Why do people think that using one ID between three people is going to fool me into giving them all alcohol?  Why do they think bitching to the manager and hoping that the manager won’t notice that they all have the exact same ID is going to change anything?

I had a party of 5 sit down later in the night, a mix of ghetto white, black, and Mexicans.  The two white guys decided to try using the exact same ID with me to get their drinks, and I caught them on it and told them that neither would get a drink if they tried it again.  Then the Mexican, who had his ID, and was almost dark complected enough to be a black man, tried to pass his ID to his friends under the table thinking they’d get away with it.

“Guys, you all have to have your OWN separate ID’s before I’m going to serve you a drink.  I know you’re passing those two around, don’t think I’m stupid.”

“What you mean main, we ain’t usin da same cahds, day be diffent.”  Bullshit, white boy (we’ll call him Crotchen).  “No, sir, they’re not.  I’m not that stupid to think that the two of you, who look nothing alike, have the exact same name and the same exact face.  Now, if you try it again, I’m going to have the manager come and escort you out.”

“Why you be tahkin ta us like we dumb?”  ElCantanori (the Mexican) asked me.  “You cain be tahkin ta us like dat.”  Wanna bet?

“Look guys, I’m sorry you felt the need to come out without your ID’s but you’re not gonna pull one over on me.  If you don’t like it, go to another bar where they don’t care about getting fired.”  Don’t fuck with me when I’m not feeling well.

“Main, Fuck you.  You be ackin crazy in heah, we ain gonna take dis bullshit.”  Says Genarlo (had to try out the name).  “We gots us some rights.”  That’s what you think.  You might have a right to drink, but you don’t have the right to drink without identification.

I get the manager over to the table, and he catches them pulling the same shit as I did.  Security escorted them out, the lot of them calling us racist the entire time.  That’s fine guys, I’m still not getting fired because you’re all fucking trash.

Then we have the fat bitches.  Big fat white honkey whores.  Berthetta and Daisy.  They came in with their kids, who were in their early teens.  The girls were 25 and 26.  The kids were 13 and 14.

“Hey you, brang us some of that Bud Ice.”  Berthetta says.  I can barely stand to look at her, with her skin-tight jeans and tube top she’s wearing, there are rolls abound and it’s making my already queasy stomach feel even worse.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t carry that brand of beer.  Can I get you a Bud Light or a Miller light?”

“Why ya’ll don’t got no Bud Ice?”  Daisy asked, twisting her hair with her fingers that were about as thick as my wrist. “Thats tha best damn beer there ever was.”

“We just don’t carry any Ice beers here, they’re not too popular with the restaurant crowd.”

“Are you sayin we don’t got enough class to be eatin here?”

“No, ma’am, that’s not what I’m saying at all.  I’m saying that when we did have it, it didn’t sell, so we got rid of it.”  We’ve never had it as far as I knew, but I didn’t want the two of them to tackle me for pissin them off, so I had to diffuse the situation before I was smushed into oblivion.

These two ordered two entree’s each, an appetizer platter, 2 salads with like 4 sides of ranch each and two desserts.  They didn’t just order it all, they ATE it all.  Can anyone say “Tapeworm”?

Total bill, 145.  Total tip, nothing.

Ribeye

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