A special place for "special" people.

Dear Seattle bar crowd,

WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?


It's like functioning at a bar is so last year.  It's a safe bet that 75% of you that walk through my bar's door are suffering from extreme brain deterioration.

I've had some interesting encounters in the past couple months, a majority of them coming from the endlessly annoying bridge and tunnel crowd that terrorizes Captiol Hill every Friday and Saturday night.  You have no idea how often I hear the word 'hipster' spat out of the mouths of preppy assholes wearing the latest contemporary fashions from Lane Bryant or Aeropostal.  Here's a few incidents I've had to experience front row, making me fear for the future advancements of mankind:

Fucktard #1: (while standing in front of the taps)  What kind of beers do you have?
Me:  We have draft and bottles and cans and your standing right in front of the taps if you'd like to take a look.
Fucktard #1: What are 'taps'?
Me:  Sigh. Can I see your ID.

Fucktard #2:  I want something sweet and like really really boozey that doesn't taste like alcohol and I need to get fucked up really fast.
Me:  Sounds like someone's ready to make poor decisions!

Fucktard #3: Can I get a Ran-yay?
Me:  I don't know what that is. (Secret time: I DO know what that is but I refuse to allow people to call Rainier 'Ran-yay'.... because it's stupid)
Fucktard #3:  Oh, Rainier.  We call it Ran-yay because it's funny to say it like that.
Me:  No. No it's not.

I just don't get it.  I've also dealt with a girl taking my silver shaker tins off my bar mat to drink beer out of.  We had someone leave a pair of shit filled boxers on the smoking patio ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON.  IN BROAD DAYLIGHT.  I have guys hit on me and then leave me 50 cent tips.  I have people that tip me like shit, come back and ask for a shot "make it strong!" and I want to jump over the bar and strangle them with their stupid sequin covered scarves.  I have people whose cards decline and then all of their friends cards decline and they have to beg someone they just met to pay their tab, but look at me because it's my fault they had to use the remaining balance in their bank accounts to make a payment on their financed tit jobs.  I have people drink almost their entire beer and tell me they don't like it, and I laugh because how could they be serious BUT THEY ARE.  I have tables of large ladies that sing 90's love songs at the top of their lungs and expect everyone to think they're the coolest.  I have people that try to yell at me for cutting them off when they can't even stand up without holding on to their equally drunk slut bag friend.

UGH!
And then I remember that really do love my job.  I love my workplace, I love my coworkers and bosses and you know what?  If all of these sad little idiots didn't come in, I wouldn't be entertained.  We wouldn't have all these stories to share over beers after the doors are locked at night.  So thank you, fucktards of the bar scene, even though a lot of times you stiff me, I can go to sleep at night knowing I'll never be an embarrassment like you.