A funny story I forgot to tell a week or so ago, after I worked my second wedding.
The second was much more fun than the first. The wedding was Korean, and at the reception the crowd was mostly young. As in, I-should-probably-be-carding-you-but-it's-a-wedding, young.
So I made my first real Long Island iced teas. Without tequila. Still don't see the worthiness of that drink... I poured many, many shots. Of Jim Beam. And whiskey (shudder). All for the groomsmen, while my coworker poured an equal amount of kamikazes for the bridesmaids.
Late into the evening, the bride's brother sidles up to the bar, arm around the shoulders of his friend. Orders another shot of Jim Beam. I hold up my index finger in the age-old, "gimme one minute" gesture, sneak over to my coworker, who's been bartending as long as I've been alive. "How do you know when to cut someone off", I ask, not having done it ... ever, actually. His answer: "Use your best judgement..." Well, really, that didn't help. I talk to him a bit more, asking more detailed questions, until he suggests "you could tell him it's his last one." Ah! It's perfect.
So I put the glass up on the bar mat, look him in the eye, and say, "This is your last one". "Wha'?" he slurs. I repeat myself; he repeats himself. The friend says nothing, until they walk away, when he reminds the bride's brother that he's been cut off.
My coworker and I watch him weave and stumble his way off. He turns to me, says, with a little bit of a twinkle, "You made the right decision". I heartily agreed.
The second was much more fun than the first. The wedding was Korean, and at the reception the crowd was mostly young. As in, I-should-probably-be-carding-you-but-it's-a-wedding, young.
So I made my first real Long Island iced teas. Without tequila. Still don't see the worthiness of that drink... I poured many, many shots. Of Jim Beam. And whiskey (shudder). All for the groomsmen, while my coworker poured an equal amount of kamikazes for the bridesmaids.
Late into the evening, the bride's brother sidles up to the bar, arm around the shoulders of his friend. Orders another shot of Jim Beam. I hold up my index finger in the age-old, "gimme one minute" gesture, sneak over to my coworker, who's been bartending as long as I've been alive. "How do you know when to cut someone off", I ask, not having done it ... ever, actually. His answer: "Use your best judgement..." Well, really, that didn't help. I talk to him a bit more, asking more detailed questions, until he suggests "you could tell him it's his last one." Ah! It's perfect.
So I put the glass up on the bar mat, look him in the eye, and say, "This is your last one". "Wha'?" he slurs. I repeat myself; he repeats himself. The friend says nothing, until they walk away, when he reminds the bride's brother that he's been cut off.
My coworker and I watch him weave and stumble his way off. He turns to me, says, with a little bit of a twinkle, "You made the right decision". I heartily agreed.
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