My Job as a Cocktail Waitress

Posted: February 24, 2010 in 1
Tags: , , , , , ,

I have to admit up front I was not well suited for the position of cocktail waitress. But I took the job anyway, to get over my fear of men.

At the cocktail lounge where I worked, waitresses were not allowed to write down orders, so we had to remember the drinks and repeat them to the bartender. For somebody with the attention span of a flea, I found that part of the job both challenging and unnerving.

One time, as a table of 8 (a difficult number of drinks to remember) gave me their order, I tried to picture them as a photograph in my mind with the drinks of their choice floating above their heads, but as I was taking their order, three of them got up and changed places. I wanted to scream, because suddenly I could remember not a single drink.

Another time, just as I turned around to bring my order to the bartender, the whole order from another table of 8 disappeared from my brain. How stupid would I look if I asked them to repeat their order? So instead of admitting my mistake, I walked away and I told the bartender that I couldn’t tell him a single drink. Also that I was embarrassed to return to the table and ask them again. Maybe I could make a quick escape and some other waitress could take over, I suggested.

As I stood there pondering my dilemma, Don asked, “So you’re you’re not going to bring them anything?” Good point. So I walked back to the table and said something really stupid like, “You won’t believe this, but I completely forgot what you wanted to drink, and I need to take your order again.” Fortunately in those days, lots of people took drugs, so my table was probably already high and couldn’t remember telling me their drinks in the first place.

But possibly the worst experience I encountered was when my boss put me in a different section, a section that had a buckle in the rug. People at one table, located just the other side of the buckle, ordered a bunch of really sloppy drinks – Tequila Sunrises, Harvey Wallbangers, and other sticky cocktails.

Just before I got to the table I tripped over the buckle in the rug and dropped the tray of drinks into the lap of a guy who had just purchased a new pair of leather pants. Oops!

I felt terrible, so I grabbed some cocktail napkins and started wiping his pants, until his girlfriend gave me a look that immediately warned me to stop. I returned to the bartender, not my usual  bartender (this one hated me) to explain the situation and he reluctantly refilled my tray.

In trepidation and very carefully I returned to the table and AGAIN tripped over the buckle and spilled the entire tray into the same guy’s lap. i couldn’t have been more apologetic. I am sooooo sorry.

By the time I came back with my third tray of drinks, the guy had switched places with another member of his table who held his arms up as I approached. I felt so horribly about ruining his new leather pants, I offered to pay for them but he refused and instead left me no tip.

The lounge sometimes had as its guest a hypnotist. The hypnotist was a big draw. People loved the audience participation as they watched him hypnotize customers into believing they could sing like Elvis and act like John Wayne.

He also created his own hypnotic treats. One in particular involved me. I was not a willing participant. He told his trance target that he wanted him to look at all the cocktail waitresses in the lounge and find the one he found most attractive. Once he saw her, he would be compelled to be no further than two inches from her at all times.

All of us waitresses stood firmly in our stations hoping the poor man wouldn’t notice any of us. We’d seen this hypnotist work his magic before, and we weren’t about to be one of his victims. But one annoying patron waved wildly at me from his seat, demanding I bring him his drink. Oh, please, you ignoramus, I pleaded, wait until this segment is over. But no! He wanted his drink NOW! So I backed my way all the way to his table which was in the center near the stage and snuck back to my station, hoping trance guy didn’t notice me.

When the segment was over, as I was leaning over the bar getting my next order, I felt a presence behind me. Realization slammed me in the rear. I looked at the bartender who was smiling. Please tell me that’s not him, I said. Bartender Don laughed.

The hypnotist allowed this guy to follow me all night long. Deciding I needed to lose him, I found my way into the ladies room where he was, you guessed it, no more than two inches away from me. I begged the hypnotist to end this guy’s torment, and when the poor guy “came to,” he was so embarrassed by his behavior he never came back to the establishment.

I learned a lot from my job as a cocktail waitress. While I lost my fear of men, I learned not to fully trust them. So many times, they would lean into my ear and ask me for my phone number right in front of their wives and girlfriends and then have the audacity to think I would find their betrayal attractive.

Well, we are talking about the “bar scene.” Everything considered, it was a fun job and it was memorable.

  1. theBarefoot says:

    Now why would a cutie like yourself have any trepidation when it came to men?

  2. Jim says:

    You should leave a message on our forums at we have a few cocktail waitresses over there.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s