Every week, (specifically Monday mornings) I used to count all the liquor, wine and beer in my restaurant. I would physically count all the inventory and then input the numbers into the computer. The computer program was simple. It knew the previous weeks inventory. I told the computer what I bought. I would then input what I had each Monday. Also, each time a drink was ordered (throughout the week) the cocktail server or bartender would ring in each drink, in our computer. So, at the week end, the computer knew what our beginning inventory was, what we purchased, what the ending inventory was AND all the drinks that were purchased throughout the week. In theory, I could track every ounce of alcohol that came in or left the restaurant. It worked well. Too well. So well, in fact, that bartenders and cocktail servers had to go through great lengths to steal a drink.
I used to drink Goldschlager. It was a cinnamon type of schnapps. A thick, syrupy beverage that not too many people drank. As a matter of fact, I was almost the only person in the restaurant that drank it. Guests included. So when one particular week when we were missing a bottle of it, i grew concerned. I asked my primary bartender if anybody had been drinking it last week. Nobody but me had drank any. I asked the bartenders if they had been ringing in my end of shift drinks. The answer was yes.
I went into the office to print up the sales report and it indeed showed that my drinks had been rung up. I grew concerned. It could look like I was stealing drinks. This was rediculous. I could have as much booze as I wanted at the end of my shifts. There was absolutely no reason for me to steal booze. I had to get to the bottom of what was happening before my boss started sniffing around. He knew I drank goldschlager. But he knew I wasn't a thief or an on the clock drinker. So I set about trapping the person that was stealing the goldschlager.
Once I had counted the liqour and entered the numbers into the computer, my number one bartender would review the numbers and call an order to the liquor store. I had recently given the bartender the job of calling in the order. He wanted more responsibility. I wanted to do less tedious work, so it seemed an even trade. As I had been doing the order for years, I knew the owner of the liquor store. I called him and told him to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. He agreed.
The following week, we were missing a fifth and a half of goldschlager. When I asked the cocktail staff and bartenders, they had no answers. I got frustrated. I began pointing my fingers at different bartenders. I was mad. What if my boss found out. Was somebody trying to get me fired? I then told the bar staff that I would start to ring in my own drinks. I called the owner of the liquor store and nothing out of the ordinary.
The following week week, we grew two fifths of goldschlager. NOW I KNEW SOMETHING WAS UP. I had counted the bottles over and over again. When I asked the bartender why we had grown goldschlager, he gave a silly story of buying some goldschlager by the liter. I listened to him as he spun a story of the growing goldschlager bottles. It made my ears hurt. He was obviously lying. I quickly called the owner of the liquor store. I asked if there was anything fishy going on. This time he said yes. He told me that the bartender had come in on a Friday, before his shift, and bought a bottle of goldschlager and another bottle of booze and paid for it out of his wallet. I NOW HAD HIM. We only paid for the liquor with checks. He was covering his own losses. I just had to get the story out of him.
I called my boss and told him what had been happening. I told him I was going to confront my bartender. He asked if he could sit in on this. I agreed.
When my bartender came in the next day. I told him what I had found out from the liquor store owner. I asked him what he had to say for himself.
I will never forget the next 10 seconds. Ever. Without batting an eye. Without flinching. Without swollowing nervously, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "I've been coming into work high on cocaine. I needed the goldschlager to even me out. You know...coke is a stimulant and booze is a depressant. I've been going into the liquor closed with a coffee mug and drinking goldschlager to mellow me out. I figured since you were the only one that drank goldschlager, it would be less likely that someone would find out."
When I told him he was fired, he blinked twice and said, "...but I told you the truth. You can't fire me."
I did fire him that day
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Sweet Irony
Years ago, driving home after a few stops at different bars, I got behind a guy driving more drunk than me. I called the police on him. WTF.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Suit yourself!
The summer after my first year in college, my father and I went camping. Actually, there were four of us camping. My father brought his good buddy, Ray. Ray, in turn, brought the kid of a woman he was dating. It was an interesting dynamic. More appropriately, Ray was an interesting dynamic. When I asked Ray why he brought the kid camping he told me he liked the kid more than the woman he was dating. Wierd. So, there were two 50 year old men and two 19 year old kids.
