So when someone at the bar decides to be a jackass to me without any reason, I usually respond in kind. Of course, not without attempting to fix the problem first, however.
This is what I mean: For example, if someone has a drink that they don't like or isn't made how they expected it to be made, I'll offer to fix it for them. I'll remake it. Last week I even saw a guy get his drink knocked out of his hands and all over his girlfriend. The guy who bumped into him and caused it to happen didn't do shit, of course. He walked away without so much as an apology. What did I do? I got him and her a brand new drink, on the house. I'm a nice guy sometimes, believe it or not.
The problem comes when they believe that its my duty to fix whatever problem they have regardless of the costs. They're out of dress code and I won't let them inside? Well, the obvious first reaction is for them to call me racist. Even if I suggest they tuck in their shirt in order to comply with the required dress code that I didn't even come up with, I'm still a racist. The drink that they have isn't to their liking? Their reaction is to call me a terrible bartender, even if I try to make the situation right. They can't get a song they want played? Well, obviously I'm in control of the music up here at the door, so please feel free to get upset at me for the choice in song selection.
The bottom line is that I represent the bar as a whole, regardless of what I'm doing, and if someone isn't pleased with something and can't be made to be happy, then they'll let me know in no uncertain terms that I'm a horrible worker/person/etc, etc.
The wonderful part, for me, about this is that if someone isn't happy and can't be made to be happy and wants to be dick then I feel free to make sure that they know they're a dick. I'll let them know that they can go fuck themselves if they're not happy, and when they fuck themselves, they are more than welcome to do it anywhere but inside the bar because they're now being kicked out.
It's a shock to some people that there's a limit to my generosity. I'm not going to unconditionally apply myself to fixing your problem because I simply don't care that much. If the efforts I've made to gain your satisfaction aren't up to your standards, then please feel free to go find the bar that really wants to remake your fucking Mojito eighteen more times.
Oh, you don't want to leave? My cursing at you has you offended? I apologize. But seriously, go fuck yourself. Take my picture with your camera phone and threaten to call my boss to get me fired. He's actually watching this unfold right now on our closed-circuit camera system and he won't be your savior for your supposed undeserved slight by myself. In fact, if you don't leave then you're actually giving me permission to physically show you to the door and get your complaining, drunken attitude out of my normally peaceful bar.
It's all very satisfying dealing with a complaining jerk like this.
Which is why it's so frustrating at my other job. It's a corporate restaurant where I can't show my guests my middle finger and extensive understanding of various 4 lettered words and my ability to cleverly place them into threatening sentences. That is, if I care about keeping my job. Which I do. Physical shows of force are totally out of the question. The policies that we have there are in stark contrast to whats permitted at the bar, much to my dismay.
So the gentlemen who came into the restaurant last night, and has for the past several Sunday nights, and gets the filet mignon and complains every single fucking time, of course wanted to receive his steak for free yet again. I didn't give it to him, and I charged him for every single glass of wine he drank as well, unlike previous times. In a nice, formal, upscale restaurant, this guy was a complete dick. He wanted items we don't even carry, and when it wasn't made how he wanted it, he complained. He told me his request was "basic" and "very simple". It "wasn't rocket science". I offered to have it re-made, but he said he was "starving" and didn't want to wait.
I wanted to tell him that if he wants bread and extra virgin olive oil, then I would be more than happy to give him direction to Macaroni Grill or Olive Garden. We don't even charge for bread, so for him to make a big fucking deal out of something he's not even paying for didn't make a bit of sense to me. But of course, I bit my tongue. When his steak came out, predictably he was not happy. I wasn't surprised, either. At one point when I asked how everything was, he simply looked up from his food and glared at me for an uncomfortably long time and stated simply, "It's fine". All of this I took in stride and kept my fake smile and cheery demeanor plastered on my face throughout his temper tantrum.
I was even more confused when he left me $15 on $50, but regardless, I still wanted to follow his yuppie ass out to the parking lot on his way to his BMW and show him exactly how I felt.
What a dipshit. Sometimes the bar really is the best place for me, because I can honestly communicate my sincere feelings of hate and disgust for those who truly deserve it.