When people forget their drinking limits and get flat-out wasted, there's some crazy stuff that goes down. These bartenders witness first-hand these guests' walk-of-shames and downright disgusting moments.
(Content has been edited for clarity).
All They Could Do Was Laugh At These Sexist Comments
“My mom and I own a little craft beer-dive bar together. Mostly, I work the bar and the dealing with the rabble part, and she handles the business parts since she’s a frighteningly short-tempered redhead.
One night I’m working and in the weeds, and she’s in drinking and talking with some local brewers about upcoming beers. A couple and their incredibly wasted friend come in. I serve the couple (after they complain and moan about a bar featuring American craft beers not carrying frigging PBR) and get the friend a water.
Throughout the night, the friend talks very loudly about his positive feelings towards my behind and his plans if I let him ‘take that sweet behind home.’ After several warnings, I give up and let my mum know. Now she is much taller and scarier than me, so its easier for her to end these things quickly. She, in a typical hating the world mood, goes across the bar and says: ‘I hear you’ve been talking about my daughter’s behind. Perhaps you’d like to say something about my butt before I drag you outside?’
He responds: ‘No ma’am. But I do have some things to say about that fine chest you got.’
I have never seen anybody try so hard not to laugh as she did. I had to duck into the storeroom to not lose my composure. He ended up getting to stay a bit longer for sheer guts.”
This Bartender Was Prepared For Everything Except This Sneezing Situation
“I was tending bar on a dinner cruise ship last New Year’s Eve. It was an open bar for everyone on the ship, and let me tell you; we were slammed, but ready. I have never been as on point as I was that night. Bring it on, I was thinking. All of a sudden I needed to cough while I was getting some ice, so I tried to turn my head. But I couldn’t stop coughing, and I realize that everyone around me was as well and people were running to the outside decks. I shut down the bar and told everyone to get out.
While in line, some jerk convinced some stupid woman to press the button on her pepper spray, and it had gotten jammed and emptied the entire canister onto the ceiling. That’s as close to that crap as I ever wanted to be. Incidentally, the other half of the deck didn’t get the message that the bar was closed, so they kept ordering from the servers. I was behind and in an awful mood for the rest of the evening.”
This Grandma Wasn’t Messing Around
“I was bartending at a Mexican restaurant in Georgia. It was the beginning of an afternoon shift, and I was having a pleasant conversation with my only customer, an older lady drinking chardonnay and doing a crossword. She paid her tab but was still hanging out, finishing her last glass. Then three guys came in. They were all in their late 20s, very trashy looking, and had just come from a construction job (dragging dirt and mud all over the floor). Well, one of the guys started hitting on me, which I mostly ignored. When he asked for a shot of top-shelf tequila, I got on the stool to grab it, and he said, ‘If you just stood like that all night, your tip would be much bigger.’ I was disgusted and was about to chew him out when the older lady (who had been paying attention this entire time) said, ‘Excuse me, young man. Please do NOT speak to my granddaughter that way.’ He was horrified, mumbling about ‘I’m sorry ma’am. I didn’t know she was your granddaughter.’ To which she replied, ‘Well it shouldn’t matter. That is not how you speak to young ladies.’ He continued apologizing and stumbling over his words. She calmly collected her things, got up, and said ‘Alright, darling. I have to go. I love you!’ I laughed and said, ‘Love you too, Grandma. See you at home.’
The three of them finished their drinks quickly and left a fairly decent tip. One of my fondest memories as a bartender.”
What A Bloody Situation
“I’ve been a bouncer for five years and have some time behind the bar when it was slow, and I could make it a couple of hours early for my shift. Doing the levels and dumping the cooler into the front fridges I hear two women at the bar casually talking. Of course, just being there, I quietly listen.
Female A: ‘So he was pretty good in bed. We even had a smoke afterward and cuddled. It was awesome! I just feel so bad that I didn’t tell him. I mean, he seemed OK with it and said he would call.’
Female B: ‘Well, that’s a jerk move, don’t you think? I mean I have told guys when I am on my period before well before anything got too far. I hope he calls, but you should just be happy he didn’t kill you.’
Female A: ‘Well it looked like he had murdered someone when we turned the lights on. It was everywhere. I didn’t think I was having a heavy day at all. You should have seen the handprints on the wall; one was on this poster he had up for ‘A Clockwork Orange.”
At this point, I am doing my best not to die laughing or toss my cookies on my clean bar. Back to the cooler to get a couple more cases and upon my return, Female A is on the phone and Female B orders another round. When I put the drinks down, Female A pulls the phone from her ear.
Female A: ‘Hey, is your name Bouncer Dave?’
Me: ‘Well, just Dave, but yes, what can I do for ya?’
Female A: ‘I am on the phone with your roommate. Glen says hello and to get back to work slacker hahaha.’
I think for a minute, take a quick look of horror and remember, Glen just bought a ‘Clockwork Orange’ poster. He hung it just above the headboard of his bed.
With the world’s worst poker face I tried to muscle out a laugh when the look of terror crosses her face. Her eyes scream ‘He knows…’ and Female B bursts into laughter. She didn’t finish her drink, left a good tip, and they both left pretty much right after.”
He Partied Like A True Rockstar
“I was working at a restaurant/bar with live music. Some big-name acts came through there, but in the daytime, it was just your average Tex-Mex cantina.