We all piled our camping gear into Ray's station wagon and took off to some lake near Mt. Hood. Ray was driving, my dad rode shotgun, the kid and I in the back seat. About 15 minutes into the trip, the kid pulled the biggest bag of weed I had ever seen. He loaded a huge bud into a pipe looked around and silently offered it to me.
"Dude..." I said while quickly glancing at my dad," I can't. My dad's right there."
The kid looked at me, shrugged and said, "suit yourself." He took a huge drag...held it in...then blew the stinky smoke in between my father and Ray. The two of them looked at each other and Ray announced "reminds me of college at Berkley."
I was horrified. Not only was the kid smoking weed...he was smoking it in front of adults. WTF! I was going to get in trouble. I just knew it.
We arrived at the campsite and I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. That prick was gonna get me busted. Doesn't he know you don't smoke the weed in front of your parents. I was gonna have to be very careful.
We got the tents up. Blew up the raft. Set up camp. Kept the food in the car as there were bears. Dad and Ray pulled out the cooler with the beer and booze and we all had a drink. After a bit, Ray suggested that the kid and I take the raft out and go fishing and catch our dinner. We got out to the middle of the lake and the kid pulled out that huge bag of weed again. He, again, loaded the pipe and offered it to me. "I can't take a hit dude, my dad is right over there."
"Suit yourself" he said and took a monster hit of the weed.
We each had about 3 fish on the stringer when we decided we had to pee. We rowed to the shore, grabbed the stringer of fish and put them in a shallow pond near the lake side. We peed, came back to the raft and fish and noticed the fish were belly up and a different color. Oops. We had set them in a warm spring, accidentally and cooked them. We left the volcanically cooked fish in the spring and rowed back to the campsite.
After dinner and drinks, we all sat around the fire. Once again the kid pulled out the bag o' weed and pipe. Loaded that bitch up and offered it to me. I was mortified. I looked at the pipe. While looking at the pipe, I noticed that Ray and my father were looking at me. "I'll pass" I said to the kid. "Suit yourself." the kid said. He then did the unthinkable...he offered it to my dad.
"About fucking time" was the reply. My dad took that pipe, pulled a lighter out of his pocket and fired that bitch up. He drew so much weed smoke into his lungs I thought he was gonna burst. THEN HE TOOK MORE. He held his breath for what seemed like half a lifetime then blew it out. "Ere" he said to Ray and Ray took the pipe. Ray took a hit "good shit" he said and passed it back to my dad. He took another hit and gave it to the kid. The kid took a hit and handed it to me. All three of them were looking at me. "Assholes" I quipped and took the pipe.
After a few passes of the pipe, Ray went to bed. My father soon followed. Not before he announced he had to pee first. Past the fire and down to the lake he went. The moon was directly in front of him. The reflection of the moon on the lake was beautiful. Dad started peeing in the lake. The sound was deafening. The sound of pee hitting the lake was echoing off the hills. You could hear my father peeing from miles away. When he had finished. We could see him hold his wrist up to his face. He was trying to see what time it was.
"Fuck" came out of his mouth. Of course it came out loudly and echoed all around the lake. "F*** F***F***F***"
"What's wrong, pop" I asked.
"My watch is busted" he said.
"Come here...let me see"
He walked back up to the fire and held out his wrist and watch so I could see.
"It's not broken you stoned idiot...it's midnight. The little hand and the big hand are pointing at the same number."
He was so wasted, he thought his watch was broken. Sweet.
We all piled our camping gear into Ray's station wagon and took off to some lake near Mt. Hood. Ray was driving, my dad rode shotgun, the kid and I in the back seat. About 15 minutes into the trip, the kid pulled the biggest bag of weed I had ever seen. He loaded a huge bud into a pipe looked around and silently offered it to me.
"Dude..." I said while quickly glancing at my dad," I can't. My dad's right there."
The kid looked at me, shrugged and said, "suit yourself." He took a huge drag...held it in...then blew the stinky smoke in between my father and Ray. The two of them looked at each other and Ray announced "reminds me of college at Berkley."
