Pet Names

No one wants to sit at a bar top with a boring bartender. The livelier I am, the happier my guests are. Meaning that I have to act interested in middle aged men and engage in conversation that I really could not care less about.

Politics, construction, earthquakes, HD TV, 3D TV, football, baseball, car engines, diesel trucks, NASCAR, fishing, power tools--I don't know the first thing about half the topics I just listed. But I ask questions. I inquire to know more. It's like restaurant bartending prostitution. You pay me, I humor the notion of liking you as a person.


Does this give you the right to call me stupid pet names? Maybe. But that doesn't mean that it doesn't annoy the hell out of me.

My typical customer is a middle aged man who needs a few beers and a good conversation and it's my job to entertain them. The problem arises when entertaining is mistaken for interest. I am tolerating you Not liking you.


Maybe you think I'm a bitch...Look at it this way, I'm sure you have a job. Do you like everyone you encounter at your job? No, probably not. But you're nice, nonetheless, because that's the professional thing to do.

Having a conversation with someone is civil. I don't know where these men learned that a girl being civil to them is interchangable for her liking them. I'm getting paid to wait on you, clean up after you, get you any dipping sauce that you ask for, and bring you unlimited refills before you finish the drink that's in front of you. I'm not paying extra attention to you. I'm simply doing my job.


I don't mind having pointless conversation after conversation because all I see when your mouth moves are dollar signs. But the second you whip out the mushy, bullshit, pet names I get the overwhelming urge to stab you with the steak knife you're using to cut your rare ribeye with.


I have this weird complex where the nicer you are, the more we hate you. I suffer from being a girl. It's simple.


My favorite customers are the ones that don't pay any attention to me. Sit down quietly. Eat their food. Watch the game. Drink their beer. Peace out and leave me a nice tip.


The less interaction the better.

I always introduce myself. I make a point to know that my customers know my name and I make a point to know theirs. There is a reason for this: I hate being called any name other than the one my awesome parents gave me.


But some men think it's acceptable to call me "baby," "babe," "beautiful," "sweetheart..."

Those names make me uncomfortable even in a romantic setting. I sure as hell do not want to be called them while I'm at work.

Hey beautiful, why don't you grab me another Bud Light...

Do you want a sandwich too?

Some bacon, maybe?

I believe what you meant to say was, "Hey Taryn, may I have another Bud Light." This whole, "Why don't you grab me..." thing is not ok. I'm your server, not your servant.

Now I know why you're sitting at my bar top alone without the company of a female companion. I'm no feminist, but this male chauvinism crap is intolerable.

 
Let me tell you what complex I don't have. I don't have some weird complex that urges me to take care of ape-like, brutish males. I have no desire to tame rude men and clean them up nicely.

One of my other favorites is when men tell me about their children. I'm a 21 year old bartender. I have no interest in your children or even the notion of bearing children. These men are old enough to be my father.

Therefore, I also do not have the "daddy issue complex." I have no interest in men my fathers age.

That should be illegal. I know I'm bartending but, Jesus, how old do you think I am? Your children are probably just as old as me.


Just remember. Servers are getting paid minimum wage to be nice to you. Catch them outside of work and see if they're as nice. I bet they won't be. This is a business transaction, not a blind date set up by the corporate chain of restaurants that I work for.