Friday night was a tough night at the bar.
I understand, if on a slow Monday night, when there are lots of open seats at the bar, you want to nurse one beer for two hours and tip me $1. Ok I might hope for $2, but it’s not the end of the world. On a busy Friday night, it is.
This past weekend I had several couples occupying bar space and not spending any money. People are lining up behind the bar. Seats are in demand. I have a mental list of who’s next if anyone who’s not drinking decides they’re done sitting.
Finally two seats open up. A man rushes into one of the seats. I tell him,
“I’m sorry, I have a couple that’s been waiting for a seat.”
“I’ve been here since eight o’clock.”
“I’m sorry, that couple was here before you. I will let you know when there’s a seat for you.”
“No way. I’ve been here since eight o’clock.”
He keeps saying eight o’clock like he’s been here forever, but I have no idea what time it is. I check. It’s 8:15pm. He has been waiting fifteen minutes. People have been waiting over a half-hour. I look at him. He’s not getting up. He tells me,
“Bars are first come first serve. There are no waiting lists for bars.”
Saturday night I head out for a very nice dinner date. The restaurant is super busy. There’s an hour-and-a-half wait for a table. We head to the bar. The bartender takes our drink order and asks,
“Would you like me to put you on the waiting list for the bar?”