I was horrified. Not only was the kid smoking weed...he was smoking it in front of adults. WTF! I was going to get in trouble. I just knew it.
We arrived at the campsite and I couldn't get out of the car fast enough. That prick was gonna get me busted. Doesn't he know you don't smoke the weed in front of your parents. I was gonna have to be very careful.
We got the tents up. Blew up the raft. Set up camp. Kept the food in the car as there were bears. Dad and Ray pulled out the cooler with the beer and booze and we all had a drink. After a bit, Ray suggested that the kid and I take the raft out and go fishing and catch our dinner. We got out to the middle of the lake and the kid pulled out that huge bag of weed again. He, again, loaded the pipe and offered it to me. "I can't take a hit dude, my dad is right over there."
"Suit yourself" he said and took a monster hit of the weed.
We each had about 3 fish on the stringer when we decided we had to pee. We rowed to the shore, grabbed the stringer of fish and put them in a shallow pond near the lake side. We peed, came back to the raft and fish and noticed the fish were belly up and a different color. Oops. We had set them in a warm spring, accidentally and cooked them. We left the volcanically cooked fish in the spring and rowed back to the campsite.
After dinner and drinks, we all sat around the fire. Once again the kid pulled out the bag o' weed and pipe. Loaded that bitch up and offered it to me. I was mortified. I looked at the pipe. While looking at the pipe, I noticed that Ray and my father were looking at me. "I'll pass" I said to the kid. "Suit yourself." the kid said. He then did the unthinkable...he offered it to my dad.
"About fucking time" was the reply. My dad took that pipe, pulled a lighter out of his pocket and fired that bitch up. He drew so much weed smoke into his lungs I thought he was gonna burst. THEN HE TOOK MORE. He held his breath for what seemed like half a lifetime then blew it out. "Ere" he said to Ray and Ray took the pipe. Ray took a hit "good shit" he said and passed it back to my dad. He took another hit and gave it to the kid. The kid took a hit and handed it to me. All three of them were looking at me. "Assholes" I quipped and took the pipe.
After a few passes of the pipe, Ray went to bed. My father soon followed. Not before he announced he had to pee first. Past the fire and down to the lake he went. The moon was directly in front of him. The reflection of the moon on the lake was beautiful. Dad started peeing in the lake. The sound was deafening. The sound of pee hitting the lake was echoing off the hills. You could hear my father peeing from miles away. When he had finished. We could see him hold his wrist up to his face. He was trying to see what time it was.
"Fuck" came out of his mouth. Of course it came out loudly and echoed all around the lake. "F*** F***F***F***"
"What's wrong, pop" I asked.
"My watch is busted" he said.
"Come here...let me see"
He walked back up to the fire and held out his wrist and watch so I could see.
"It's not broken you stoned idiot...it's midnight. The little hand and the big hand are pointing at the same number."
He was so wasted, he thought his watch was broken. Sweet.
Happy birthday son!
I came home from college during spring break. It was March of 1990. On the last day of the break...my father fashioned a wonderful plan. Not being able to celebrate my 21st birthday with me, my father took me to some of his drinking haunts. This was a fantastic idea. Bonding time with daddy AND THE BONUS...His wife was out of town. There was no way for us to get into trouble! YES!
We had one or two beers at two or three places. I only remember one of them. It was dark and filled with folks in their 50's and 60's. Just where a college kid wants to be. At least I was with my dad. It was the middle of the day and I (rookie) was getting buzzed. I came up with the wonderful idea of going home, asking one of our neighbors to go out drinking later in the evening. The plan was set in motion. Until then drink more, watch tv, drink more, nap and shower.
We met the neigbor (my fathers age) and his son and his son's friend. We proceeded to get our drunk on. Pitcher after pitcher of beer came. My father and his friend kept the table loaded with pitchers of beer. The two fathers thought it would be funny to not let the kids glasses empty. So as they couldn't count how many they've had. INGENIOUS, I SAY!
