1. Don’t bother asking if the house white is “any good.” Let’s be honest, if you’re already ordering it, you mustn’t care.
2. Ditto the house scotch. Of course it tastes like petrol. It did the last five times you ordered it too. I fail to understand why this is suddenly a problem.
3. If I tell you the bar is closed, flirting or attempting to get chummy with me will not magically reopen it. Unless you look like Channing Tatum on a good day…. let’s be honest, you don’t.
4. Sweetie, drinking a house spirit from a tall glass doesn’t make it any classier. Especially not if it’s Bundy and coke. Just skol it (like you were going to anyway) and save me the effort of crossing the bar to get your stupid, façade-of-classiness, tall glass.
5. Similarly, if you are over the age of eighteen and still drinking vodka raspberries, you probably need to pause and re-evaluate your life.
6. If you’re the type of guy that still rates girls on a 1-10 scale then it is guaranteed you are a solid 2. If you do so in front of me, I will cut you off on principle. Regardless of whether or not you are actually drunk.
7. If you order a “smooth pussy”, I will judge you. Harshly. I will also ignore your request and pour you house vodka on the rocks. If I find you particularly irksome I may also refer you to some fourth wave feminist theory and have a whinge about drunken dingbats perpetuating ridiculous standards of feminine grooming.

“Umm, that’s not a smooth pussy, you need like, cranberry.”

*Deliberately blank stare* “That will be $7, thank you!”

8. If I happen to be the fifth person to card you in a night then don’t inflict your rage-filled tirade on me please. You seriously look like you’re fifteen.
9. If I cut you off, swearing at me, or, attempting to convince me that you can’t be drunk because, look, you can like totes do a kind-of-handstand and even speak in semi-sentences, will not help your case.
10. If you complain about the amount of head on your beer I will pour it the way you don’t like it for the rest of the night, just to be contrary.
11. Ditto if you make a tacky joke along the lines of “you can never have too much head, princess.”
12. Complaining to me about the prices is futile. I’m obviously not responsible for setting them.
13. If you attempt to call me over to where you are standing at the bar I will deliberately ignore you and serve someone else. I am not a dog. I basically refuse to come when called.
14. On that note… Madam, jumping up and down and regally proclaiming, “excuse me, I was next!”, will not make me particularly inclined to serve you next.
15. Also, the sweet old men at the end of the bar drinking Guinness and Draft are my homies. I am always going to serve them first. Deal with it.
16. You can tell that it’s busy. It would be FANTASTIC if you could get the money out while I am pouring your drinks. I obviously don’t have time to watch you count out five-cent pieces.
17. Also, if you wait with your hand out-stretched for 10 cents change, and it’s busy, we’re all going to judge you. Sorry.
18. Don’t embarrass everyone involved and try to order a cocktail at a sports bar. There’s beer, spirits and cider. Take your pick.
19. Similarly, don’t harass me over the fact that we don’t have whatever obscure spirit you want to impress your friends with. There are a good 150 up there. If you can’t find something you like then you’re obviously the one with the problem.
20. No, you can’t have some red cordial in your schooner of VB. That is disgusting.
21. If it’s evident that we’ve packed the bar down and you’re the only group left in the place, then please, please, please take the hint and move on, stat.
22. Mostly, don’t complain about my service. It’s 1am and I’ve been working for eight hours. My feet hurt, there’s Jack Daniels in my hair, and cuts all over my hand where a glass exploded. I am basically on the verge of tears. I’ll be civil, I’ll be polite, but, at this point in the night, that’s the best I can do. Sorry.