The tale of November 5
I woke up Saturday and pulled out the ironing board in swank palace.
You might have noticed that my typical modus operandi when it comes to ironing is to either not do it, or just accentuate the existing wrinkles by making them crisper.
This time I defied the odds and ironed me up a nice shirt. My slacks needed no help because they are a space age design involving polymers and whatnot that don't require ironing. (Note to the reader, I was not wearing jeans. They were like those Dockers or something, with staindefender)
As I put the finishing touches on the shirt, I realized that if I wore the shirt to the wedding, my backpack would wrinkle it, and the sweat would be ungainly. It was somehow in the 60s that day, and I had a long commute to make the wedding still. So I did the sensible thing, I folded the shirt up again and shoved it in my bag as gently as possible.
When I arrived at the church, I sauntered right up to the groom as he waited on the steps.
I looked like a mess with my hobo gear, but I assured him that I would hide the bindle and clean up before the ceremony.
The basement restroom was a convenient spot for me to freshen up, but when I saw the rest of the attendees, I noticed that I was still underdressed. I had a bright green shirt and looked totally wicked fly for a Portland wedding, but I guess Chicago expects everyone to dress for a funeral. Dark suits all around, I was like a lone spot of sanity, shining through the darkness. My shirt brought hope, hope for a new tomorrow.
Have you ever been to a Catholic wedding? I'm guessing it was Catholic because there were little boys that kept walking around on stage behind the priest and everybody kept kneeling down, standing up, kneeling down, saying stuff on cue, and then eating crackers.
Anyway, Catholics.
Whatever man.
There were exactly 3 of my old friends at the wedding. The groom, the bride, and one of the girls in the goofy dresses.
So I was at an impasse of what to do next, while waiting for the reception that night.
The chain of command decided on drinks at Pippins, right near the hotel and reception hall.
It was good to get a head start on drinking and watch some college football, because there would be more dark suits, and nobody else I knew at the upcoming reception.
The reception was swank, not just open bar, open bar with the hard. Pretty sweet when no matter how many times I order a vodka tonic, the bartender will start pouring me a gin and tonic as soon as I saunter. The table that housed me was cool, I had two boyfriends of the people that I knew, and then some nice lady that liked to talk about Portland.
What more could you ask for? After I got my verbal props for setting up the couple in the maid of honor's speech, I quickly took my sabbatical from the festival. Highlight of the night was the father of the bride giving a very personal toast about the relationship. Pretty much made the official wedding ceremony look like a joke. It's the personal touches that make a wedding memorable, not the pomp and circumcision.
There was beer to be drank with former ultimate friends.
I hit the Chicago Fall League party and got some goose island with old pals.
The weird thing was how many people I didn't know.
Maybe injuries are taking their toll on my generation, but there were lots of new faces.
Just to keep this interesting, in a high school text book sort of way,
It's now time for the questions:
1-What was the fanciest wedding you went to?
What did you have to wear?
2-Would you knowingly get shitake'd at a wedding knowing full well that you are not only making an ass of yourself, but also costing the family of the bride hundreds of dollars?
Would you think people were there to see your drunk short ugly fat ass, and heckle the people giving toasts? Is that what you thought asshole?
3-Is a bar with plastic cups worth going to?
Would you tip a bartender less if he gave you a plastic cup?
You might have noticed that my typical modus operandi when it comes to ironing is to either not do it, or just accentuate the existing wrinkles by making them crisper.
This time I defied the odds and ironed me up a nice shirt. My slacks needed no help because they are a space age design involving polymers and whatnot that don't require ironing. (Note to the reader, I was not wearing jeans. They were like those Dockers or something, with staindefender)
As I put the finishing touches on the shirt, I realized that if I wore the shirt to the wedding, my backpack would wrinkle it, and the sweat would be ungainly. It was somehow in the 60s that day, and I had a long commute to make the wedding still. So I did the sensible thing, I folded the shirt up again and shoved it in my bag as gently as possible.
When I arrived at the church, I sauntered right up to the groom as he waited on the steps.
I looked like a mess with my hobo gear, but I assured him that I would hide the bindle and clean up before the ceremony.
The basement restroom was a convenient spot for me to freshen up, but when I saw the rest of the attendees, I noticed that I was still underdressed. I had a bright green shirt and looked totally wicked fly for a Portland wedding, but I guess Chicago expects everyone to dress for a funeral. Dark suits all around, I was like a lone spot of sanity, shining through the darkness. My shirt brought hope, hope for a new tomorrow.
Have you ever been to a Catholic wedding? I'm guessing it was Catholic because there were little boys that kept walking around on stage behind the priest and everybody kept kneeling down, standing up, kneeling down, saying stuff on cue, and then eating crackers.
Anyway, Catholics.
Whatever man.
There were exactly 3 of my old friends at the wedding. The groom, the bride, and one of the girls in the goofy dresses.
So I was at an impasse of what to do next, while waiting for the reception that night.