At one point, I thought I should get my father back with this little trick. When he wasn't looking, I gently and rather drunkenly, reached across the table...grasped for the handle of the pitcher...missed...knocked the full pitcher of beer in my fathers lap. It was at this point that my father moved as quickly as I have ever seen. Lightning quick. Up out of the chair, pants completly soaked. (which is actually fantastic for driving home in the event you get pulled over...that way they can't smell the beer on your breath...because the smell of beer coming from your crotchial area would overwhelm your breath...and anything else...WE WERE GENIOUSES, I SAY!!!)
After about three hours of drinking, we all decided it would be good drive home. (the drinking and driving laws were not enforced back then...unless you were OBVIOUSLY intoxicated). We all said our drunken goodbyes. "I love you, man!" was yelled across the parking lot. My father reached in to his pants pocket and grabbed a handful of keys. "Wanna drive?" he asked.
"PHFFFFFF...no way dude. I'm pie eyed. I'm not drivin'" was my retort. He shrugged and we got in the car. The cool thing about my dad's 1986 gold colored Pontiac Grand Am was that the dashboard was digital. Which means that when looking at the speedometer, it reads as a number. (Lets say 50 for example)
We left the bar and hit the freeway. We had about 15 miles of freeway to negotiate before getting home. After about, idunno, 5 miles, I looked over at my dad. His arms were straight...no bend in his elbows as he whiteknuckled the steering wheel. I looked at his face. He was concentrating as hard as I have ever seen him concentrate. Wanting to help him, I offered up "hey dad, you're only going 50 miles an hour..."
"THAT'S ALL THE FASTER I CAN SEE!!!!!" he quickly and angrily returned.
I shut up, buckled up and hung on.
Aaaaannnnnd....we made it home. No problem dude!
The next part of the story is exactly how I remember it. We made ramen.
I don't know how much more stuff happened...but I distinctly remember making ramen.
The next morning my alarm went off. I had to get packed and showered. My girlfriend was coming to pick me up in two hours. She was driving us back to school.
I remember how much my head hurt. It was awful. One of the worst hangovers I've ever had. I sat up in bed. Feet touched the ground. Sat in bed for about 5 minutes rubbing my eyes and head, trying to feel better. It was dark in my room. The light switch was across the room by the door. I stood up took three steps and "squish" and a horrible smell. Couple more steps and turn on the light. "Fuck...I puked?"
The carpet was not more than a couple of months old. My step mom would yell at my dad if she found out. I went down and grabbed a dustpan, gargage can and two or three towels. Twenty minutes the puke and it's horrible stench were gone.
Out of the room, towels in the washer, garbage can and dustpan cleaned. Now, into my dad's room to wake his sorry ass up. Nothing...he wasn't there. Upstairs, I could hear the tv. Down the hallway to the stairs. When I passed the kitchen I saw the mother of all messes. Ramen wrappers, pots and pans in the sink. Plates, silverware and napkins on the table. Full cans of beer on the table as well. Spices all over the countertop and floor. Not the spice containers...I mean the actual spice. "That fuckin sucks" I blathered. I remember demanding we put nutmeg in our ramen. The mess was going to take forever to clean.
Pressing on to find my father, I left the shithole of a kitchen. Down the remainder of the hallway to the stairs. As I looked up the stairs, on the stairs, in this order, were shoes, coat,shirt and pants. When I got to the top of the stairs I found my father, passed out on the couch, with socks and underwear on the floor between me and him. (No puke on the floor tho)
"Hey, pop, get up" I barked. He groggily looked around. First at me, then the tv, then the table with a couple of beer cans and lastly toward the bathroom. He tossed back the blanket he was under and stood up. Stark, raving naked he was. He quickly realized this and jumped back to the couch and put the blanket around himself and glared at me with furrowed brows.
"I didn't do that to you! What the fuck!" I exclaimed. He was looking at me as if I had raped him.
He reached for his underwear and sprang for the bathroom.
We had one or two beers at two or three places. I only remember one of them. It was dark and filled with folks in their 50's and 60's. Just where a college kid wants to be. At least I was with my dad. It was the middle of the day and I (rookie) was getting buzzed. I came up with the wonderful idea of going home, asking one of our neighbors to go out drinking later in the evening. The plan was set in motion. Until then drink more, watch tv, drink more, nap and shower.
