Last night, Yankee Pot Roast coëditor Geoff Wolinetz tended bar at New York City’s Tin Lizzie. Y.P.R. was there to observe and imbibe. Nick Jezarian took notes:
G.W.: What? Yes, I am the bartender … Do you think I’m cute? Oh a drink, you want a drink. Heh, heh. I have the power you know. I’m a man in power. Cosmoplitan? Why yes I am. A little joke there. I’m an editor you know … All right, I’ll get you your fucking drink, you don’t have to be so gosh darn rude about it. Its rudimentary. I’m going to call you Rude Mary.
G.W.: There’s your cosmopolitan, Rude Mary. Our little joke. I’m sorry it took so long, I’m new at this. Yeah, I won’t quit my day job. Mary, Mary, why ya buggin’?
G.W.: Yes, sir, can I help you? The house’s finest lager, on the double. Oh, you like the site? That’s great. Yes, we do think we’re funny. Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad. You kicked your cat you were so angry? Listen sir, that’ll be five dollars and you need to relax. Yes, I am aware you’re 300 pounds of pure man. No, no I don’t want to see the crack of your ass. Oh God. Jesus, put that thing away, its like a tropical jungle in there. Ew.
G.W.: Here’s your beer, I had to dig down in the cold bin of ice. I wasn’t sure where they keep the Miller Lite. Yeah, I like that commercial too. No, I don’t think your ass resembles the cleavage on the brunette chick. No I don’t want to compare. Oh God. Jesus, put that thing away, you’re scaring the customers.
G.W.: Why, hello, miss. You look ravishing tonight, now don’t you? Yes, my little thirsty harlot. What can I get you? Why, aren’t you a tasty little beast? Two shots of Jack, eh? You know, I have a friend named Jack if you catch my drift. You don’t catch my drift. I mean a little something named Jack, get it? No? Let’s just cut to the chase, I’ll give you the Jack shots for free if you let me touch your breast. No, just one of them is fine. You don’t even have to take them out, I can just kind of cup it. Listen lady, I know what I’m doing. I’ve handled fruit before, I don’t bruise them. Yeah, I can tell a ripe nectarine from a mile away and I’m the only man alive I know who can tell a pink grapefruit from a yellow grapefruit from the outside. I’m all man, lady. You won’t do it? Fine—oh, come on, there’s no reason to report me to the manager! O.K., I’ll give you the booze for free; no feel necessary. Yes, there you go, my filthy little sexpot, we have a deal. Let me go get your shots.
G.W.: You’re still here? You must really like me. Yeah but, you could have gone to another bar and ordered some liquor by now. Liquor, I don’t even know her. Ha Ha, ever heard that one before? Ow, you have a nice right hook there. You like to get kinky? I can bring the booze. No wait, I was just kidding.
G.W.: I’ve had enough of this. LAST CALL! Whatever, I don’t care, it’s got to be later then 10:09. Christ, I’m supposed to work till like two. I haven’t even eaten yet. This sucks. No, I’m not gonna get you a beer, I’m an editor and a writer damn it, not a bartender. Fine, fine, shut your trap I’m comin’.
Geoff served only three people all night and was unable to successfully trade booze for copped feels, even from the 300-pound grizzly man cozying up to him all night. When he went home, alone, he ended up dining on raw tuna from a can and a glass of pickle juice. He netted out with a total night’s earnings of $3.42.
We’ll let you know the next time Geoff tends bar again. We suggest you B.Y.O.B.