Fat Cats – Bar Manager Breakdown – Part Deux

In our first segment, we took a look at some of my bar managers’ “character flaws.” There isn’t nearly enough digital ink to characterize everyone of them in one article without imparting Nintendo thumb on your ass – forcing you to endlessly scroll. With that, I present to you Bar Manager Breakdown Part II – all based on real-life “tools” of the trade.

Papillon – The want-to-be escape artist. He’s got some other life long ambition going on (drummer, drag queen singer, Pro bono junior museum curator, or whatever). He’s actually a pretty good bar manager but simply will not stay the fuck away from the service bar, incessantly talking shit (to you) about his dreams of breaking free from Corporate’s chains. The trouble is, he’s been in the game for 20 years and hasn’t made a single significant dent with his extracurricular activities. Bless him for trying though. He just needs to quit the endless complaining and focus at the task at hand: making loot and nailing ass – and helping you do the same.

The Tax Man: He’s simply not content with the $100K salary plus a monthly performance-based (profit sharing) check. Oh no. The Tax Man fancies himself nightly gas, booze, or coke money (or whatever he spends it on). The problem is, he feels completely entitled to the “vig.” A.k.a., skimming from the bartenders’ tips. He’s been doing it for so long, he doesn’t think twice about it anymore. What’s $50 or $100 bucks off the top when each bartender is already making a few hundred bucks a night? He deserves it, right?

Brit Teeth – Yeah… you know where this is going. We’ve all encountered this dude. If the United States is a melting pot, than New York City has got to be the fucking pot’s Mecca. The Big Apple is home to more varieties of ethnicities and cultures than one who’s never spent time here could ever imagine. As such, there are huge numbers of Western Europeans here – many of them in the Hospitality business. Brit Teeth is dressed to the nines. At show-time, he’s always sporting (1) an impossibly perfectly pressed Thomas Pink shirt (2) a skinny black tie (3) a pastel linen suit and (4) russet wingtips [no socks of course]. He’s got sexy and tussled, semi-fading, salt-n-pepper hair ala McConaughey and a matching two days worth of George Michael scruff. Again, he’s a great manager with a shit-ton of experience, personality, and guest recovery skills. His only pitfall? You can’t look at him straight in the eye when engaged in conversation. His teeth are crooked as sin, two rows deep in some spots, and have varying shades of green – reminiscent of plainly ripe pond scum. His breath can only be described as something you’d smell in the depths of the finest English bog. No one has the heart to tell him that he needs to get his grill in order.

“Gunny” (Sargent Hartman) - Bark, bark, bark. This is one militant bitch – the resident USMC Drill Instructor. This psychopath seems to be permanently PMS’sing or maybe hitting menopause. You just never know what kind of mood she’s in but you’re sure as shit going to find out the second you ask for some singles or inform her that you need to re-open a check that’s been accidentally closed out to cash. She finds it simply impossible to speak at “normal” conversational volume let alone utter three words without saying “fuck” or “fucking” and getting all spit-talky up in your face. Flush-faced, arms flailing, eyes bulging, and finger pointing are her calling cards.

The Door Bitch - Instead of walking the bar, engaging customers, fixing checks, getting change and performing other – you know – Bar Manager responsibilities, The Door Bitch would rather stand his ass outside the establishment – maybe behind the velvet rope, eyeballing some Strange. He power trips picking through the crowd for hot chicks. He chain smokes, bullshits with the bouncers, texts away for 20 minutes at a time, adjusts himself needlessly, and does a myriad of idiotic things he’s not supposed to be doing. Like Papillon, he’s a dreamer only, he doesn’t go on and on about it. Rather, he’s distracted; his head up his ass rather than being focused on the bar and helping the bar succeed. More power to him. He’s mysterious and sneaky. You never really know what’s on his mind. The Door Bitch rarely lasts six months before getting axed.

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2 thoughts on “Fat Cats – Bar Manager Breakdown – Part Deux

  1. Freddy…you definitely have your bar managers figured out. I wish we could switch gigs for a night so you could have a first hand glimpse of what I am dealing with. You would shit yourself. Awesome article.

  2. Thanks man! Yeah. I’m sure you’re well acquainted with many of these characters. A wise man (now in jail) once said to a group of us: If you put all your collective problems on little slips of paper in a hat, stir it up, and pick them out, you’d probably pick out your very own problems. That said, I’ve run into the same types of folks from bar to bar to some degree or another. It never gets old.

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