We met the neigbor (my fathers age) and his son and his son's friend. We proceeded to get our drunk on. Pitcher after pitcher of beer came. My father and his friend kept the table loaded with pitchers of beer. The two fathers thought it would be funny to not let the kids glasses empty. So as they couldn't count how many they've had. INGENIOUS, I SAY!
At one point, I thought I should get my father back with this little trick. When he wasn't looking, I gently and rather drunkenly, reached across the table...grasped for the handle of the pitcher...missed...knocked the full pitcher of beer in my fathers lap. It was at this point that my father moved as quickly as I have ever seen. Lightning quick. Up out of the chair, pants completly soaked. (which is actually fantastic for driving home in the event you get pulled over...that way they can't smell the beer on your breath...because the smell of beer coming from your crotchial area would overwhelm your breath...and anything else...WE WERE GENIOUSES, I SAY!!!)
After about three hours of drinking, we all decided it would be good drive home. (the drinking and driving laws were not enforced back then...unless you were OBVIOUSLY intoxicated). We all said our drunken goodbyes. "I love you, man!" was yelled across the parking lot. My father reached in to his pants pocket and grabbed a handful of keys. "Wanna drive?" he asked.
"PHFFFFFF...no way dude. I'm pie eyed. I'm not drivin'" was my retort. He shrugged and we got in the car. The cool thing about my dad's 1986 gold colored Pontiac Grand Am was that the dashboard was digital. Which means that when looking at the speedometer, it reads as a number. (Lets say 50 for example)
We left the bar and hit the freeway. We had about 15 miles of freeway to negotiate before getting home. After about, idunno, 5 miles, I looked over at my dad. His arms were straight...no bend in his elbows as he whiteknuckled the steering wheel. I looked at his face. He was concentrating as hard as I have ever seen him concentrate. Wanting to help him, I offered up "hey dad, you're only going 50 miles an hour..."
"THAT'S ALL THE FASTER I CAN SEE!!!!!" he quickly and angrily returned.
I shut up, buckled up and hung on.
Aaaaannnnnd....we made it home. No problem dude!
The next part of the story is exactly how I remember it. We made ramen.
I don't know how much more stuff happened...but I distinctly remember making ramen.
The next morning my alarm went off. I had to get packed and showered. My girlfriend was coming to pick me up in two hours. She was driving us back to school.
I remember how much my head hurt. It was awful. One of the worst hangovers I've ever had. I sat up in bed. Feet touched the ground. Sat in bed for about 5 minutes rubbing my eyes and head, trying to feel better. It was dark in my room. The light switch was across the room by the door. I stood up took three steps and "squish" and a horrible smell. Couple more steps and turn on the light. "Fuck...I puked?"
The carpet was not more than a couple of months old. My step mom would yell at my dad if she found out. I went down and grabbed a dustpan, gargage can and two or three towels. Twenty minutes the puke and it's horrible stench were gone.
Out of the room, towels in the washer, garbage can and dustpan cleaned. Now, into my dad's room to wake his sorry ass up. Nothing...he wasn't there. Upstairs, I could hear the tv. Down the hallway to the stairs. When I passed the kitchen I saw the mother of all messes. Ramen wrappers, pots and pans in the sink. Plates, silverware and napkins on the table. Full cans of beer on the table as well. Spices all over the countertop and floor. Not the spice containers...I mean the actual spice. "That fuckin sucks" I blathered. I remember demanding we put nutmeg in our ramen. The mess was going to take forever to clean.
Pressing on to find my father, I left the shithole of a kitchen. Down the remainder of the hallway to the stairs. As I looked up the stairs, on the stairs, in this order, were shoes, coat,shirt and pants. When I got to the top of the stairs I found my father, passed out on the couch, with socks and underwear on the floor between me and him. (No puke on the floor tho)
"Hey, pop, get up" I barked. He groggily looked around. First at me, then the tv, then the table with a couple of beer cans and lastly toward the bathroom. He tossed back the blanket he was under and stood up. Stark, raving naked he was. He quickly realized this and jumped back to the couch and put the blanket around himself and glared at me with furrowed brows.
"I didn't do that to you! What the fuck!" I exclaimed. He was looking at me as if I had raped him.
He reached for his underwear and sprang for the bathroom.
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