What a lovely lump you have…

*ouch* I have a very sore bruise/lump from missing a step and sitting down hard at Eleven50 last night… right on my cheek. Rather, I should say.. on my right cheek. =\ I’m just uncoordinated, since all I’d had to drink was coffee. Still, it was a fun night out. First time since…. yeah. Who knows when. Ran into many folks. All good.

This morning, don’t know what I was dreaming, but Motley scared the crap out of me. I think I sort of felt the slight movement of her jumping onto the bed beside my head. In my half-asleepness, I slowly turned my head and opened my eyes…. only to be confronted my an outstretched kitten head and an immediate loud *HONK* … which is my impression of her coughing. Somehow in my semi-conscious state this looked just like Gollum creeping up on me and I squealed like a girl — a thing I am entitled to do — then cursed.

Her occasional sneezing has turned into frequent sneezing and now these *honking* coughs, so she is so ready for that vet appointment Thursday. Sickly little thing. =\ It’s pitiful really. She eats like a little horse, though, so she may weigh five pounds this visit, but I sure will feel better when she gets over whatever funk she’s got now. I think the vet scared me with her story about the pitiful sickly runt cat that had to have special attention.

For the record, drink prices at Eleven50 should be illegal. I think the movie industry must have stock in the place, because these are concession stand profit margins we’re talking. I guess they need to pay for their remodeling of Eden.

Needed some air last night, so went out to one of the outdoor bars to fetch something to drink. Had to wait a while to even get up to the bar, it was so packed. Couple of guys in front of me finally start to move away with a drink each in their hands, and I finally move up and lean on the bar. Next thing I know, surly bartender-man is in my face, visually scanning the countertop up and down, then starts yelling after the two guys that were moving away.

My first thought was they didn’t pay for their drinks, and since I’ve often wondered how a bartender might handle that situation in a place as crowded as this, I was watching with interest. All the yelling “Hey, Assholes” didn’t seem to be working, so surly bartender-man gets the attention of a second guy behind the counter… who was just doing cleanup stuff, not serving drinks… and has him go get their attention. That guy makes his way over to them, taps them on the shoulder, and points back toward the bar, where surly bartender-man is looking, if possible, even more surly. He had been going through the motions of trying to serve other people drinks, but had hardly taken his eyes off the two guys.

His bartending “style” was such that if you were standing at the bar and holding cash, he would spot you, rip the cash from your hand and toss it down on his side of the bar, then ask you what you wanted. He would do this to multiple people, then start mixing something, set those drinks in front of some other person, then go back to the people he’d already asked and usually ask them to repeat their order. He seemed to be trying to do about 20 things at once, and didn’t seem too happy about it. As soon as I realized he was taking money first, I really wondered how anybody could have gotten away without paying.

Finally those guys make their way back to the bar, and I scoot over to let them lean in. To all of our amazement, surly bartender-man goes off on a rant to them about why they don’t have to tip people, continuing to call them assholes. Both guys reached in their wallet and tossed down a couple bills, although I heard one say to the other that he knows he did leave a tip. They skulk off, I think just embarrassed by the whole thing, and meanwhile I can’t stop thinking… well, tips are generally earned through good service, and I don’t think this guy could spell it, let alone give it.

Next thing I know the $20 I’m holding is ripped from my hand and SBM is asking what I want…. he leans toward me, I lean in toward him, I know my voice doesn’t carry well–i’ve ordered at crowded bars before, so with all the volume I can muster I say “Vodka coke and a bottle of water.” He mixes something in a martini glass, asks two other people their orders, mixes a couple long-island teas, asks a guy to repeat his order, answers some girl’s question about whether they sell anything that she can get for $4, then plops two cups down in front of me with $8 change. What is this?, I ask him. He looks annoyed, he yells at me… “Vodka cranberry and vodka water.” Not the least bit curious why I might have looked in wonder and even gone so far as to ask what the heck he had just charged me for, he goes on about his surly bartending duties, and proceeds to ignore me.

Fuck it, I think, and proceed to nurse the vodka water, which is, as Brad described, like paying for the ass-end of a vodka rocks. Thankfully, it was mostly water and full of melting ice, so it was a tolerable replacement for some plain water that I was wanting, and I got a lime and some pleasant service to boot.