On Thursday it was The Manager, New Girl and I at work. Usually Saturday is our busiest night, but with new sexy PR girls luring people in in swarms, last Thursday rivalled even our best Saturdays. Our Thursday deal is £3 on all classic cocktails, beers and single spirits so the bar was busy trying to keep up with the never ending public demand for cheap booze. This was good news, not only because it’s easier to teach someone [New Girl] how to make cocktails when cocktails are actually being ordered, but also because there’s nothing worse than standing around with nothing to do all night, even if I 80% of my orders on Thursdays are Amaretto Sours/Mojitos. The atmosphere in the bar was great, and downstairs was packed with people dancing until suddenly the music stopped at 1.30 and the lights came on. At this point I was standing around upstairs trying to keep a drunken, flirtatious absinthe ordering local, repeat customer (aka Stalker) at bay, so I had no idea what had happened downstairs. Moments later The Manager told me to stop serving.
STOP SERVING? The wretched look of despair on drunk people’s faces is priceless when you deliver the bad news.
The emergency? You guys, PEOPLE WERE FIGHTING DOWNSTAIRS: Drunken Nuisance Chick bumping into people deliberately on the dance floor vs. Fed up with Her Antics Girl. This is really quite inconvenient on days we don’t have security on the door to diffuse situations like these, so much punching, squabbling and eye-gouging ensued until we managed to shove them outside amidst screaming and name-calling. Eventually we started serving again, though the 24/7 McDonald’s down the street now had more ambience than we did. Most of our respectable patrons (20-30s/professionals/NOT drug dealers) got fed up and left in the interlude, but unfortunately this wasn’t the cue for an early finish. As the one group left, the Brigade of Rowdy Middle-Aged Losers made its arrival and woe betide the man denying them beer. Result: The Manager and New Girl ended up staying until five in the morning when they finally had to call the police/pest control to get rid of these douche bags. My feet ready to drop off, I had insisted on leaving at 2.30 blissfully unaware that there were another two and half hours ahead. What an escape.