Who the fuck do some people think they are? Take it from a bartender who served in the trenches for 17 years… human beings are exhausting. 

There are the Karens, who require no description. You have loud mouth drunks who “tell it the way it is” but can’t take it when you tell them how they really are (which is generally unpleasant). There’s people who don’t tip no matter how well you do, and wretched creatures who punish you for the tiniest mistakes. You have males who start fist fights, more guys who creep out any female with a pulse, and even more men who drink and drive. 

Then there’s another category of less toxic individuals who compensate by being excessively annoying. Those who talk too much no matter how busy you are, people who have constant questions about the menu, others who say they have gluten or other allergies (when they don’t), and tools who ask for more modifications on a burger than a German General who wants the perfect Tiger Tank. I could go on and on but let’s just say the ideal customer is quiet, polite, tips well, and is usually understanding. And rather than take advantage of their good nature I always made sure they got the best service, the free drinks, and fair discounts. 

But by far the worst type of customer are the bastards who say “I know the owner.” Nothing says entitlement and I can treat you however I want (or try to, we dare you) more than those four evil words. These are the people who would’ve collaborated, willingly, with the Nazis for the smallest perks or advantage. They’re the kind of people who love to name drop and push others around to pretend they are big shit. But trust me, if you brag about knowing the owner of an Applebee’s you aren’t special. You won’t be remembered or honoured by history and I’ve yet to meet someone who’s uttered these words that even has a Wikipedia page devoted to them.

***

To be fair I didn’t deal with this often, but I’ve seen it inflicted upon other industry folk many times. Bryon, as usual, had the best responses. When fools said “we know the owners” he’d shoot back with “oh really, so do I… and they let me run things MY WAY.” And if the idiots didn’t get the point he’d add “we have the right to refuse service to anyone, no matter who they know.” Because enjoying a restaurant is a privilege, not a right… as every asshole who’s been banned from a bar had to learn the hard way. 

Sometimes people don’t even know the owners, they just want to get their way on something, which is usually petty. One time a jackass wanted a ridiculous discount and told Bryon he knew the owners. Bryon called his bluff and asked him for their names. “…Betty and George,” the man guessed lamely. “You mean Bob and Tiffany,” he corrected the jerk with glee. 

While Bryon liked playing well deserved games with such people I used the direct approach instead. Whenever someone got out of line and said they knew the owner(s) I’d unleash one of three responses: “Andddddd?,” “what’s your point?,” or “okay, do you want to phone them or should I?” Do you know how many times they took up my offer to contact the owners? Only once, as you’ll soon see.

It’s something I learned from the industry. Most people avoid conflict but even those who cause shit initially usually back down at the first sign of resistance. It doesn’t matter how strong, rich, well spoken, or seemingly connected they are. Most people will back down when you call them out or say no. As for the rest… that’s when things can escalate quickly and ruin the atmosphere. That, and the fact most restaurant staff also hate conflict, is why far too many idiots get away with unjust complaints or demands in the industry. Because it’s easier to give small men and women peanuts or a tiny discount than to risk a screaming match in the middle of a dining room. 

***

It was a slow Saturday night at the piano bar. The pianists had already left and the evening was winding down. I was working with Cody, my co-bartender, and Julie, who was managing and serving the lounge. Despite being slower than usual it had been an okay night. Tips were decent, I had gotten to flirt with Kailey, the hot piano player, and best of all there hadn’t been any complaints or unpleasant altercations with customers. But that was about to change. 

Around 1030 to 11pm a group of four came into the bar. At first they seemed like generic, white, middle class people. I think it was two couples… although maybe one was a son and daughter. Everything seemed fine until one of the guys started getting a bit loud and aggressive.There was a table of cute girls nearby and despite his wife being right next to him the man made a few questionable remarks and showed lewd body language towards them.

Julie was about to take their order but realized the guy was more plastered than Boris Yeltsin and decided we shouldn’t serve him. However, despite her being one of those tough chicks who take no crap from anyone she asked me to tell him. “What the hell,” I thought, “she was the manager and liked calling people out.” By contrast, I was more easygoing and gave everyone a mulligan before throwing down the gauntlet.

But she was my boss, I had the utmost respect for her, and I followed orders. I approached the table as calmly as possible and made our case in a firm but diplomatic manner. Initially, I leaned in and whispered to the man so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear our conversation. 

“My apologies sir, but the staff has noticed you show several signs of intoxication and it wouldn’t be responsible to serve you alcohol. If you like I could make a mocktail or bring you non-alcoholic beer in a mug.” This was my attempt to let the man save face. He could pretend his drink was real booze so he wouldn’t have to withdraw from the bar in shame. I know my outreach was unlikely to succeed, but hey… at least I tried.

