It’s no big secret that I work at a club that a lot of loyal SLUG readers frequent. I’ve already exposed to the world via SLUG what happens in the girl’s bathroom there. In Leviathan issue #9 I revealed what it’s really like to work the door. I recently started bartending and a whole new perception of the bar needs addressing.
The first myth I’d like to destroy like Tiger Woods’ marriage is the one regarding the quality of music being shoved into my fragile eardrums. It isn’t always good. People say things to me like, “Oh, you work at Urban Lounge? I bet you see so many awesome shows!” Quite the contrary. I’d imagine that’s like saying to a highway trooper, “Oh! You are a trooper on I-15? I bet you see so many awesome cars!” When the reality is that the trooper probably sees so many mangled fenders and broken bleeding limbs he can’t even care to remember the last time he pulled over Mehmet Okur’s hot yellow Ferrari.
I mostly bartend on Mondays and Tuesdays. I see so many musical car crashes that it’s just as sad as a twenty-car pileup on a pile of kittens. I’d rather hear the sounds of twisted metal and screaming, burning car crash victims than the sounds coming out of an amplifier on a Monday night at the Urban.
I can understand why people think that I see tons of awesome shows there. Those people go there when they want to go. I go there when I have to. I still like the job, but last week there were two bands that were particularly shitty. The quality of their behavior was as terrible as their music.
These two bands were The Magic Kids and Girls. Unlike my band, The Fucktards, the names of these two bands were highly misleading. There was certainly no magic in the bar that night and there were no girls in the band Girls, just a bunch of hipster bitches.
The first thing I noticed that night that made me think things could go awry was the high amount of Mormons entering the bar. Hey, nothing against Mormons (although most of you know how I feel about attending their mind-numbingly boring weddings) but Latter Day Saints in a bar is like me and all my friends in a church. It’s just not right, but I still go when I have to.
How do I know when there are Mormons in the bar? Biggest sign of this is the unusually high number of Diet Cokes I’m serving without getting tipped. Please treat your Shirley Temples like your holy temples, Mormons. I understand that you already tip your god ten percent so you might feel like you don’t have to tip anyone else. But look at it this way, since I don’t believe in god you should tip me extra. I don’t know why, but that makes perfect sense to me.
Things went from bad to worse when the Magic Kids started playing. It’s hard to describe how shitty this band is. But alas, more insight into the Mormons in the bar phenomenon, the singer mentioned the Holy Ghost. I don’t know if the Holy Ghost was the name of one of their songs or albums, because I would never listen to this piece of shit band, but it suddenly explained why so many Mormons were there. (I will ask SLUG’s resident Mormons James Bennett and Rebecca Vernon to confirm the relationship between the Magic Kids and the Holy Ghost, because my own research was lackadaisical and turned up nothing.)
Since the Holy Ghost goes to bed at midnight, the Magic Kids were done playing by said hour. But they weren’t done being jackasses. Girls started playing and the crowd started doing the dance I like to call the Hipster Shuffle. It’s where you don’t really move very much: you kind of sway to and fro a bit with your arms folded, looking up at the band and then your shoes. Make sure you are ironically as offbeat to the music as you are to your outfit. Oh, and the most important part of the Hipster Shuffle is when you look around the crowd at the other hipsters and make note of who is looking at you. Each nod equals three scene points.
Again it’s hard for me to describe the terribleness that was coming out of our monitors. These bands insisted on using their own sound guy who clearly didn’t know a soundboard from his own butthole. There was so much feedback that night you’d think Helen Keller was doing sound. People were actually complaining about how shitty the sound was, and rightfully so. But that’s what those people get for listening to shitty music, in my opinion.
When these Girls and Magic Kids got drunk, they turned into the biggest wannabe rock star fucks ever, yelling at the bartenders for not getting booze after last call, not loading their gear until we had to yell at them to do so, trashing the green room and lighting off illegal fireworks at 2:30 in the AM. I wanted to get in a time machine and go back to their junior highs and become their personal bully.
I’m all for jackassary and whatnot, but I have a theory about acting like a rock star. The bigger you and your band are, the bigger of a jackass you can act like. These bands brought 200 people to the Urban Lounge on a Friday night. That’s not nearly a big enough ratio for such behavior. Del The Funky Homosapian smashed cookies all over the green room one time, and you know what? I was OK with that. Because Del packs the motherfuckin’ joint and puts money in my pocket. Girls just pissed me off and acted like fuckfaces, and Magic Kids have Mormon fans, who don’t drink, thus not making me any money.