College Students Can't Tip

Not exactly breaking news, is it?

This doesn't apply to every college kid who comes into a bar, but when I go through credit card receipts at the end of the night and look at what people tipped, I'm always left a little wanting.

A lot wanting, actually.

You motherfuckers can't tip! Or don't know how to. Or refuse to.

Either way, I offer this tutorial on how to tip, specific to Athens. It's actually pretty simple. Keep in mind this is the bare minimum.

Cash Transactions:

1 beer = $1

It doesn't matter if the beer is .25 cents or $5. Tip ONE dollar. Or more, if you'd like. There's no ceiling for this, but there is a minimum.

1 Liquor drink = $1 - $2 dollars. Preferably $2.

Shots? For a round of 4 jagerbombs that go for $4.50 apiece, which would be an $18 dollar tab, $2-$3 dollars is acceptable. Please note the difference between acceptable and preferable.

Credit Cards:

Tip 20%. Nothing less. Bottom line.

This is about as simple as I can make it. If you order more complicated drinks such as martinis, mojitos, or any shit that requires more than one garnish, more than 3 ingredients or some kind of caramel or chocolate syrup in the glass, you better be prepared to cough up 3 or 4 bucks per drink, especially when we're slammed.

And the old rule continunes to remain true: Tip big on your first round and your bartender, if they're worth a shit, will remember you and make you a priority the rest of the night. Or, at least, they won't intentionally ignore you.

People will complain that they shouldn't have to tip on beer because all the bartender has to do is pop open a top and hand it to you. This is the opinion of the misinformed.

Before the bartender even had the chance to just "pop open the beer" for your sorry ass, they had to stock the cooler with multiple cases of beer. Fill up their wells with ice. Cut their fruit. Set out their barmats. Occasionally, restock their liquor. Wipe down the bartop. And then do it all again when their shift is over.

So cough up the money, motherfucker.

Sure, buying that beer is helping the owner of the bar, but as employees, we work off tips. Bartenders work strictly off tips, but doorguys do as well to an extent.

Some doorguys get paid by the hour + tips. Some doorguys get their "shift pay" plus tips. Some don't get anything but a percentage of the tips. But either way, we're getting a cut of that shit, and you better show us the money if you'd like to hang out for any length of time in my bar.

Shitty tippers and non tippers are quickly pointed out to us at the place I work at. There's a fuck-ton of college kids to usher inside the bar, so I could care less if I have to kick a few of you out for being a cheap little bitch.

And I do it all the fucking time.

There's no "hooking us up at the end of the night" or "getting us the next round". Don't promise us a "fat tip later" in the hopes that we'll forget. And especially don't pull the "I'll pretend to be putting money in the tip jar but then when the bartender turns around I'll not really drop it in".

We know your games. We know you're all cheap. So...if you don't have the money to tip, then you don't have the money to go out.

If you can't tip then keep your cheap ass at Bourbon Street and drink their watered down liquor for power hour and stay the fuck away from my bar.

Part 2

I check my statcounter a lot. Not as much these days, but I always go back and see who's linking me when I get a little spike in my online traffic. Tonight, I got home and saw I had a little spike and found I was quoted here. Jason Winders quotes me from time to time, and I always consider it pretty cool to have a guy from the paper naming me in his blog.

Part of what he had to say on what I had to say:

Interesting stuff. One part gossip, one part character assassination, one part consumer warning, I can see what drew my e-mailer’s attention to this post. It’s the kind of thing that makes for great across-the-bar chatter. But that’s all. It’s not a matter of delivering “all the news.” Far from. In fact, what she’s taking for fact, turns out, is only one man’s opinion. No matter how well-informed, spot-on and entertaining the report, this is still opinions from one guy who can take pop shots from an anonymous position.

He's refering to my post about Joseph Mills. First of all, I'm not one to decide what's newsworth and what isn't. That's the papers job. I only have a blog and I write in it about shit that happens downtown. It's pretty simple. Recently, there's been a lot of bad things happening to girls downtown, and I happen to know the guy who got arrested for some of those things.