“I’m not drunk,” he said defensively while slurring his words. Word to the wise, when someone can’t say “I’m not drunk” without slurring there’s a 99.9% chance they’re drunk. “I didn’t say you were sir,” I continued, “we are just concerned and have to take into consideration the safety and atmosphere of the bar.” I instantly regretted my last words given the only customer who was left in the bar was a 65 year old drunk, who was basically slipping in and out of consciousness. The man I was talking with realized this as he scanned the mostly empty room in confusion.

“Look I had a drink at home but I’m fine, can I please just have a beer,” he said loudly enough that by now everyone knew I was trying to refuse him alcohol. My attempt to diffuse the situation via diplomacy had failed, but I wasn’t about to back down. Because here’s another word to the wise, when someone says they just had a drink or two 95% of the time that’s b.s. When they say they’ve only had one that means two to three, and if they say they had two it can be anywhere from four, to six, and upwards. Veteran bartenders may be alot of things, but we aren’t fools.

I forget my exact words but I told the guy I felt for him but was cutting him off, and he could come back another night. It’s possible I tried smoothing things over by saying I’d buy him a drink the next time he came in, but I can’t remember. 

***

With his back to the wall and filled with wounded pride the man finally uttered those four, terrible words. “I know the owner,” he said. “Fuck… god damn it, not this again,” I thought to myself. “Oh really,” I responded, “and who is that?” “******* ****,” he said correctly… I’ll give him that. “Okay, and how long have you known him?,” I continued to play along. “Since this afternoon, we came in for appetizers. He approached our table, we struck up a conversation, and he told me to come in later tonight for some drinks.” “…And when was this today sir?,” I kept pressing him for details. “Four p.m,” he said almost proudly.

I would’ve laughed had the whole thing not been so ridiculous. The guy had a conversation with the owner for three minutes after coming in for chicken wings, and was now playing “I know the owner card.” At this point I couldn’t decide if the man was too drunk or just stupid (it was likely both) but I decided to put an end to this nonsense once and for all.

“I see… would you like us to call him and sort all of this out?” I said this politely but in a subtly amused tone, assuming he would take the final hint to back off and just come back another time. After all, he must have known from their budding friendship (that had started six and a half hours ago) our owner was in his 70s, not in great health, and was likely in bed. Surely by now logic would reassert itself and the man wouldn’t bother the owner this time of night.

But people aren’t always rational, alcohol doesn’t help, and the man took me up on my less than genuine offer. “Yaa,” he said in a slightly cocky voice, “phone (insert owner’s name).” My smile vanished instantly and I was dumbfounded. My system had failed… the battle plan hadn’t survived contact with the enemy. Because the rational actor model fails as often in the bar industry as it does in geopolitics.

“Oh for crying out loud… are you kidding me,” I thought to myself. “Why do people do shit like this… I have enough crap to deal with already.”

***

But I quickly recovered, gave half a smile, and told the man we’d phone the owner right away. So I approached Julie, who should’ve dealt with the whole situation from the beginning, and passed the buck to management… where it belonged. “You heard the man,” I said with sarcasm and enthusiasm, “phone (insert owner’s name).” Then I returned to the bar, poured a coffee mug full of beer, and waited for the rest of this farce to unfold. I’d done my job, tried my best, and would now enjoy the show.

She phoned the owner and despite the late hour he acted with class and professionalism. I love that man… he’s the best owner I’ve served under. He confirmed that he’d met the man a whole 360 minutes ago and invited him in for drinks that night. But when Julie suggested the guy was too drunk to serve the owner did what great generals have done throughout history… give initiative to the person on the spot. “It’s your call,” he told my manager, I trust your judgement.”

Julie hung up and approached me, asking if I wanted to give “the customer who wouldn’t be” the bad news. I wanted to but realized it was possible I’d rub it in his face. “I’m good,” I told her, “this one’s all yours.”

She went to the table to deliver the owner’s verdict. She came, she saw, she refused service. Initially, they were calm and composed. After all, what could they do? He who controls the booze controls the bar. But I do remember Julie offered everyone at the table a free drink for the next time they came in. Given we owed them nothing and resorting to the “I know the owner” card is just obnoxious, this was a kind gesture on our part.

But kindness is often unrequited in the industry and a few minutes later the man’s wife made a bit of a scene, saying things like “this is ridiculous,” “he only had a few drinks before,” and “we won’t be coming back.” All I could think was the man CLAIMED he only had one beer, we had offered them free drinks, and their conduct proved we were right to refuse service.

They left a few minutes later, the world didn’t end, and we all laughed. Because do you know who else knows the owner(s)… managers and the staff. And any worthwhile owner will back their workers over those cold, pitiful souls who think those words mean anything in the harsh world of bartending.