I’m at the Portland Airport this morning, at some “German” bar on the concourse. I walk up the bar and order a double shot and a beer.
Now, mind you, I’m not doing this because I’m that into drinking at ten in the morning. I’m doing it because I’m terrified of flying.
Anyway, the friendly airport bar staff greets me and serves me my drinks and breakfast. With no ID. Awesome.
I notice an older woman crawling along the bar edge, looking for a seat. Being the consummate gentleman bar-goer, I make room for her next to me, as my bag and jacket are taking up a barstool.
Now, I don’t know how to describe this woman in a politically-correct kind of way. Let’s just say that she was wearing a sweatshirt with the Tasmanian Devil on it.
She seemed to be already mildly intoxicated at 9:30 AM, and I could feel the bartender’s tension. She asked for her ID, and Ms. Lady made a big scene. Once she had produced her valid ID, the bartender served her. With reluctance.
Tasmanian Devil took over the bar, hitting up customers for cigarettes, negotiating prices with the staff, and asking every male in the place (including myself) to buy her breakfast. It was the last thing the staff needed to deal with.
The whole short scene reminded me that sometimes, as bartenders, we tend to size people up as they approach our bars. Sometimes we’re right, but sometimes we’re wrong. Please remember to not take it personally, but all of us have had some bad experiences. Like this.
More later, I’m going to take a disco nap and grab some dinner with the folks that sell alcohol to my bar. I’m going to have lots of photos and stories from Las Vegas!