Uppity Bartenders

So tonight I was at my favorite bar in Columbia, The Blue Fugue. The atmosphere is always pretty relaxed and I hardly ever have to deal with “bros” or similar douche bags, although I have to put up with the occasional hippie. A trade I gladly make.

I go to get a beer, this is my third, and a different bartender than the two previous times I was up at the bar takes my order.

I order a PBR, that’s Pabst Blue Ribbon for you lame asses, because I’m cheap and I don’t like to pay $4 for a bottle of mediocre beer. PBR is almost always the cheapest beer at any bar and it’s almost always what I order.

This pole smoker puts my glass of PBR down and says, “two bucks.” I give him two mangled singles from my pocket and as I’m about to leave the bar to sit with my friends he catches my attention.

Looking at me and holding up my two singles while at the register he says, in a very sarcastic tone, “THANKS, thanks a whole lot buddy.”

Apparently, this guy was implying that I should have tipped him and he was less than pleased with my lack of generosity. What a fucking drama queen.

Listen dickhead, you just charged me $2 for a PBR draft. PBR fucking comes in 12 packs for a little over $6. I had three PBRs that night, for $6. I could have bought a case, stayed home, watched Futurama and gotten tanked, instead of almost buzzed.

Two dollars for a PBR is high way robbery. A beer that tastes suspiciously like urine should cost 50 cents or less for a draft.

Do you know what the quote on the bottom of the can says? “This is the original Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. Nature’s choicest products provide its prized flavor. Only the finest of hops and grains are used. Selected as America’s Best in 1893.”

It won a blue ribbon before the industrial revolution. Congratu-fucking-lations, I won a blue ribbon in the science fair in fifth grade but you don’t hear me bragging. In 1893, the only competition PBR had was horse piss and cholera and dysentery infected water. No wonder it won a blue ribbon. This being the case, that bar tender should not only be content with me not giving him a tip, but he should be happy that I didn’t cock punch him when he suggested that I pay $2 for a glass of watered down goat piss.

Plus, it’s not like he had to do or remember any thing spectacular. I could teach a chimpanzee to pour a beer and take the stick out of that bartender’s ass in less than a month.

Not to mention, the Blue Fugue is a college bar. College students are poor. I don’t have extra cash to throw around so he can fund his meth habit. If he doesn’t like it he can get a real job.

Fuck uppity bartenders.