“Grant stood by me when I was crazy, and I stood by him when he was drunk, and now we stand by each other.” -William Tecumseh Sherman

Every bartender has that friend. Someone they met in the industry, is always down for drinking, and follows you from bar job to bar job. If you’ve seen that old Saturday Night Live bit “Middle Aged Man” it was like that. I was Mike Myers and my friend was Chris Farley (drinking buddy). 

Such people can be lonely, damaged souls, and some you just make a genuine connection with. They often become your best customer and an intimate friend, or a constant nuisance and embarrassment. The more interesting are both.

For me that man was Fred. I met him in 2010 during one of the lower points in my bartending career. My friend Joseph introduced us at a nightclub and for years after us three amigos drank, laughed, and chased women (with often disappointing results). While Joseph and I would drift apart Fred and I formed a more lasting connection.

He was awkward, tipped horribly, and told long, boring stories that took forever to get to the point. On more than one occasion I scolded him and asked if there was an abridged version. If he had over six drinks good luck understanding anything he said… and that’s being generous.

My other friend Martin and I often ENDURED 5-10 minutes listening to Fred without interruption, until he left to have a smoke. Many times I’d ask Martin once Fred left if he understood anything we heard. Usually, he’d say “nope” and we would howl in laughter. Fred once took seven minutes to tell a story where he kept his dog downstairs so it wouldn’t bother his sister-in-law and her friend while they suntanned outside. That was literally the whole story and it only took me seven seconds to explain!

But Fred was loyal, a good man, and his antics were so hilarious I’d never drop his as a friend. It didn’t matter he pissed off bartenders with bad tips or that many women found him odd. For me loyalty matters, as many people come and go and take advantage of you.

***

It was a cold, windy night in 2017 at the Piano Bar, the best job in my checkered career. Must have been a weekend as it was busy and Kailey, the tall red headed pianist was playing that night. I had a big crush on her and despite Kailey being 10 years younger we had a date the next year. But that story is for another time.

Fred was there as usual, relaxing after a week of his respectable, if tedious Monday to Friday job. He was a mailman who took pride in his job and liked people, but he drank too much. Either way, we both looked forward to the holidays. Myself because the year had begun terribly but I had finally found some purpose in life. Fred because he took work off this time of year.

I don’t think it was busy when the ‘incident’ began. You’re probably thinking, based on the story’s title, that Fred started a brawl with a Polish man. But you would be mistaken and the truth is far more absurd.

It was either 9 pm or after and Fred had downed at least 4 double rye and cokes. I think it was only him and 2 patrons at the bartop, while the FOH staff were behind the bar chatting. Fred had just come back from taking a smoke and started the most crazy conversation. 

While he was outside the flagpole, I don’t know why we had one, was swinging and creaking loudly. For some reason Fred was complaining about the noise, like the pole was purposely disrespecting him. Don’t ask me how an inanimate object can antagonize someone like this, I was just a simple bartender. This went on for 90 seconds and my staff, who knew my friend was a bit odd, were more confused than usual. The patrons at the bar were also staring by now.

I could have told Fred to shut up or asked what the fuck he was talking about. However, I thought a more indirect approach would be more effective… and funny. After telling him I’d take care of the pole, loudly enough so everyone could hear, I left the bar and ran outside to confront an inanimate object. It was snowing but the curtains were open so everyone in the restaurant could witness the ensuing farce.

After approaching the pole I talked to it while gesturing wildly with my arms. I’m unsure about the exact wording but I said something like “hey, do you mind keeping it down and not provoking my friend, he’s a had a rough week, I don’t want trouble in my bar and…” Just then the door burst open and Fred came out shouting “hey, what the hell are you doing!” He had been shamed by me rushing outside to confront the pole and came out to stop me. I laughed and told him he was being an idiot at my bartop and this was my way of ending such nonsense.

I don’t recall what happened next but he shrugged it off, walked back into the bar and the rest of the night was uneventful. 

I’m sure few patrons have seen a bartender rush outside to yell at a flag pole to shame a drunken regular and I doubt Jon Taffer would approve. But it was a fun place, the staff accepted my eccentricities, and to quote Admiral Adama from Battlestar Galactica “sometimes you have to roll a hard six.”

Besides, I often did weird things like talking to empty tables when rude customers left, or went for a smoke break. But such stories are for another time.