It's difficult for me to effectively argue with anyone about how true the things I've said are because I'm anonymous. Unless I say my name is X and I work at X bar and I saw these things happen on X date, ultimately no one will take me seriously. But that's okay. The trade-off works for me.

Keeping that in mind, the things I wrote about are true. I know they're true because I watched them happen with my own eyes. In fact, actually there's a lot more to the story than I'm letting on to because to divulge any more information than I already have might compromise my anonymity and I'm not willing to do that.

To anyone who reads this blog on any regular basis, I can promise you this: I won't lie. I have no reason to. No one knows me and that's the way I'd like to keep it. That's also part of the reason that I don't have to lie.

I'm not accountable to anyone for the things I say, and I'd like to keep it that way. I'm a pretty decent person. I'm honest. I have nothing motivating me to embellish my stories. I don't make a dime from this blog.

Truth is always stranger than fiction, anyway.

But on another note, if you come downtown and do stupid shit and I see you, then I might write about you. I'll tell a story and some people will read it and think it's funny and ridiculous and sit around and tell their friends about this ridiculous story that the AthensDoorGuy wrote about. That's the risk anyone takes when they come downtown and get drunk and fight and puke and try to steal stuff, or worse...go around assaulting girls.

And allegedly, that's what Joseph Mills did.

He creeped people out. He picked his favorites from Allgood, Wild Wing, The Loft, Doc Cheys, Barcode, Locos and a number of other places and visited those places and sat there and stared at them.

He didn't drink. He didn't start fights. He didn't make a scene. But to a girl who's constantly surrounded by drunk guys hitting on them and throwing money their way in the hopes that they'll convince the hot bartender to go home with them, the silent guy sitting at the end of the bar by himself drinking his coke or sprite staring at her in silence for hours creeped her out more than any drunken frat boy could.

And apparently there were a few nights where staring just wasn't enough for him. He grabbed and groped and tried to kiss girls who weren't open to that behavior. And odds are, they were drunk. Guess who probably wasn't? Joseph. And to me, that's fucked up.

So I wrote about it. I told the truth. Are my stories really true? You decide.

Regardless of any of my opinions, his actions caught our attention - and apparently the police, too - and it eventually caught up to him and now he's facing a bunch of charges that he'll probably get convicted of.

And if he's convicted, then let that speak for itself. A jury of our peers deciding he's guilty is more than enough for me to take it as fact.

But if you ask my opinion, you can probably tell I already have my mind made up.

This is Funny

"Get out of the doorway!"

"I'm out of the doorway!"

Drunk kid continues to stand in the doorway and finds out why he should have not continued to stand in the doorway. Apparently, the doorman is fucked according to the drunk, but to me it looks like the drunk kid got the short end of the stick. Oh, if only drunks would listen...

Joseph Mills

As anyone who reads the paper knows, Joseph Mills has been arrested twice in the last few weeks for stalking and sexual battery.

He's been the suspect in the white van attacks, but now apparently has been cleared of those suspicions because he was busy assaulting other girls while the real van attacker was raping his victims.

Charming, huh?

Joseph is about 5"6, 160 lbs, and normally wears slacks and tucked in button up shirts - typically dark colored - and is usually alone. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen him regularly hanging out with anyone. I hate to name bars he hangs out in because there's nothing wrong with any of these places, but I feel a need to let people know where they might see him. As word has it, he's usually in Allgood or Wild Wing. Any place worth its salt has permanently banned him by this point, though.

Over the years, he's taken a liking to employees of certain establishments and goes out of his way to go see them while they're working. Interestingly enough, he figures out their work schedules and will come in when his object of affection is working. Usually it's the female bartenders or servers. And he'll sit there. And stare at you. For hours. And hours.

So fellow doorguys, it's a great idea not to share bartenders schedules with random dudes like Joseph who come around asking, because before you know it, you've got a weird little guy coming around all the time to bother the hell out of the girl behind the bar who's helping to make your money.