The chain of command decided on drinks at Pippins, right near the hotel and reception hall.
It was good to get a head start on drinking and watch some college football, because there would be more dark suits, and nobody else I knew at the upcoming reception.
The reception was swank, not just open bar, open bar with the hard. Pretty sweet when no matter how many times I order a vodka tonic, the bartender will start pouring me a gin and tonic as soon as I saunter. The table that housed me was cool, I had two boyfriends of the people that I knew, and then some nice lady that liked to talk about Portland.
What more could you ask for? After I got my verbal props for setting up the couple in the maid of honor's speech, I quickly took my sabbatical from the festival. Highlight of the night was the father of the bride giving a very personal toast about the relationship. Pretty much made the official wedding ceremony look like a joke. It's the personal touches that make a wedding memorable, not the pomp and circumcision.
There was beer to be drank with former ultimate friends.
I hit the Chicago Fall League party and got some goose island with old pals.
The weird thing was how many people I didn't know.
Maybe injuries are taking their toll on my generation, but there were lots of new faces.
Just to keep this interesting, in a high school text book sort of way,
It's now time for the questions:
1-What was the fanciest wedding you went to?
What did you have to wear?
2-Would you knowingly get shitake'd at a wedding knowing full well that you are not only making an ass of yourself, but also costing the family of the bride hundreds of dollars?
Would you think people were there to see your drunk short ugly fat ass, and heckle the people giving toasts? Is that what you thought asshole?
3-Is a bar with plastic cups worth going to?
Would you tip a bartender less if he gave you a plastic cup?
posted by The Cruise at 12:03 PM
5 Comments:
3. Depends on the situation, if I pay $4-6 for a drink I'd expect that it comes in a glass. for example: if I go to a log cabin to see a rock show and I ask for 2 makers on the rocks and the guy gets my drinks in plastic cups, sets them behind the bar for 5 min while he bullshits with the other bartender and then charges me $12? Damn right I'm going to tip less.
Even less if they actually have glass behind the bar but decide to go with the plastic anyway. If I'm going to pay extra cause your place is swank, give me damn glass and use the money to run your dishwashers.
but I digress.
If the stupid club owners only provide plastic cups then there's nothing bartender can do, so tipage is still based on how much of a bastard he/she is. But it becomes a lot more important.
-ashish
The wedding sounds Catholic. I grew up Catholic, which is why I'm good at low-release throws. Lots of kneeling & standing.
I was the head bartender at a 300-capacity joint in Walla Walla for 3 years. I wasn't particularly chatty with the patrons (unless the night was slow & they needed someone to lose their money to at pool) but I was fast. You'd never need to walk up to the bar with an empty glass, 'cause I'd be out to your table when you had 1/3rd left. That's how we were taught to sell, and that's why our owner's restaurants were all successful -- good service. We kissed ass with the regulars to keep them coming back, because that's where the money is in a small town.
A good tipper at our establishment was one who left a buck at the end of a 4-hour session.
Out here in the city drinks cost more, bartenders expect to be tipped for every pour, most places are way understaffed, and most of the workers don't really care if you come back or not. I'm always amazed when I go to a busy club where there's a 20-minute wait at the bar for drinks, and the dudes behind the bar are plodding along like they don't even notice.
Cash is trying to come into the bar, and you've got a bottleneck at the register. Why don't they just open up the bottleneck by hiring a couple more people to take your money? Drives me crazy.
Ash-I do what ever I can to keep plastic off my lips. Berbati's is on my shit list for this reason.
Dan-At Mt. Tabor a few weeks ago, in between every band (a total of 5)the soundman kept coming on the pa and making sure the crowd new that there was a second bar down the stairs. It was pretty annoying to listen to, but it worked. At least 5 people would walk down there as soon as he mentioned it.
Other than that, hell yeah, hire more bartenders, I drink less knowing I'll have to wait.
2. Listen, weddings aren't really intended for the bride and groom, per se, but for all of their friends, family, and hangers-on, right? Getting shitfaced is a natural part of the celebratory equation, because it's all about how much fun YOU, as a guest, have.
And, I think that as long as you're not wrestling inanimate objects, hitting on your cousin, or contemplating suicide out loud during a toast, you can't be embarassing yourself THAT much.
1. Some country club in No.VA. But I missed the ceremony and only got there in time to drink. Which brings me to...
2. Of course. I paid plenty of money to get my ass on a flight, buy a gift they won't ever use, and wear a suit in the midle of August. Damn straight I'm making my way to the bar again and again. And if my friend makes an ass of himself and gets cock-blocked by the groom for hitting on his cousin, so be it.
3. I hate plastic too. Partially depends on what size plastic they give you for the price though. 8oz? Nuts to that. It better be family sie. It probably depends more on if the dude dressed in rugby gear in the middle of January is pushing through me to get anotehr plastic cup refill of "brown ale".
Post a Comment
<< Home