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Intoxication, Hic! (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
Hi, hic!
As my first bar job I think I did well, but perhaps I should have limited the complementary drinks bought by the patrons. Meanwhile as I write this the kind and very attractive young lady in the internet cafe next door is feeding me mugs of caffeine.

A Bartenders Guide: I felt this need to write about the dangers of being stupefied or excited by chemical substance and dealing with the consequences of a service that can both relieve growing tension and yet at times instigate a level of unacceptable behaviour that borders on anarchy.

The pledge: In planning a night out some get a little tipsy, others look for a buzz, while a few aim at getting completely hammered. Remember this, after becoming plastered your will awake with an awful hangover, remember nothing and swear never to touch the boose again.

Engender : The effect of shots (alcoholic spirits) can mess with the perception of time and space by disorientating the mental capabilities. Indulging in such social activities leads to drinking bouts resulting in obnoxious physical behaviour and overly loud vocal expression.

Resolution: Simple but effective is the humble slushy (a crushed ice drink). Instigated as a dare, a long suck though a straw can render the inebriated with paralysis. By freezing the brain functions and leaving vocal chords immobilised, peace and harmony can be restored.

Note: The profit margin of a slushy is four times that of a shot. The combination of the two might make for an interesting experiment, although the point of an evening out with its expected highs and not so favourable lows might become levelled to apathetic indifference.

If you follow any of this please leave your documented response that I might read later. With my head filled with a mesozoic pounding impairing any further mental function, I feel the urgent need to visit a designated place for providing waste disposal.

Hic, apologies!

QDOS :very_drunk::very_drunk:

Jim Alias

Senior Member
I'm not sure if this is incredibly post-modern or if you're just absurdly tanked. I think (and possibly fear?) it may be a bit of both. Any real attempt at literary critique here would only amount to a hollow exercise in pretense on my part because whatever is going on here is truly beyond me. I feel like some incarnation of Mark Z. Danielewski that doesn't know how to do anything that isn't doing shots and throwing up just from reading this.

Good job? :uncomfortableness:


Senior Member
Hi, no critique necessary but thanks Jim for the sobering reflections...

Mind blur, did I write this, no it was an alter ego, or an echo from beyond the pale or should that be pail.

QDOS :abnormal:

bazz cargo

Retired Supervisor
There is madness, and then Qmadness. Is this the start of something? The germ of an idea that will blossom into a mighty tome?

Staff Deployment

WF Veterans
There is madness, and then Qmadness. Is this the start of something? The germ of an idea that will blossom into a mighty tome?

Germs don't blossom!
Seeds blossom. Germs kill people.

Personally I thought this was legitimately a piece of fiction when I began reading it, and though I'm fairly sure that it has biographical elements I'm still convinced this could easily be an excerpt of an especially poignant humor book.

To critique it, I would say that the paragraph-style doesn't lend itself well to the method of categorizing the different aspects of bartending; there is simply not enough to say on each little category. Developing it into a proper narrative and incorporating each little quip into a developing storyline would be a much better use of some of the ideas and themes present here.

Also, stay away from computers when you're totally smashed.

And phones.

...and tattoo needles, though for entirely different reasons.


Senior Member
Hi, hic!

I’m always experimenting, should I explore the possibility of expanding this into something, is this how you start an autobiography? Maybe this can become an extract of life experiences.

I didn’t consider bar tendering as a full filling job, just a temporary allocation of my time to cover a friend while he was on holiday. Well he needed the break.

On my second night, I wised up and avoided actually drinking the punters offered purchases of alcoholic beverages. I stayed sober by drinking just water. However, I was to learn a valuable lesson in diplomacy. That is awareness in the management of public affairs

It all started with a hen night, and rather flattering smiles from a number of young ladies as they ordered their drinks. As I prepared the drinks, I wasn’t deaf to the complements being made behind my back. However, I have to say some were defiantly not repeatable in polite company. Not that they didn’t add to my self-esteem and growing confidence.

About half way through the evening, this dream of a goddess, with all the right accruements and I might add in all the right places, sat down on one of my barstools and fluttered her long eyelashes at me.

“Hi! So what can I get you?”

“Oh! Something on the rocks” She replied seductively. “I’ll let you choose.”

I tried to focus on what might be considered a worthy and sophisticated drink for such a vision of femininity. My knowledge of cocktails was limited, all I could remember was it involved Gin, or Vodka, or Tequila, there were other spirits and other ingredients I was sure, but my mind went completely blank.

On the rocks echoed back and forth. Ice, put some ice and a glass you fool. That at least that gave me a start. I looked at the spirits stacked in two rows across the back of the bar. I had no idea what to choose. Most of the names I hadn’t heard of, or the parts of the world where they might originate.

I played safe, an Austrian Peach snaps, a dash of Russian vodka, some Jamaican rum, a slice of lemon. Oh! Then looking around to spice it up I homed in on some cranberry juice. A touch of the Christmassy atmosphere, well winter was upon us. Then I topped it with one of those plastic cocktail umbrellas and a cherry on a stick. I was not alone in admiration of my customer as I presented her with my masterpiece of uncertainty. A dozen or more pairs of eyes looked on as the vision took a sip.