He's a creepy little motherfucker. If you ever talk to him, it'll take about 2 seconds of weird conversation before you'll think he's a creepy motherfucker, too. To make things even more strange, he doesn't drink. Never seen him take a sip of any kind of alcohol at all. Ever.

If it's possible to make things even more weird, word has it that he still lives with his mom and has no plans on moving out.

Ever.

Did I mention that he's 24?

I can't imagine what the hell was going through his head trying to get random girls into his car in the middle of the night after they've been drinking and they're walking home. On top of all of this, following them to their apartment and trying to come in under the guise of checking to see if they made it home okay would creep anyone out.

Trying to kiss random girls on the sidewalk? Very strange.

So you've been warned. Odds are, if he's not in jail I can't imagine him staying away from downtown. I personally haven't seen him in awhile, but my sources tell me he was downtown as recently as two weeks ago.

Please be careful.

Holidays

I don't know about anyone else, but one of the few redeeming factors about working downtown and dealing with drunk college kids during the holidays is the decorations that the city puts up all down Clayton Street.

Yea, I'm a cheesy motherfucker, but I like the lights.

Similarly, business is a little slower now that football season is practically over - we have no more home games in Athens this season - and the semester is nearly over. December is always a slow, slow month and that's perfectly fine with me.

Happy Holidays everyone.

Our (Alleged) Downtown Stalker Has a Face

This story appeared in the Athens-Banner Herald. His name is Joseph Mills, and he is (or was) a staple of downtown Athens to those of us "in the business". I don't have much time right now to write about him but there are several things you need to know about him.

1) I know him from working downtown.

2) I know girls who know him.

3) Based on #1 and #2, my personal opinion is that he is guilty as sin of the crimes that he's accused of.

When I have a little more time after the holidays, I'll share some of my personal experiences with Joseph.

If you are a girl and frequent downtown, I strongly advise you to avoid Joseph if you see him hanging around. He'll likely be alone.

Sorry to taint the holidays with a creepy post, but regardless, please try to have a great Thanksgiving anyway.

Rant

Here's the thing about working in a bar that pisses me off.

I'm being paid to stand here and check your IDs. It's part of my job and a legal necessity. I make sure you don't fight each other. I make sure you don't rip the place up. I make sure you don't block the doorways or smoke inside or carry your drinks outside. I make sure you file calmly inside, drink to your hearts content, pay your tab and tip a fair amount. I make sure you don't get too rowdy. I make sure you don't steal anything.

Bottom line, I make sure you don't do anything beyond the limits of common courtesy or decency that's expected at any other business establishment in the city, the state or even the entire country.

The part about this that pisses me off is the reaction I get from customers when I correct them when they do the things I've been specifically told not to let them do.

"You're carding me? I'm 26!" they'll say.

I stay quiet. I let it slide. Because I hear it every 5 fucking minutes, I simply don't have the energy to grab someone around the throat and take them aside to explain my position.

I want to say this: "You're questioning the entire purpose of my job? What the fuck is your problem? You came to me. Not the other way around. What's so tough about pulling out your wallet and showing me your goddamn drivers license? The effort you've spent trying to question the entire purpose of my existence at this bar at this particular moment in time will be much greater than simply taking your motherfucking ID out of your motherfucking pocket, you motherfucking cocksucker."

"I can't grab this girls ass? What the fuck?!" they'll say.

Where else in the world does one feel that it's acceptable to grab and touch random girls besides a bar or nightclub? Just because you're at a dimply lit establishment late at night overly imbibing a substance that significantly lowers your inhibition, does that suddenly mean that every girl within a 6 foot radius of you is simply dying for you to paw at her ass and boobs?

"What in the fuck, man? I can't smoke inside?" they'll scream.

"No dude. You can't. Sadly, I didn't write the laws, and odds are, you didn't call your county commissioner like I did back when they passed the ridiculous anti-smoking laws several years ago. It wasn't my decision and it wasn't yours. Quit giving me shit for not allowing you to break the law."

