Mr. Massengill, Your Table is Ready

Maybe I missed the announcement, but I think that Massengill and Summer's Eve must have had a douche convention in New York City last week because some of the participants invaded my station. The man at booth one was practically crying out for a vinegar and water cocktail with a baking soda and iodine chaser. From the moment he and his friends sat down, he copped a not-so-fresh attitude with me. He didn't like his seat and complained about it but didn't want to be moved to another table. He was one of those people who like to find something wrong but not do anything about it so that they can continue to have something to gripe about. And then he asked me one of my least favorite questions any customer can ask me: what do you got to drink? Seriously? We are a bar. You passed a bartender who was standing in front of row upon row of bottles of liquor, just tell me what you want. I patiently told him that we have a full bar so he could order whatever he would like. He paused a moment and then said, "You got grappa?"
"No, sir, I'm sorry, but we don't have grappa."
He rolled his eyes and then said, "Well, then you're not a full bar."
Was he for real? No, we don't have grappa. We also don't have ouzo, absinthe or manischewitz so choose one of our eight vodkas, four gins, four rums, three brandies, six whiskeys, nine beers or six wines and move on.
"What about champagne? You got champagne?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what kind is it? Is it any good?"
"We have Marquis de la Tour Brut from Loire, France. Would you like a bottle?"
After snubbing his nose as if I just offered him a bottle of my piss (which he might just get if he keeps it up) he ordered a bottle. I quickly returned with four glasses and placed them on his table as the bartender put his champagne on ice. When I showed up to pop the cork (hopefully into his eyeball) he hands me a glass and says, "Can you chill these?"
I went to chill the glasses. It wasn't a completely awful thing of him to ask, it was just the way he asked it as is so often the problem. No please, thank you or eye contact necessary. A co-worker eventually took the glasses and poured for me because it was obvious that this guy was getting under my skin.

Everyone who comes into the club has a two-drink minimum. We tell them when they make their reservation, when they arrive, when we seat them, it's on the seating pass, it's on the menu, it's on the postcard that the performer gave them and I tell them when I take their order. A bottle of wine or champagne serves as four drinks so this party of four was halfway to their minimum. Throughout the show, they kept telling me they didn't want anything else. They were fine. When I printed the check, I had to put four minimum charges on at $5.00 per person. Guess who didn't like that. "Well, we didn't know we had to get two drinks per person. How are we supposed to know that? How much does a bottle count for?" He was told that a bottle is four beverages. "Well, we are four people, so that should be enough!"
"Two beverages per person, sir."
"Right, we had a bottle of champagne and there were four of us. That should be enough."
I watched his face change as he realized what he was saying was wrong. Math was not his strong suit. He had majored in douchebaggery with a minor in asshat and specialization in tool. He eventually understood that he did not meet the minimum and agreed to pay the check. With a ten percent tip.

I heard them later proudly proclaim that they were from Texas. These were my people. Why didn't they just order a six pack of Lone Star and two wine coolers and call it a day?

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