Karaoke Review 04-26

When I walked in, Ari was helping T sweep up the carnage left from last night.    T was picking up the mess behind the bar & I could see dried up crap all over the tables, so I started wiping them down.   We’re used to the place looking & smelling like shit every Sunday.   It’s not the Saturday night help; it’s the Saturday night afterparty.   There’s no one to clean up for the afterparty & God knows it’s not going to be them.

T went to one of the restrooms to find that he had a bunch of dried up puke to clean up.   Does he ever have the shitty job some days.

Once the place was decent, Ari & I found that we had the karaoke all to ourselves & so she launched into her new CD of Norah Jones, while I kept company with a few songs that are nice when it’s quiet – Five For Fighting’s “If God Made You” & Fisher’s “I Will Love You.”   Ari’s pitch is more or less right on, she’s got this rock solid tone & she’s mastered the Norah Jones lazy entrances, & I was really enjoying her voice.

Ezra & his gang came in with a lei for me (doh! I can’t wear leis; they end up getting ripped up by my hair & then I make trails of little flower petal fragments everywhere, which isn’t half as pretty as it sounds.) & tiramisu sent by their server at Paesano, Lucie, who makes the most unbelievable ginger ale from scratch.   Seriously, if she bottled that & sold it she would make a fortune.

We were joined by King B, JJ, Miss J & a couple of white guys with (I think) British accents who asked to see a songbook.   T didn’t think they were going to be screamers because they seemed soft-spoken.

Khorn also showed up, & then Mele, & we had a nice song rotation going along with the 2 white guys, who turned out not to be screamers.  I enjoyed their song picks as well, which included Pink Floyd’s “Time,” one of my favorites.   They sang a few songs, had a drink apiece, then closed out & left.  They even left a tip.   Cool.

When 3 of the FTM guys showed up, unexpected, I had only “singers’” tables left — that is, tables which get the most benefit from the main speakers.   Tables 2 & 3 are prime karaoke tables, while 4 & 5 are blocked by the soffit over the bar, & 1 is close enough to be considered “under” the speakers & manages to duck a significant amountof the sound.   They sat on 2, but I moved them to 1, where at least they could yell at eachother.

I was busy running around when a large group of young white guys came in.   I noticed it first when Pacman turned back around & looked at me saying, “What the fuck.”    And then I looked & saw & thought the same thing.   However, I’d been having good luck with white folks lately so I didn’t despair.   The guys clustered around table 2, which was the last open table in the room, & then a couple approached the bar, where I immediately asked to see all IDs.

Average age was 26, most of them were Hawaii DLs but a couple were from New York.   They ordered 7 Miller Lites & a Jameson rocks.   Omg, great order there.   7 of the same thing, easily dispatched, & good taste in whiskey.   A lot of times when I see a bunch of guys this age, I expect something like:  ”A Jack & coke, a Grey Goose & 7up, A Grey Goose & pineapple juice, a — hey, Rob, what do you want? — make that 2 Grey Goose & pineapple juice… a Heineken, an Oh-Ryan, &… a Bud Light.   Oh, & 2 Jager Bombs.   Wait, 3 Jager Bombs.   Sorry.”   And that’s a fairly decent customer call even with the mispronunciation of Orion & lack of taste in vodka.

Seriously.   Grey Goose is such a shitty vodka.   Enough fumes to drive a car.

The guys got their 7 beers/Jameson & tipped me $10.   I immediately thought they might be cool.   I totally wasn’t expecting a decent or even good tip.   You can’t judge a book by its cover & all that.

Long story short, these guys were weekend crowd.   Healthy drinking, friendly, well-tipping weekend crowd, but still weekend crowd.   During one of the FTM guys’ song, I had to go to their table & ask them to stop yinging (that’s my new Lauren Original term – it’s a cross between yelling & singing.   You know, like pirates doing the “yo-ho” thing.   It’s just that pirates do that on their fucking ships, not in our bar.).   “Hey guys – you sound great.   But, ” I made a face.   “You want us to tone it down?” they asked.    ”Well, I can’t hear him singing & he can’t hear himself singing… but he’s the one who paid for the song,” I told them.   I thought of asking them to at least face the other direction if they were going to ying along, but they seemed to get the point.   Respect thy fellow patrons.