All of this to say, it isn't us, as doorguys, who are in the wrong here. We didn't force you to come out and suck down half a bottle of whiskey. It's you motherfucking drunken, coked up, bitching, whining, moaning and complaining cocksuckers who decided, of your own free will, to enter my workplace where I am paid to prohibit specific activities that you happen to occasionally engage in.

So don't give me shit for doing my goddamn job, you fucking frat boy shit stain.

Creepy

"Hey," Bill said to me as I came back behind the bar. "This girl over here is looking for you." He pointed towards the opposite end of the bar.

I peered around the corner, one of the few things I'd learned to do over the years. Look before you leap, especially when random girls come around the bar asking for you by name. Your real name, that is.

I immediately recognized her as a girl who came around a lot during last summer. She was always by herself, and was always, always beyond any level of drunkenness I get to on a nightly basis. If it was possible for a girl to creep me out, then this girl took the cake, hands down.

She normally would stagger up to the bar and yell my name. When I would come over to see what she needed, she would simply stare at me with a half drunken smile and then repeat my name over and over again. She never really needed anything, except for the fact that she wanted my attention.

When I grew tired of her game, especially when we were slammed, I started ignoring her. Of course, this wouldn't stop her from yelling my name and spending a large portion of the night staring at me from the other side of the bar. It was worse when I was at the door, because I didn't have a huge hunk of wood to separate myself from her. At this point, though, I hadn't seen her in awhile and thought she was history. I suppose I was wrong.

Now before anyone gets the wrong idea, I don't want to come across as a guy all of the girls who come in pine over. I'm not. That distinction in the bar belongs to someone else, but if you work in a bar, especially a college bar, then you'll have your fans on some level regardless of how good looking you are or not. For whatever reason this girl chose me, much to my dismay.

"I told her you didn't work here anymore," Bill said.

"Good. That girl is absolutely nuts."

It was a good lie, but I needed to get some drinks, which necessitated me going behind the bar where she could see me. Of course, she did. The yelling started immediately. We were slow so I went over to see what she needed.

She stared at me with her drunken half smile and said my name.

"Hey, whats up? Can I get you something?" I said.

"I came alllll the way over here to come see you!" she drunkenly slurred.

"Really? From where?" I said, curious as to if she actually lived in Athens or not for future reference.

"My date night at Tasty World. But don't worry, I went to it alone."

"Oh. Well okay..."

She held her hand out. "Kiss it!" she demanded.

"What?"

"Kiss my hand, or come around to this side and dance with me!" She staggered to the side a little bit and caught herself on the bar before she hit the ground. She was hammered. Her eyes were sagging a bit and she had the classic drunken goofy look on her face. Her eyes never left me.

Creepy.

So, of course, I stood there, not sure what to do.

"Just do it!" she slurred. "Come around here and give me a kiss and dance with me!" She motioned to her lips suggestively with her fingers.

"Okay," I finally said. "I'll dance with you. On one condition, though."

She looked at me hopefully. "What?"

"Flash me," I said.

"Huh? In front of all these people?" She looked confused.

"Sure, why not? Nobody's paying attention. Just do it," I pressured her.

"Hell no! I won't do that! I'm classy!" She sounded offended and furrowed her brow in confusion and anger.

With that, she spun around to walk away from the bar and promptly face-planted on the floor.

Problem solved. Hopefully.

Auburn

Overly crowded, insanely busy and blackout drunk doesn't even begin to describe the Georgia vs. Auburn weekend.

Besides the exhausting 14 hour day Saturday, our near-stampeed at the door at the end of the night which could have ended very very badly, the plunger incident, and a mini-brawl at the front door on Friday, the weekend was bearable.

Just barely, though.

And I've said it before, but I'll say it again...if you're refused at the door of a bar then there's a 99% chance that the doorguy won't be changing his mind anytime soon regardless of your argument. Yes, he's serious. No, the fact that you know the bartender doesn't mean shit. Please save the theatrics, whining, begging, threatening and bitching for later that night when you find a girl to hit on who won't sleep with you.

Thank you.

Disgusting

The guy I caught trying to steal our plunger last Friday night - by hiding it under his shirt, of course - was the type of customer that we dealt with all weekend.

