Young lady walks into busy bar and sits down at an empty stool.
Proceeds to look only down at iPhone.
Bartender finishes with previous customers, rolls up to her, and spouts his usual:
[Chick] I’ll take a Corona – with lime. And oh… can I see a menu?
[Me] Sure.
Corona and menu are handed over. Bartender goes about serving numerous other customers with great haste.
Bartender returns to (yet uncharged) young lady:
[Me] Do you know what you’d like from the menu?
[Chick] Wings
[Me] Sure
Bartender enters order into P.O.S. (piece of shit, antiquated, no-name, constantly crashing computer). Bartender returns to young lady.
[Me] That will be $12 dollars. Would you like to pay as you go or keep a tab going?
Young lady is still typing into iPhone without uttering a response, digging for a credit card.
Young lady hands bartender a credit card with no name and says
[Chick] Keep it open
[Me] Sure. I’ll just need an ID as well please
Young lady digs some more (again without saying a word), noticeably angry for unknown reasons, and hands Bartender a credit card.
Bartender notices that the credit card has no name and the I.D. obviously doesn’t match Mrs. Anonymous.
Bartender requests a different credit card that matches the name.
[Me] Sorry, but this has no name on it. I just need a credit card and matching ID to keep the tab open
Young lady looks completely dumbstruck and perplexed. Without saying a word, she stares down the bartender for a few seconds, snaps her teeth, and rolls eyes in a near 360. She starts to hand the Bartender a real-deal, name-embossed credit card then changes her mind.
[Chick] Just run it
[Me] Sure
Bartender returns a few seconds later with a check presenter.
[Me] Here you go…
A few minutes later, wings are had.
Young lady has barely looked up once, spoken to anyone, or been able to break the hypnotic spell the Jesus phone has had on her since she sat down at the bar. Hell, sexting/Facebooking was going on while wings were being had.
Bartender scurries about taking care of other customers and Service Bar dupes hanging down to the floor. He returns a few minutes later and opens up the check presenter to eyeball perhaps a signature.
[Me] All set?
Young lady snaps loudly with Satanic eyes:
[Chick] I haven’t signed it yet!
She firmly yanks the check presenter closer to her, and engages in more requisite mouth snaps and eye-rolling.
Bartender notices that the young lady is signing the credit card voucher, but is taking extraordinarily long to ink a – presumably – simple signature.
Bartender knows, from years of experience, that Young Lady is engaging in that age-old hate game, Credit Card Voucher Sports.
Bartender goes about his normal, busy business, all the while anticipating another “love note.” A short while later, the young lady gets up and hurries out the door without a peep.
Bartender would have preferred ZERO tip at all as (1) the experience and the diatribe were worth far more than $9 dollars and (2) I would would have considered it a fairer trade for being on the receiving end of a Silent-but-Deadly bitch fest.
Bartender is left with no choice but to blog about a truly idiotic interaction involving a special PYT that really has no business being in the Service Industry if that’s even true at all.
Note to PYT: Getting your grubby paws dirty behind the counter at Kennedy’s Fried Chicken doesn’t qualify as Service Industry experience, nor does it entitle you to get your PMS on at a really busy dive bar.
Credit Card Voucher Sports: Because apparently, all “bitter career” bartenders need to be taught a lesson. You be the judge…