When their songs came up, it was group yinging, as could be expected, along with self DJing: “Thank you all for coming out tonight!”    ”Let’s rip this up!”    ”Are you guys ready to party??”   “Let’s do this!!”   Every time they did this, the regulars would pause in their conversations, look vaguely perturbed, & then go back to their conversations.

Clearly, these guys were not observing their surroundings.   Their spokesperson, John, was continually proclaiming me “the best bartender ever” & “the best bartender in here” which made me wonder if they had been burned by the weekend (they were obviously weekend freaks) bartender some Friday or Saturday.   I happen to know she doesn’t take a lot of shit, although she’s definitely got a bigger threshold than me.   King B & JJ tapped out early, & then Ezra & his gang, & although I felt a little bad for the abnormally stupid atmosphere, table 2 was spending money & I couldn’t really be mad at them.   I was able to move the FTM guys to table 5 once Ezra folks left, which was nice.

It was when John began getting really fervent with the self DJing that I finally said something.   “Just FYI, you guys are the only party in here that’s not here on Sundays… so thanking everyone for coming out… it’s a little weird.”   John asked if I wanted them to tone it down.   I smiled & shook my head.   “Damage already done,” I said.

“What, did you lose money because of us?” John asked.   I said that people had left.   I wasn’t mad at him; it was simply the truth.   John took offense to this, though.   Yeah, another one of those times when my telling the truth pisses off a customer.   But then again, this is why Sunday nights are a haven for the cool people.   Because I piss off all the uncool ones.   “Why are you saying shit?” he sputtered.    ”It’s just the truth,” I told him.   Maybe I sounded a little uncaring.   I’m not known for my sensitivity, to be honest.

John ended up blowing a gasket & contemptuously throwing a bunch of money on the bar as a kind of “in yo face” gesture, & then they packed up & left.   His friend closed his tab, apologizing.   I apologized back.   As they left, he called my name, & when I looked at him he held up both his middle fingers & said, “Fuck you!”   

I smiled & waved.

Ari said, “I just want to say that you are my hero.”  

I scooped up John’s money.   60 bucks.   I wish every person I pissed off got that mad.

Here’s the thing though.   Sunday nights are not about making money.   Sunday nights are about creating a good time for all the good regulars.   Good karaoke, good singers, good service, good atmosphere, good feelings.   If it was about the money I’d end up making less.   I don’t focus on the money.   I focus on creating a good night for everyone, including strangers as long as they are cool, & the money follows.   I never count my tips until I get home.   I don’t need to.

My sister had handed me a bunch of keys with the nametag “Mele” on them, & I put them in my bag behind the bar.   At closing time Khorn had a Def Leppard song, I had a Dave Matthews song (I love this karaoke program – I can raise the pitch 2 whole steps without affecting the tempo at all; it’s ideal.), & I’d programmed “Don’t Look Back In Anger,” which song FTMer Chronic loves, for Mele to sing.

Mele began searching for his keys while I was singing my DMB song (“Grace is Gone”), even going outside to make sure his truck was still there.   As he looked around the bar I could see his eyes getting bigger & my sis even leaned over to warn me he was starting to freak out, so we cut my DMB song & started the Oasis song, & I held the mic out to Mele with his keys in my other hand.   The blend of relief & pissed offness on his face was gratifying.   Tako took one mic & started singing, & Mele said, “No!   I’m not singing!   I’m gonna leave!”

“You won’t get very far!”   I said, still holding his keys & practically crying because I was laughing so hard.

And so our last song of the night was a Mele/Chronic duet, “Don’t Look Back In Anger.”   Not bad at all.