Her reaction was simple. “Woo! Woo!”

That and the combined look of pleasure and surprise had customers clambering for my newly created cocktail. I had made a hit, and was looking very much to extending the depth of my acquaintance. The hope of a future romantic connection was beginning to grow. I don’t need to say with whom.

Then things got a little out of hand. Some jerk was pulling my future away and not in too gently a manner. I decided to intervene. Be the Good Samaritan. Ten and a half stone, and a little short of six foot, I convinced myself. Hell, I had the steel blue-grey eyes of special agent. To back this up in my late teens, I’d learnt self defence and had a few years of judo behind me, even if I didn’t quite make it to black belt.

I came round the bar and the punters parted, within four strides I had reached the jerk and tapped him on the shoulder. He was about my height and build, plus a few more pounds that might have counted against him.

“What!” he said as he turned to face me.

“Hey, you need to improve your manners.” I felt that, or something like it was to the point.

He jabbed out his left hand, maybe it was meant as a friendly warning. Maybe I shouldn’t have fended it off quite as aggressively as I did. I was looking passed my assailant at the vision beyond and the worried expression on her face. Not fully concentrating on the here and now, I wasn’t to know he was her boyfriend and that he worked out. Nonetheless, the right hook that floored me proved otherwise.

When I came round the putters were moving away and the manager was pulling me to my feet. The vision and her partner had gone. I was ordered to take the rest of the night off.

Lesson Learnt Diplomacy: Don’t be too cocky and never get personally involved with the punters. If an incident arises and starts to get out of control, call the police and let them handle it.

As I write this, the kind and very attractive young lady in the internet cafe next door, who also provided some first aid, has left me with a mug of strong warm tea. Strange, but this seems to becoming a base to recuperate and review the predicaments I keep on facing.

You might be getting an inkling that I’m leaving something out. Perhaps I’ll say more next time.
Perhaps this could be written in the form of a blog, (Possible Title – Life extracts of Ethan Knolls). Geeky02.png



Senior Member
Hi, hic!

The honest truth, I wasn’t looking forward to my third night as a temporary barman. It was Sunday and the early crowd were more middle aged and older. They were a quiet lot, but being new, I was a target and had to listen to more than a few humorous antidotes. Comic remarks and their repeats to the extent I was beginning to believe half my aging clients were suffering from short-term memory loss.

“Do you know the one about the dog with no nose?”

The guy was probably in his fifties, big, fifteen, sixteen stone a beer gut overhanging the top of his belted trousers. As he leant forward, the top of his baldhead is almost in my face. The three with him look at me as they sip their drinks, sniggering in anticipation of what comes next. Stepping back and to keep them happy I shake my head in the pretence of being blissfully unaware.

“Right, well you see,” the guy takes a sip of his own beer, while he waggles his index finger at me. “You see this chap comes into the bar with a dog that has such a flat face it appears to have no nose. No nose at all.”

Following a short sniggering from his mates, I realised their waiting for me to respond.

“No nose, yea that’s really weird.”

“No, no you’re supposed to say, if he’s got no nose, how does he smell.” The bald guy seems a little put out having to explain things.

“Oh! I see.” I pause glancing at their faces. “Bloody awful!”

“What! No, that’s not right you’re supposed…”

I think they got the message, taking their drinks they move off to play a game of darts.

A real old timer sitting to one side of the bar nods his head.

“Nice one lad, that was Jim Connaught. He’s told that joke in here so many times I think it must be engraved on the pub walls.”

“Yea, I think I first heard my dad tell it, when I was about so high.”

“So I guess you must be Mike’s Friend, he mentioned you stepping in while he was away.”

I smiled back and went to serve a trio that had just come in. They were talking to one referred to as Tony.

“So how was your safari trip, I bet it was hot.”

“Yea, hot during the day and steamy at night. But the game we saw, absolutely magnificent!” Replied the one called Tony. “Giraffes, wildebeest, and the Lions. We never stop shooting, dawn to dusk. Why I even took a shot at an elephant in my pyjamas.”

“But Tony you’re only fife foot six how’d an animal as big as an elephant ever get into your pyjamas.”

With guffaws of laughter, the trio moved off with their drinks, the flow of humorous comments in full swing. I have to say no animals suffered, the shots were carried out with a camera.

The evening dragged on to its conclusion my suffering lightened by one or two comic overtures. Just before closing, I was collecting empties. I was nearing the window recess where the wife’s of Jim Connaught and his mates were deep in conversation. I was unobserved, but within earshot of the discussion.

“So girls do you tell your husband’s when you’ve had an orgasm?”

There was a momentary pause, which I have to admit seized me with curiosity. Then with a snigger, one replied.

“The hell No! I don’t like to ring him while he’s at work.”

Comedy: An infection that borders on insanity.


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