Lady Lovelylocks and the Fountain of Youth(ful Vomit)

So the last post had photos from Friday night, Jan 7. I was in a good mood, the bar was packed, and I took a couple breaks to walk around, jibber jabber, and snap photos of people having fun, getting their drink on.

Saturday, Jan 8 was not nearly as happening--for me. It was just as happening for the bar, and it should've been a great night, as Jan 8 is the birthday for both Elvis and David Bowie. With that kind of interstellar rock star mojo happening, shit should've been money. The thing is, the mood of a door guy at a bar--specifically, this door guy--is a delicate situation. Try balancing a pencil on its point and you've got the idea. Too many rookie drinking maneuvers and my night is in the shitter.

Don't cry for me, Argentina--I'll get over it. Yet, at the same time, let me say that drinking like a grown up--or half a grown up, at least--does wonders for both your experience at a bar, and for the staff's. And when the staff is happy, which is to say you don't infuriate them, you'll find that the drinks are stiffer--well, they're always stiff at the Buck--but free shots might end up sliding across home plate every now and again. And you'll have a grip of fun, which is to say you'll have nothing to whine about on Yelp.

When you're too much of a mess to even get through the door to begin with, you have made yourself a burden on the staff and on society. Case in point: this pile of lukewarm mess that washed up on the sidewalk Saturday night, completely unawares of Elvis or Bowie's release from the womb:
Two kind of hipstered-out Marina dudes and their wasted dates. And by "wasted" I mean completely shithoused. The girl on the left was simply too drunk to come in, while the girl on the right apparently drowned in a vat of Adios Motherfuckers. Guys, I think the idea is to get them drunk to the point where having sex with you isn't so revolting a concept, not to the point where they're completely ignoring you and are simply drooling into each others' gaping hogmaws. Keep in mind, homegirl on the right has passed the point of all shame and has got her skirt pulled up to her chin whilst girl on the left is massaging her bum in front of God, Country, Queen (Freddie Mercury is rolling over in his decidedly well-decorated casket), any Buckshot customers who might've been smoking, and the heavy traffic on Geary Blvd. This type of "Look Ma! I'm pretending to be a lesbian until I graduate college!" behavior is fake, boring, and, being as it was committed on the verge of alcohol poisoning, decidedly unattractive.

Ol' Ass-in-the-Wind (that's her Indian name) proceeded to puke about five gallons of bad idea all over our sidewalk, which my coworker Eric had to wash down with a hot bucket of suds. And she didn't even buy one drink at our bar! Really, folks, couldn't you have left your gack and Girls Gone Wild antics in front of Gravity or something?