Photo c/o Nikola Tamindzic
Our first dispatch in this new series comes from Castro bartender, Yuri Kagan, who has been wiping up after bored drunks since 2005.
What’s the most degrading task you’ve ever had to carry out during a night of work?
There is a handicapped gentleman who comes in a lot, wheelchair smelling like death, and he has a habit of emptying his catheter bag into pint glasses and leaving them around the bar. It looks like warm foamy beer… Cleaning that shit pretty much takes it.
What gets your blood boiling more than anything else?
People who underestimate my intelligence. People who say, “You must meet hot guys all the time.” And also the “hot” guys who get less attractive after I meet them five times a week and have to re-introduce myself to them every time because of their goldfish memories.
What’s the best way to get a free drink if you’re not a VIP?
Never ask for a stronger drink. Most people have no idea
what is a good or a bad pour. When you complain you are asking for your
next drink to be fucked with. And always tip well on the first round of
drinks. $1 per drink is average. $2 per drink is good. $3+ a drink
makes you stand out.
What’s the best way to pick up a bartender?
Don’t assume anything. While many are whores, not all are. I would suggest not being seen at the bar too much. No bartender wants to date a barfly.
What’s the sickest thing you’ve ever seen?
Numerous times I’ve watched hot guys go from stallion to sloppy mess
within a few shots, turning into this combo Groucho Marx/Hulk creature.
I’ve seen guys so drunk they’re pissing on the floor in front of the
bar. The worst, though was one happy hour, there was a relatively
handsome man who I watched succumb to this process. A seemingly normal
business guy, an older-looking Alex P. Keaton, slowly retreated further
away from the bar. As happy hour winded down, I went on another
round bussing glasses, checking every bathroom. I reached one stall and
heard this groaning. At first I thought someone was taking the shit of
a lifetime. Then, I heard hard breathing, so I thought maybe someone had done their line too fast. Then came a grunt, and a slurp…
another moan. Curious as any healthy, homosexual, young man I peered
into the crack of the stall door and accidentally leaned on it, pushing
it open. To my horror, it was Alex P. Keaton, transformed into
Groucho/Hulk with his tie hanging out of his pocket and a mouth full of
gross. He was rimming the gnarled, skinny, dingleberry-laden ass of the guy who asked me for change
every day on the corner of 18th and Castro.
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