Bartender
Chronicles By Paxton Willis
Selective Hearing Part 2
Partying in particular is part and parcel here on Tybee. It’s a part of everyone’s partisan partnership around these parts. Everyone is here to do it, and we
welcome everyone to do so, but our locals and regulars get preferential treatment. I’m sure that’s the way you would like it from your home town watering
hole, right? I know when I visit other towns, you can tell who the ragged locals are and I’m not upset when they get their Bud Light first. We escape to other
places and we know our little island is an escape to others, but it’s a community to us, just like yours is to you. We can all happily coexist, it’s pretty easy to
be honest. We exist for each other, let’s not go too far down that rabbit hole, this is about drinking right? You’ve selected your destination for the week, we’ve
selected where we call home, let’s all select the option of trying to have a nice time.
Even on the most rambunctious nights, I can pick out one of my regulars’ voice over the commotion of a full bar. I can also select whether I listen or not. A
beckon for a beer by a voice from a gravel chomping cigarette chugging delinquent who doesn’t pay half the time and tells me I ain’t local might be ignored
for a while. The solid gold easy-going well tipping regular is pin pointed and served immediately, moved ahead of others sometimes. A history always exists,
good or bad, short or long.
This does not mean that selective hearing is only for a particular selective. There’s no hard and fast set of criteria which separates the heard from the herd,
you see. You don’t have to be easy going, you don’t have to be meek, or even nice, to be honest. It’s not a contest of who is cool or pretty or patient. Just have
your shit together and remember common human decency and the rainbows will appear.
If you flag a bartender down impatiently, and when subsequently asked what you would like, you defer to your group or have no idea what it is you want,
you’re a twat. You wasted valuable time trying to flag someone down even though you’ve only been there 30 seconds, time you could’ve spent deciding what
you wanted to drink. And by the way, who the F doesn’t know what they want to drink? If you were on a nice dinner out and wanted to look at a wine list, go
ahead. At this point, if you don’t know what beer, shot or liquor drink you normally take, then what are we doing here? You don’t have to be a raging alcoholic
with a one drink go-to, but holy science, pick something! You eat the same garbage dinner every night, pretend it’s that easy. If a bartender approaches and
asks what you want and you can’t be bothered to un-tether your eyes from your phone, you’re getting skipped.
“Hey guys, what bar do you want to go to tonight and stare at our phones?”
“I hear ____ has wifi!”
“Ok, I’ll meet you there, just promise you won’t engage me or interact at all?!?”
“Haha, wouldn’t dream of it! Can’t wait!!”
You aren’t checking emails at 9 at night, and if you were the type that had to, you’d be home working on work. Alas, you’re here asking how much shots
cost, so put the phone down.
The idiot who can’t put together a sentence but knows he wants a Budweiser and a shot of Jameson is nobility compared to the nice looking young lady
ordering a 9 ingredient drink and swiping her card every single time, even though she plans on having 5 of them. She leaves the ubiquitous 0 with the line
through it on the tip line, it’s noted, and she’s relegated to being behind the bro with the flower pattern tank top, a lowly distinction to be sure. These are
generalities though. In general, it’s not necessarily gender or genetics that’s responsible for this gentrification of dive bar genealogy. Gentle or jaunty, genius
or clumsy, this generation is janky, jerky, je ne sais quoi.
See you in part 3, actually let’s just say I’ll see you next month, there’s a lot to unpack, might take a bit.
40 TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | MAR 2019