Bartender Chronicles By Gage McKnight
It was the worst of times and there were no signs of a light at the end of the tunnel. Restaurants were beginning to slowly open with limited seating,
bars were continuing to do to-go drinks, and the tourists were flooding in as if the island was their last hope. To understand the full extent of the story I’m
about to share, you have to first understand what it meant for the locals of this beautiful island when the governor decided to reopen the state. We were
money hungry, desperate for social interaction, and most importantly, concerned for our safety (seeing that it’s such a very tight community, we knew that
if one of us had fallen ill, then we all would). What we weren’t prepared for is what happened next.
The beginning of the end had fallen before us, and anyone and everyone from all over the entire east coast had already planned their perfect escape to
Tybee Island, which meant two things for those of us who live here: 1.) Money was about to start flowing, and 2.) So was Covid. As our new normal was
setting in, there was only one thing we could do, deal with it.
More and more people were coming daily, wide varieties: young, old, families, couples, etc. It became very clear that the more people that were here,
the more aggressive they were becoming. No one wanted to wait for anything, if they wanted food, they wanted it right then and there, same with alcohol
and beachwear. It had appeared as if Covid had completely disappeared and no-one had a care in the world about it.
Luckily, MOST of the local business owners are particularly smart people and care more about their employees and making our safety first priority.
Notice how I said “MOST.” Masks and gloves became mandatory, specific jobs became open for sanitizing after every guest, and the amount of people
per square feet was in effect. Unfortunately, the safety procedures we have put into effect has not stopped the ignorant from being even more ignorant.
The story that I have chosen to impart on you today is one of many, but unlike the others, this one involves various components that every misogynistic
American male and white trash woman will love. The air was brisk and the sun was shining, the restaurant had filled very quickly, almost too quickly.
Customers were flying in and not so much flying out. An unexpected
mass of people were filling the parking lots and clearly not
respecting 6 ft. apart.
The long and grueling weekend was almost at an end, days and
nights serving the undeserving masses who seemed to be unphased
by the masks and the lack of tables due to safety issues, with their
children and grandparents, fighting neck and neck to get a table and
claiming what they thought was “theirs.” It was a Sunday night and
the ‘steaks’ were high (you will find humor in that as you continue
reading). My section had filled up for the 600th time with an hour left
until closing time. Almost everyone had gotten their food in a timely
manner, but there is always some sort of wait on food when you’re in
a high volume restaurant. But I digress…
So specifically, my last table of the night appeared to be having the
time of their lives, calling me by my first name, taking shots, and playing
with their children. Well, I had run down to check on their food because
they were the last of my section to receive their order. Somewhere in
the two minutes it took me to do that, the wind must have blown
them the wrong way and caused a severe strain of bipolar to emerge from within them. I returned to let them know that the kitchen was starting to plate
their food at that moment and it would be on their table shortly.
Well, I was almost immediately and rudely interrupted by the shrill of the woman (whose voice was so loud only a dog could understand), that because
her husband was Latin and of color, it made me a racist because their food hadn’t been delivered to them within 15 min. after I put the order in. She
demanded to speak to a manager, mind you, and as she yelled for me to get a manager, the leftover fireball in her flapping jaws was also flying at my face
so much that if I would’ve stayed there for 30 more seconds I could’ve had a full second hand shot in my mouth.
I ran to get my manager. We got to the table, and he politely calmed them down and assured them that we would be taking care of their entire bill. But
if you’re reading this and you know me, then you know that I couldn’t let myself be portrayed as a racist, so a few cuss words later I finally got my point
across and went to smoke a cigarette.
I came back shortly after to check on them and make sure that the food that their racist server brought them was A OK. Their tune had almost
immediately changed, and all of the sudden they loved me. I felt weird about it but you know, it had been a long weekend and I just took the nice where
I could.
As soon as I walked away, they start their own mini MMA fight and it only escalated from there. After about 10 min. of letting this happen - for pure
enjoyment and entertainment - I decided to see if they needed anything else so I could get them the hell out of there. Well, boy did I walk up on that at
the wrong moment. I couldn’t tell exactly what the said argument was about, but I guess she thought it was serious enough to grab the steak knife off his
plate and cut his finger tip off (Get it now? “The steaks were high”).
Don’t worry, justice was served. She was caught and arrested, he found refuge with his child that night, and I was left with the mess to clean up.
So, like I said in the beginning, it was the worst of times, and there wasn’t any sight of a light at the end of the tunnel. With a second wave approaching
and morons still flooding the island, I hope that everyone is still practicing safe sex, safety procedures, and just know that with the abundance of people
flocking here, no one will miss them as fast and it’s easier to hide a body when you’re on the beach! May the odds forever be in your favor.
TYBEE BEACHCOMBER | JULY 2020 17