony. I just wanted to make sure you all at least knew who to thank for your weekend. And by the way, for those of you who need a translation, which given my following I hope is most of you, that two word phrase in quotes was my phonetic spelling of the way Jaeger Bombs are ordered.
Like most holiday weekends at the beach, this one neither surprised nor disappointed. It didn’t take long at all to start identifying this year’s cast of characters in the bar. In fact, by Thursday night I had already identified the “really, really, really dumb guy.” I’d now like to recap my exchange with him for you as close to verbatim as I can. Let me set the stage. Around 10:30 P.M., a young couple approximately mid-20’s approach the bar and sit down. At this point in the evening we have door staff carding people as they enter. We’re still open as a restaurant, and there’s no age limit to my knowledge to order a crab cake. So as those who enter are carded and have proven to be over 21, they have a wrist band put on them as the designated color for that evening. This is to let those of us behind the bar know that you’ve been carded and to expedite the process and serve the less stupid people more efficiently. A seemingly simple concept to grasp. You show your ID, prove your age, get the wristband, approach the bar, show the wristband, order a drink. I’m pretty certain that all of my kids, with the exception of the one still napping in my wife’s uteran hammock until September could grasp this concept. Not this dumbass.
I greet them and take their drink order. They look young so I instinctively look at their wrists. I see that she has a band on and he does not. I ask him where his is and he replies; “I don’t know”. This is where the exchange just gets fun for me.
Me- “Did they card you at the door?”
DA- “Yeah.”
Me- “Did they put a wristband on you?’
DA- “Yeah”
Me- “Well where is it?”
DA- “I don’t know. I lost it”
Me- “So in the 15 steps between the front door and the bar you misplaced something that was strapped on to your wrist?”
DA- “I guess so.”
Me- “Do you understand why they put that band on you?”
DA- “Umm, cuz I was carded?”
Me- “Exactly. And do you think that information was for you or me?”
DA- Now irritated with me; “I don’t know.”
Me- “Can I see your ID please?”
DA- “Why do you need to see it, I already showed it up front?”
Me- Now irritated with him; “Do you want to get a drink?”
So reticently this moron showed me his ID with an attitude and ordered a vodka and Red Bull (anyone not see that order coming?) I thought our exchange couldn’t possibly get better, but it did.
DA- “Vodka and Red Bull.”
Me- “Do you have a vodka preference?”
DA- “What do you put in it?”
Me- “Uh, vodka and Red Bull.”
DA- “What kind of vodka?”
Me- “Your choice, that’s why I asked the question.”
DA- “What kind of vodka do you have?”
Me- “Counting the flavors I have about 85 of them. Do you have a favorite?”
DA- “Well what are they?”
Me- “I’ll start naming them off for you, and eventually I can probably name them all, but I promise you that at some point in the process at least one of us is going to get really irritated.”
Anyway, that’s just a partial sample of one interaction from the weekend. There were many other characters that I’ll be introducing you to in the coming weeks.
Thanks for playing along. Until next week, Syd Nichols
sydnichos@yahoo.com