The plunger formerly resided in the mens restroom and was used quite often by the floor guys to fix clogs in the toilet. Clogs happen a lot in bar restrooms because guys like the one who I caught trying to steal our plunger tend to throw all sorts of shit into them. Beer bottles, cigarettes, paper towels, drugs, and even the entire contents of our bathroom trashcan have been found in the toilet at one point or another. This is by no means a comprehensive list, either.

All to say, the plunger had been used quite a bit, and I found the thought of someone sticking a plunger up their shirt in order to steal it to be incredibly disgusting and ridiculously stupid.

Those were the types that were all over the place on one of the biggest, busiest football weekends of the season. Thousands of them. So, it came as no suprise to me that our conversation wasn't the most intelligent.

"Whadya got there?" I asked our inebriated customer, montioning to under his shirt. He immediately looked like a deer in headlights. Frozen solid. A second later, the plunger dropped from under his shirt to the ground.

"N-N-Nothing," he stammered.

"Now tell me, because I'm very interested to know, why in the world would anyone ever want to steal a plunger out of a nasty, disgusting bar at the end of a really busy night when you know it's covered in God-knows-what?" I said to him.

"Uhh..." he looked to his right at his friend accompanying him. "He told me to do it. I'm a pledge."

"A pledge? How old are you, then?"

"Twenty four," he answered. I couldn't stop staring at his bloodshot, glassed over eyes. He was really drunk and swaying ever so slightly.

I verified this information with his ID. It was legit. I handed it back to him.
"Ok dude, now let's get this straight. You stole a plunger because you're a pledge and he told you to, right?"

"Yea."

"Do you always do everything he tells you to do? Would you jump off a bridge if he told you to?"

"Yes," he said. He looked completely serious. I laughed and rolled my eyes.

"Dude," I said while turning him towards the door and motioning him out. "Just get out. Go. And when you leave, why don't you work on that bridge thing ASAP."

Quick Update

Apologies for my recent lack of anything that could be mistaken for a halfway decent post. My life has been nothing short of a whirlwind of way too much shit to do, and not nearly enough time to do it in.

With injuries I've sustained recently and my efforts in pursuing other sources of income not related to the bar business in addition to attempts at an even higher education, my days (and nights) are fairly packed.

Fear not though, because I still continue to work downtown and I still intend on updating this thing as often as I possibly can.

This next weekend should be fun. Two years ago, the UGA vs. Auburn game was pretty crazy. I expect this year to be nothing less than that.

Look for a post on Sunday or Monday directly related to that.

No Exceptions

"Why can't I just go in?" she asked me for what seemed like the tenth time, giving me puppy dog eyes and trying her best to look sad.

"Because it's almost 2:30, and we closed the doors thirty minutes ago. Sorry." I said, hoping she would finally give up and go away.

"But my friends are in there! And look, the door is open" she protested, pointing towards the propped open doors.

"Well, maybe you should have gotten here a little earlier." I said, repeating myself for what seemed like the tenth time.

"Besides, it's not my policy," I went on, trying to explain myself a little more. "It's the policy of the guy who signs my paychecks. There are cameras everywhere, and if I let you in then I'll get in trouble. And when I said 'the doors are closed' I mean that we're not letting anyone else in for the night, not that they're technically closed."

She sighed in annoyance and looked around, desperately trying to think of a way inside.

"Can't I just come in?" she whined. I shook my head.

"You're not listening to me! Please? Look," she said, brushing back her hair and showing me a small hearing aid propped above her left ear. "I have a hearing aid. Please can I go in and find my friends?"

I motioned for her to lean in towards me as I positioned myself about 6 inches from her. Her face lit up and she came closer.

"I'm going to make this as clear as I can..." I paused for dramatic effect. "No. If you can't understand that, then I suggest going to change the batteries in that damn thing on your ear. Now go away."

She scowled at me and backed away to spend the next 15 minutes glaring at me from across the sidewalk until her friends came out.

"Asshole!" she screamed at me as she finally left.

Yes....yes I am.