Codependent Collegian

Guest editorial from Alice Krepsky, barmaid at the Knotty Pine Inn

Listen, you little bastards. I’ve been tending bar here at the Knotty Pine for fifty years, and I don’t need you college punks coming in here and giving my regulars a hard time.

Sure, you’ve got five dollars in your designer ripped jeans. Big whoopidy doo! Does that give you the right to turn off One Life to Live on the big screen TV? I don’t care if it’s Snoop Dog or Puffy Dog or Wonder Dog, that shit’s gotta go.

Just because we have the $1.50 shot-and-a-beer special on Wednesday mornings doesn’t mean we expect to fill the place with a bunch of rowdy-ass frat boys and their slutty girlfriends. That special is for the hard-working regulars on the third shift, not a bunch of hopped-up young creeps who haven’t been to bed since last week.

No, sir, this is a clean establishment and a family place.

Another thing: in this bar, if you make a mess, you clean it up. You have no business going into the bathrooms and puking like it’s your own private heave bucket. Last week one of you little bastards thought it would be funny to puke in the paper towel dispenser. Let me tell you, that was some awful shit. If I hear one of you in their puking, I’m coming in with a mop handle, and let’s just say I ain’t gonna be mopping.

Left: NOT a tip jar, thank you very much

Now, to the matter of tips. I am a working woman, and I depend on tips to survive. Look at me—do I look like I am going to land any marriage prospects any time soon? I think not. While I appreciate the occasional fifty cents you cheap assholes sometimes leave, I do not think I should have to fish it out of the urinal. That is just wrong, sonny-boy.

So, if you want to drink here, you boys and girls had better shape up or ship out. Alice Krepsky didn’t raise seven children by being a pushover, and you are not going to come in here and act like hooligans.

What? You want blue-cheese stuffed olives? Where the hell do you think you are, Little Lord Fauntleroy?