Just Add Tequila

You know how those nosy cashiers try to drum up a conversation at checkout? Well, good on them. Sometimes I just want my tequila, limes, and KY jelly with a side of no questions.

“Hi there. Wow, that’s quite a big bottle of 1800. Didn’t know we carried this.”

“Right.”

“So, where’s the party?”

“IN MY LIVER.”

I got the awkward smile I intended, paid my tab, and walked away.

Everything’s better with tequila. This is why my baseball mates and I often keep a square bottle on ice for post-game recovery. Fuck the wraps and ice baths. Tequila cures most. Like most straight alcohol, tequila does not taste good. Better brands aged longer certainly taste less awful. They’re called, “sipping tequila.” I sip not. I need training wheels — lime and salt. Lick, slam, and bite. All is well.

Even when I’m bartending, I don’t even ask if patrons want training wheels with their shots. They get them. If they want to nut up, they can ignore the wheels. After the second shot, they get wheels and safety nets (ice water). After three, I just say, “Nope.”

At my midlife crisis vacation in Cabo, the resort gave me a quite phallic bottle of Clase Azul tequila, with all sorts of training wheels. There was fresh lime, lemon, and orange plus sea salt, spicy salt, and black salt. This certainly reduced the sting of turning 50 and pickling myself solo. I highly recommend this tequila if you suffer any of the following:

  1. An awful marital situation you can’t leave due to needy children or judgmental parents.
  2. A cratered 401K that you haven’t paid much attention to.
  3. The flu because you forgot to get your flu shot and your head is leaking.
  4. A Bumble date that could not have gone worse if a swarm of locusts attacked.
  5. Thirst.

Sure, you could save a few bucks and order some sparkling water or, maybe, a fancy Arnold Palmer, but why would you? Who are you really impressing? The bartender hates you because you’re not spending any money and 20% of $3 is sixty cents she’d rather you keep and put toward some hair coloring. Anyone drinking with you hates you because you’re acting high and mighty. Oh, you say you’re running a half marathon? You’re on a diet? Important meeting tomorrow? Grow a pair. Put down the sissy drink and join the party, will ya? Go big. Order a double. If you get your shots in a rocks glass, you’ve entered my league and I welcome you. Cheers.

Now that marijuana is being legalized, I assume we’ll have similar bouts of sissiness when it comes to inhaling herb.

“I couldn’t. My work does drug testing. I’ll just vape some strawberry cream.”

“Just fucking ew.”

“What?”

“Your work sucks. You work at No Fun Inc., and because you choose to work there, you also suck.”

“Hey.”

“I swear to god, if you vape that milkshake I will pelt you with Brussels sprouts. Man the fuck up.”

Some would say I am a bad influence. Friends often avoid me. Many hide their wives, pets, and children from me. Hence, my evil plan succeeds.

How to request without being so demanding.

As I reenter the public service arena by occasionally DJing in local bars, I’m reminded of times when I had more patience and hair. Silly requests would roll off my back. Here are some of my favorites from back in the day:

  • Can you play something good, please?
  • Do you have that song that goes “Buh bun bah … dun dun?”
  • It’s my friend’s birthday. Play a song and dedicate it to her.
  • Do you mind if I look through your records?
  • Play that “Do It In Da Butt” song.
  • Are you the person playing the music here?
  • Can you turn it up/down?
  • Play something we can dance to.
  • Aren’t you going to play any slow songs?
  • If I give you a cassette, can you play a song from it?

One time, I had an obnoxious guido whistle to get my attention when I was obviously mid-mix.

“I’m sorry. Do I look like a dog to you?”
“Huh?”
“How can I help you?”
“Oh. Yeah, say, you gots any Snoop up in da hizzy, yo?”
“Fine.”
“Thanks, Dog.”

Playing music is supposed to be therapeutic, and often it is. When people (women) get up and start dancing, bobbing their heads, or holding their phones up to Shazam a song, it’s rewarding. I love it when someone says, “Holy shit, I love this song and haven’t heard it forever.” Some of the songs that often get that reaction include:

  • “The Time Warp” by Rocky Horror Picture Show Cast
  • “Some Kind of Wonderful” by Grand Funk Railroad
  • “Ballroom Blitz” by Sweet
  • “Love is the Drug” by Roxy Music
  • “Strawberry Letter 23” by The Brothers Johnson
  • “Desperate But Not Serious” by Adam Ant
  • “The Breaks” by Curtis Blow
  • “Don’t You Want Me” by Human League
  • “True Faith” by New Order

Go ahead, iTunes those fuckers and jump around. Good stuff, right?

Yet, we in the service industry must endure pokes and jabs from drunken critics who seem to forget we’re not standing in the living room serving an audience of one. I don’t want to discourage requests. By all means, you get what you ask for or endure what you’re given. Just be kind and persuasive with your request and see your wishes fulfilled. Try this:

“Hello, Mr. Handsome DJ. First, I would like to compliment you on your music selection and mixing skills. Had I anything less than a twenty, I’d start a generous tip jar for you. Now, if you feel it would fit into the current mood, might I humbly request you play any song from The B-52s? If you feel so inclined I’ll gladly send one of these lovely servers your way with a complimentary beverage of your choice. Toodles.”