Credit-Card-Itis: Chicks With Plastic

Chicks and credit cards. When did they become joined at the hip and so socially unaware of anyone and everything around them? Young chicks, old chicks, models, fugly chicks, college girls, 4′s, 9′s, sophisticated Upper-East-Siders… all kinds. It’s as if 8 out of 10 of them skipped the entire semester on Dining and Drinking Etiquette – opting instead for How to Behave Badly at Bar 101.

The air around a gaggle of girls rolling up my bar is so thick with anticipation, it makes bartenders instantly panic-stricken. The last thing I want to see when I’m rolling 3-deep on a Friday night, is see Cindy, Paula, Antionette and Lindsey sashay (they do that on purpose) up to the counter. They’re all 24 years of age, sporting super-sexy platforms platforms, barely-there spaghetti-string chiffon blouses, and skirts that really don’t hide their vajayjays all that well from most angles.

My eyes and nether-regions are all smiles – hormones a-go-go. My brain and tip bucket, on the other hand, know all to well exactly what’s about to transpire. The conversation usually goes something like this:

Girl A: So, can I like see a cocktail menu?
Girl B: Like, what are you having?
Girl C: I dunno… [to me] what’s really good here?
Girl D: I mean like, do you have anything that’s strong but that’s not sweet?
Girl A: Can I have a Mojito… but wait, no sugar. Can you make it with Splenda instead?
Girl B: I don’t know what I want yet. Can I try hers and see if I like it first?
Girl C: Can I have a really strong Martini? [yes, for real]
Girl D: I’ll have what she’s having.. no wait, can you make me a Pina Colada but really strong?
Girl B: Yeah! I’ll have a Pina Colada too but with Rum and Pineapple and Coconut… yeah – but not too sweet.

While this epically cavewoman indecision is going on, there are five other people, wads of cash in hand, clamoring for refreshments. In the interim, I’ll finish preparing those lovely ladies their custom drinks, and come back to them with the total…. “that will be forty two dollars please.” Just when you think the situation couldn’t get any worse, it does. Each and every one of them whips out their credit cards simultaneously.

Asked to run a tab, every one of them declines as they each affirm “all separate please.” Furthermore, most of the time, they’ll come back and run the same flim-flam scam for round #2, despite having denied that they’ll be back for another drink.

I don’t think there’s a single action someone could take at the bar to better infuriate the bartender. Now look, I’ve been in this situation often over the decades. I wouldn’t be bitching about it otherwise.

Girls: get a clue. You’re fucking with people’s livelihood and the satisfaction of every other patiently waiting customer at the bar. In the time it takes to run 4 credit cards individually, I could have tended to numerous other bar patrons. You would have also been spared the (to you) inexplicable look of red-faced hatred, Oh-God-360, and perhaps even my feigning ignorance to your cries for additional drinks. I get it: you neglected several necessary requirements prior to stepping foot out of your crib. You didn’t hit the ATM. We’ve all been there. But for fuck’s sake, get and use some common sense and exhibit some compassion for bartenders. Your neglect doesn’t entitle you to poop on us at will.

In nearly twenty years behind the stick, I’ve rarely witnessed a group of guys commit this horrible faux-pas. Well, maybe once or twice – among college-age bros – but it’s extremely rare nonetheless. Dudes buy each other rounds and keep tabs open pretty consistently. They get it. It’s partly due to pride and showmanship. Chicks on the other hand? Catty – individualists.

I don’t recall a single night where I haven’t had to deal credit-card-itis. Help…

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