“My bar is in the middle of a hotel plaza, so we get a lot of tourists, convention goers, and business travelers. A football coach convention was in town, and one night all of the coaches went to my bar for drinks. The night wouldn’t have been memorable except for this one guy. He was the archetypal football coach: short, fat, old and unkempt; wearing denim shorts and a baseball cap in the middle of winter. He was also one of the worst customers I’ve ever served in my life.

“It started off bad: I was halfway through our beer list when he stopped me at Sapporo, asserting that he ‘didn’t want any of that oriental shit.’ He was demanding, he yelled, he cussed, he worked up a $150 tab. What kept me going was the knowledge that at some point, Coach had to get out of there, and that when he did a pretty decent tip would be waiting for me. I was stupid to ever hope I’d get anything from him. Not only did he stiff me on the tip after I happily served him the entire night, but he also forgot to sign off on the bill. I had to run after him, pen in hand, as he stumbled off to his room.

“When you work in a hotel bar, otherwise normal and polite people transform into complete assholes with no respect for their bartender. It’s awful, but I guess the logic goes something like this: ‘They’ll never have to look me in the eye again, so why not?’”

HEY, BARTENDER—SPILL IT! SEND YOUR SECRETS (ANONYMITY GUARANTEED) TO SUBMISSIONS@THEDISTRICTWEEKLY.COM. PLEASE PUT “BEHIND BARS” IN THE SUBJECT LINE.