I have an instant disdain for the seemingly ever present hot chick that rolls up to my bar and is interested only in a “Ketel club,” Michelob Ultra or Skinny Bitch Margaritas. Those drinks may occasionally be accompanied by a nutrient-rich and decadently filling share plate of Mixed Greens, drizzled with Balsamic and topped with 2 packets of Splenda – oh the yum. You’re an indulgent cokehead – incessantly concerned about any calories not on “today’s plan.” Your 5’9” frame has never once been three ounces over 108 pounds since your blackout partying days prior to (miraculously) graduating
sleeping through the Varsity chess team in return for finished papers at Dartmouth 4 years ago.
You’re one, who heaven forbid, can never be seen without wads of Kim K’ish cat-like black eyeliner, applied with unfathomable surgical precision, and perfectly hot-ironed hair. Under no circumstances will step foot out of your Riverside Drive pre-war solo with ugh – “tennis shoes.” Those are reserved only for the Columbus Circle Reebok center – twice a week spin class run by Serge, followed by Krishnam’s Bikram yoga session. No, you need you some proper four-inch Eye-Talian stilettos, or next season’s wedges at all times – ala Carrie Bradshaw. All the denim you own is only of the True Religion variety and is pressed bi-weekly by Uri at the cleaners up on Broadway.
P.Y.T.s and F.O.R.D.s (Fat Old Rich Douchebags) – a.k.a, O.F.W.G. (Old Fat White Guys)
You are familiar with the P.Y.T., Michael Jackson acronym, ay? Yeah baby! We’ve all seen their men tooling around in their “Fuck you, lesser beings” Bentley Corniches.
The dude will proudly be sporting the wealthy (fat) man’s Triple-H uniform: (1) Hawaiian, short-sleeve button shirt – impeccably pressed (2) Hermes belt, and (3) Herve Leger linen with super crisp breaks. He’ll rhythmically be alternating between (a) talking shit to his production company’s casting director, or his fund manager, using a custom, Tiffany cased, iPhone 4s and (b) sucking on a half-smoked, but authentic, Havana Cohiba Maduro. These dudes almost always finish the outfit off with sock-less, alligator loafers and a Gucci clutch. If you actually opened the Man Purse, you’d find a 2 week supply of 20mg Viagra tabs – ready for the evenings sensual love affair
3-minute rabbit drill.
Two cute girls sit down at the bar… (no, this is not a prelude to a joke). I casually stroll over, drink menus in hand and sporting a flirty grin.
[Me] Hi there! How’s it going? Do you know what you’d like or would you a couple of minutes to look at our drink menu?
[Cute Girl A] I dunno. What do you want?
[Cute Girl B] Uhhh.. uhh…. I dunno. What should we have?
[Me][Pointing to a section on our menu] These are some of our most popular drinks [rattling off suggestions]
[Me] Give me an idea of what you usually drink or like and I can give you some direction. Do you like dry/sweet, creamy, bubbly? Do you like whiskies, dry wines, fruity drinks?