Man Sandwich

This is a tale in two parts, one part, unfortunately, I have to report second hand, as I was busy bartending and missed the events as they unfolded. Unbelievably, perhaps because the participants may have been under the influence, I didn't even hear of the event until a week later.

A little background may be necessary here. My cousin and her husband are regulars at the bar. One of my cousin's close friends from high school, a recently single mom with several children, showed up with a few of her friends. The downstairs bar was very busy, and it was late, after 1am, so the dance floor was a mess of drunken bodies. And I mean a mess. This is during both colleges alumni weekends, so there was a lot of out of practice drinkers in their 30's and beyond on the dance floor, which always makes for a pleasant scene.

My cousin's friend, we will call her Sarah, pulls my cousin's husband, Scott, onto the dance floor. Meanwhile, my cousin, Jill, is watching. This occurs just after Sarah has been involved in a serious man sandwich, the likes of which I was unfortunate enough to witness.

A man sandwich is my term for a threesome of dancers, two guys and one girl. The interesting thing about a man sandwich is that the two men are obviously straight, yet the participants are out of order, so that one guy is grinding on the other guy, who is grinding on the girl. This situation requires copious amounts of alcohol. I have witnessed it many times. This particular man sandwich was unique, however. Because of the unusually warm weather we have been experiencing, the downstairs bar was very hot last weekend. One guy decided to take off his shirt, and others followed. So the two guys, both in desperate need of regular gym visits, were not only grinding on each other, but doing so shirtless, and covered with sweat. And Sarah happily jumped on the man sandwich train.

At some point shortly thereafter, my cousin's friend, Sarah, pulled my cousin's husband, Scott onto the dance floor. Nothing too remarkable about that. She then proceeds to rip his shirt off. And I mean off. Buttons flying, the works. Before he can even react, she starts sucking on his nipples. In the middle of the dance floor, right in front of her good friend, his wife. She sticks her hand down his pants, and then begins to unzip his fly, all the while telling him how she doesn't really want to fuck him. At this point, Scott, realizing a volitile situation when he sees one, runs. And fast. Jill is just standing there shell shocked. Of course Sarah, drunk as hell, happily moves on to the next man sandwich.

At the end of the night, I'm standing on a riser, waiting for the crowd to disburse and watching the door. One of the man sandwich participants, on his way out, says to his buddy, "I can't fucking believe this place. Somebody stole my shirt".

Friday

Summer is the time for new beer. Somehow, we always end up with a few cases of the latest thing lying around. Half the time I'm not even aware of it. Case in point, Friday night. I have a table of ten women at the restaurant, ladies night out. They order Bud Light Lime, which we don't carry. I don't think anyone has ever ordered it. So one of the waitresses runs across the street and grabs a couple from the bar. No biggie. After five minutes, it is evident that 4 Bud Light Limes is not going to cut it. Not even close. But I don't have a chance to grab any more- the restaurant fills up and I get busy blending daiquiris and making mojitos.

These women are so impatient for drinks that after I have finished making thier round and have set it on a tray for their waitress, one of the women comes over and asks me if those drinks are for her table, because they really want them now. So I run across the street to get more. Grab two six packs, get all the way back, and realize that I have two six packs of Blue Light Lime.

A Word About Toilets

I own 28 toilets, and lease 2. That's 17 toilets in apartments, 9 in the bar, 2 at home, and 2 leased toilets at the restaurant. So toilet issues occur on a weekly basis, at minimum. In fact, this past weekend, one of the busiest of the year at the bar, 2 toilets in the upstairs women's bathroom at the bar clogged simutaneously. One industrious customer took the initiative to plunge it on her own, with exceptional results. I happily awarded her a free drink for her efforts. This is a rare occurence- most customers, especially the drunk ones, are happy to repeatedly flush until the toilet overflows onto the floor, soaking through the ceiling, and landing on drunkenly unaware customers on the downstairs dance floor. Think about that the next time your standing in a bar and something wet drips on your head.

Saturday

Alumni Weekend. Entire kitchen flooded. Not once, but twice. Health Inspection. Need I say more?

Tuesday

It's 95 degrees. You can't really understand the implications of that for a restaurant owner unless you have worked in a restaurant. While the front of the house is a cool 70, the kitchen is well over 100 degrees. The air conditioner is sweating so much that the rug in the downstairs dining room is soaked. At any moment one of my ten or so coolers will randomly ice up and stop running. I'm buying Gatorade by the case so none of my kitchen staff black out on top of the charbroiler.

And this is the text I received from my general manager at the bar, who may or may not be drunk right now, in the middle of trivia night, with a bar full of people: " You have no idea what these people are like. I mean No Idea. And I mean No idea. I am not working tomorrow".

He is so fucking lucky that tomorrow is his birthday.