Fritz the Cat

Germans. Why did it have to be Germans?

We all know that the craziest white people on the planet are from the Ukraine but how are we with Germans? Now, I believe we all see eye-to-eye with Nazi beer hall putsch killing Jews and invading Poland Germans. We’re against them. Those guys were turbo-assholes and I’m glad that the pride of York Pennsylvania Dwight the Ike Eisenhower laid down the thunder on those schnitzel eating pukes. The problem with Germans that pestered our grandfathers with bullets and blitzkriegs is that to give them the boot nowadays makes us look like turds.

They seem to be naturally talented people. They build a hell of a car and know a thing or two about precision tools and philosophy. Aside from their whacky pornography and electronic music, the average German is nothing more than a non-tipping tourist coming to over populate out national parks. I’m generally more afraid of being trampled by a band of senior citizens from Munich than bears anytime I go to Yellowstone and so should you. Germans can’t drive worth a damn in the States.

In fairness before I write the next couple of graphs, let’s say a few nice words about Germans abroad. They dress nice, sound funny when they struggle with our language and know how to make exact change. They have a wide-eyed view of the world that is jovial and perfectly condescending. The kind of aw-shucks pompous bewilderment that God could curse other people for not being born German.

Besides that, their beer is pretty good and I usually get pretty drunk at Octoberfest.

Your average Kraut is good for only a couple of things and most of those things involve human poop. But every now and then they’ll surprise you and I had a hell of a surprise Wednesday night.

I was graced by a lovely chap that sounded like an extra from Hogan’s Heroes. He was chubby, loud and snorted when he laughed. Full of advice on love and life, I found myself strangely attracted to the monster. His laughter was infectious. Loud, booming and honest. The kind of laughter that you wish you could muster under a random circumstance. He regaled me with stories of his family and his adventures. He wrote a book on cleaning industrial machinery and raised three kids.

Neat stuff.

I am a jerk because I make fun of people behind their back. Germans are easy targets because they..well..they did something called the Holocaust but this guy didn’t. Hell, he married a Jewish woman and had a few tips on good living. Maybe I’ll soften my opinions on the next German that passes through the doors of the club.


Going Alone

Worked west bar by myself. Bradley was out of town and I drew short straw to man the two wells by myself. Becky and Jennifer took my normal stomping grounds of the east bar and did a good job but I found myself in a world of hurt moments after the show started.

The crowd was rowdy and craved strong drink. I was lucky to have three cocktail waitresses that pushed me but I still had time to pour almost $900 in drinks at the bar. Most of my guests were pretty decent but one bad apple mucked everything up. He ordered a tropical long island and chased and carried with a credit card. When I returned he ordered a shot of rum. I asked him if it was for the mixed drink and he said no. As I was cashing him out, I caught him pouring the shot in the drink.

What a punk.

I read him the riot act and verbal assaulted him in front of the bar. By the time I was done, I had customers ready to take him out the BACK door and make sure he understood how serious I was. I don’t like acting like a tough guy mostly because I am not. I am all sizzle and no steak when it comes to physical confrontations but I am an absolute bully when it comes to verbal fights. With almost 20-years behind the bar, I know how to joust with words and am definitely not afraid to use them. I rarely worry about the repercussions of dressing somebody down. At the best, I have a small army of bouncers that are ready to pulverize any opponent. At worst, I know how to take a punch.

The guy came to his senses, left my presence and had the internal fortitude to apologize upside down for what he did. Good. Manners mean something and the social order demands that offenders make right with their offenses.

In the end, he was a blurp in a night that made me sweat through two shirts and allowed me the honor of pouring half of the nights drinks. I might be more of a blocker but I know how to run a service well.