Tag Archives: shots

Why I Don’t Drink

People ask me all the time why I don’t drink…Specifically because I’m a bartender and have been for six years. While I suppose it is uncommon to find someone who is 27 who doesn’t drink, or rather, has never had a drop of alcohol ever, I guess it is even more uncommon to meet a bartender who hasn’t. Usually people ask me if I’m Morman and then tell me how noble I am for never drinking, then they take their shot and walk away. Kind of funny. After bartending for a long time, growing up a little, and learning some valuable life lessons, I’ve come to new conclusions of why I don’t drink and thought I would share them. This might sound like it will be self righteous and boring, but I promise, it will be entertaining.

I grew up in a house with no alcohol. My dad never drank a beer, my mom didn’t drink wine, and family functions were never made more interesting with a drunk uncle or grandpa (if you’ve met my family, on either side, you’d know they are pretty entertaining sober). Alcohol was very bad. We went to church and no one at church drank, or drank publically, and that was just how it was. When I got to high school, I was involved in youth group and drinking and partying was a sure ticket to Hell, so I never partook then either. Then I went to private college and took way too many classes to party, and by the time I reached 21, I had never had a drink and didn’t see the need for it, so I just never started.

If you asked me why I didn’t drink at different points in my life, I would probably give you a different answer every time. My perception of alcohol has changed so much over the years, but no matter the reason, the choice was always to not partake myself. I obviously didn’t mind others drinking, as I am the person getting many of them drunk on a regular basis, but for me, I just decided against it.

I’m not saying I’ll never drink. One of those life lessons I mentioned earlier is to never say “never” because you’ll definitely eat your words, but as of now, I don’t. While I think that there are a lot of reasons for ME to not to: I’d probably drink a lot if I did, I’d definitely be a light weight, there’s a very good chance I’d start a lot of girl fights, etc., there are a few examples in the last few months that have reinforced my decision.

This last Wednesday night, as I stood behind the bar watching the very young looking 21 year olds take shots, I saw something flicker out of the corner of my eye. My head immediately whipped to the right and there, about 15 feet away was a young girl sitting on a couch and her entire head was on fire. Yep, on fire. It wasn’t a small flame, or a singe…the entire back of her hair was ignited and the flame was burning higher and higher…she didn’t even notice. Not knowing what to do, I just started screaming trying to get anyone’s attention to put this poor girl’s hair out. Finally, the guys sitting right next her must have smelled the horrific odor and frantically patted the flame out. It had to have jacked up her hair and I can’t imagine it didn’t burn her in some way. I just stood there, wide eyed, mouth open and thought, “that’s why I don’t drink!”

A little while ago, after the bar was closed and cleaned and our head of security was finishing up his sweep of the premises, he came upon a girl lying on the sidewalk down the way from the bar. No one was around, and this girl, in her itty bitty dress, was passed out on the sidewalk right in the heart of Belltown at 2:30 in the morning. Luckily, she was found by our very kind security guard who gave her his coat, hailed a cab, and gave the driver her license and $30 bucks to take her home. All her friends had abandoned her and she was in no state to even stand up, let alone get home on her own. For every story like this, where someone was kind enough to sacrifice half his night’s pay and his jacket, there’s a not so nice story out there. When he told me about this incident, I just shook my head and thought, “that’s why I don’t drink.”

Here and there, a tranny will walk into the bar. He will have huge fake boobs, insanely nice legs, and a skimpy little outfit and will always turns heads. The heads of the other men in the bar that are too drunk to realize it’s a dude. The other night a really good one came in. Even I was a bit unsure, and it was only until we turned up the lights and saw the man’s thick foundation with stubble poking through, that I had the confirmation that it was in fact a man. It was particularly hard to tell because this man was wearing a string bikini (literally) and every couple of minutes, the little strap would slide over, exposing “her” entire double d implant and nipple. Every man in the bar was staring at her, buying her shots, and trying to dance with her. I’m not a man, but the concept of “beer goggles” came from somewhere, and I can only assume that when a man is drunk and there are big fake boobies, this is all they see, and the adam’s apple, facial hair, and oversized hands become invisible. These are purely my own statistics that I made up, but I can only guess from my observations, that 1 in 10 men have had a sexual encounter with a tranny that was not realized until later, or…never. Again, this is just my own made up statistic. I can tell you a dozen more stories of men hitting on men they think is a woman and how I always want to slip them a note saying, “dude, it’s a dude.” I could even tell you of an actual encounter that was stumbled upon in the bathroom, but I won’t. All I will tell you is that for every time I don’t slip that note saying, “dude, it’s a dude,” I am thinking, “and this is why I don’t drink.”

A few months ago, while bartending, a girl came up to me and said, “just so you know, there’s a girl on the floor of the bathroom in one of the stalls.” I put my bottle of vodka down, pushed my way through the crown, plugged my nose, and entered the bathroom. The last stall door was shut and I could see that there was a purse on the floor and a shoe. I lifted the door, a safely measure in place for this exact reason, and there, in child’s pose, was girl with her pants around her ankles, head on the floor. If you’ve ever seen a club bathroom, this is not where you want your head. I had grabbed a couple of the security guards to come with me, and they were standing in the bathroom door with looks of terror as I yelled out, “her pants are down!” Not wanting to embarrass the girl more, I tried to get her to stand up and pull up her pants before the guys helped her out, but by the looks of things, she had probably been roofied, and was so delirious, and a bit over weight, I couldn’t do it on my own. I got her awake and she insisted that she was fine, and I told her that she was sleeping on the bathroom floor with her pants down, so she probably wasn’t “fine.” I eventually had to have the two security guards lift her up and I pulled up her pants, not knowing where her underwear went because she claimed she had some on, and the security guards escorted her out. I returned to my station, picked up my bottle of vodka and thought, “that’s why I don’t drink.”

 I can literally tell you a hundred killer drunk stories like the man who pooped all over the bathroom and himself at Joey’s and then sat out in the waiting area, smearing his poop all over the leather seats, or of all the girls who flash important body parts to shleazy men, or of embarrassing slips, falls, and crashes. I can tell you a hundred stories of fights that I’ve seen, men on men, girls on girls, girls on men, I can tell you about all the purses that are stolen, the Ids that are left, the credit cards that are abandoned. And I have a million entertaining puking stories, but I’ll stick with the ones where someone’s head caught on fire, a girl was found on the sidewalk at 2:30 a.m. and in the bathroom on the floor, and of the tranny who tricked a bunch of men; remember 1 out of 10. People are always asking me how I make it through life sober, and to be honest, I find myself wondering how you make it through yours drunk….