One day Drowning Pool came to our little venue. The show didn’t start until 8:30, and there was a handful of folks milling around the bar for happy hour. As the lead singer was passing through the back patio smoking area, a table of five nurses asked him if he worked there. ‘Well, yeah, sorta,’ he says. They asked him if a cocktail waitress was coming around anytime soon. He told them he’d check.
He then went inside and asked the bartender. No cocktail waitress would be there for another hour. So the guy goes back outside, takes their drink order, gives it to the bartender, delivers the drinks, takes the money back to the bartender, and then gives the bartender a tip. This is not common rockstar behavior.
Flash forward to the show later that night. Also not common rockstar behavior: hanging out drinking with the fans all evening.
This guy was putting down drinks like it was an Irish wake. By the time he had to get on stage, he could barely even stand up. I was working security and was assigned mosh pit duty. Usually, that meant catching crowd surfers who came over the rail in front of the stage. Not that night. I had to keep an eye on this wasted singer to make sure he didn’t just tumble off the stage and into the crowd.
He’d put his foot up on the monitor speakers and start slowly dipping forward, and I’d grab him and push him back. His tour manager spent most of the show facepalming and shaking his head on the side of the stage. And then the singer passed out.
During a guitar solo, he sat down on the stage and then laid down. Next thing I know, the bassist was trying to gently nudge him awake while carrying on an extra long solo to keep the crowd from noticing. I grabbed his leg and shook him one good time, and he was up like a shot.
After the show, the singer gave me his hat. When they came through again a year later, he still remembered me. Nice guy.”
They Caught This Affair Red-Handed
“I’ve worked in a bar for about 10 years, so I have many stories, but most of the good ones happened after the doors were closed. This is one of the most memorable ones. It was a busy Saturday night; the place is ram jam squishy full (600 people). I’m standing near the front door taking occupancy numbers, and over the radio comes the shout ‘shaggers, shaggers, we got shaggers.’
The doormen go running off to the gents and bring out a 40ish couple and show them out of the front door. As we all walk back in, a guy comes up to the head doorman and says ‘Why are you kicking my wife out?’
This Wife Knew How To “Take Care Of Business”
“I used to bartend in the French Quarter in New Orleans, at a little tourist trap with decent food. It was a decently nice place, upscale but not formal.
One quiet Tuesday night, an old man in a wheelchair came in with a girl that looked like she hadn’t slept in days. They met another man and sat down to eat. The bar happened to be between their table and the restroom, and after a few minutes, the man in the wheelchair rolled past me and into the men’s room. A minute or two after, the woman walked past and into the men’s room as well.
Half an hour later, the man rolled out alone and stopped to talk to his waitress, who was watching TV at the bar.
‘That’s some good gumbo you got.’ ‘Yeah, we made it fresh today,’ she replied. ‘I was eating some of it when my catheter came out. I had to go to the bathroom and fix it before I peed all over the place. My wife came with me, and while we had all my crap undone, I had her go ahead and take care of business.’
Moments later the woman came out, and the two returned to their meal.”
This Guy Was So Wasted He Actually Lost His Pants
“I worked in a respectable bar that was popular with the middle-aged crowd (we played ’70s/’80s music). Every night we’d rotate the crappy jobs between the staff.
This one night I was on toilet duty (checked them every hour or so for empty glasses, general mess), some guy came to the bar and said there was a ‘mess’ in one of the cubicles. I go in and saw someone had jammed the toilet with toilet roll, proceeded to pee on the toilet and cover the floor with this also.
I fetched the mop and bucket, and when I returned, there was a pair of boxer shorts in the pee-puddle. Not only are they soaking wet they have a full on poop stain in them. There’s no way I’m going near them, but before I have time to even think about what I’m going to do, the cubicle door next to me opens.
The guy has trousers round his ankles but no underwear on, proceeds to say ‘So that’s where they got to’ (looking down at the boxer shorts) he rings them out with his bare hands, takes off his trousers puts the crappy-pee boxer shorts on and staggers out.”
He Basically Got Tarred And Feathered At This Bar
“I was bartending in Baltimore. It was late, and a raggedy guy came in and started ordering a lot of drinks. I thought he might be homeless, but he had money and was polite, so I served him. He drank beer and whiskey while I was cleaning. It was almost time to close.
When I asked if he wanted another for last orders, he said ‘No thank you’ and went to the men’s room. When I didn’t see him again, I figured he left without me noticing.
Now the bar was closed, and I went to check the bathrooms. The stink from the men’s room washed over me when I opened the door, and I gagged walking in. The man was still in one of the stalls. A little shocked, I tried to politely tell him (through the door) that the bar had closed and we would need to leave soon. He gave no response, so I waited another minute and asked if he heard me. Silence.
I peeked under the stall door and could see that he was slumped forward with his hands hanging down and pants around his ankles. Now I was worried, so I knocked on the door, and when he still wouldn’t respond I tried to open it, but the door was locked. I called 911 and told my manager what was happening (we’re the only ones left in the bar late at night). The paramedics arrived (I remember being amazed at how unaffected they were by the smell), and one of them got halfway under the stall door to see what was happening. Then she grabbed the man’s legs and pulled them out, so he fell on the floor. When they slid him out from the stall, he smeared poop all over the floor and himself since he had passed out before wiping.
He had overdosed. He looked dead. The needle was still in his arm, just below the pushed up sleeve of his down jacket. But he still had a pulse, so the paramedics started preparing him for the ambulance. First, they cut off his pants, further revealing the crap that was all over his legs. Then they cut off his jacket, causing feathers to fly everywhere, eventually sticking to the crap on the floor and his own body. When they got him on the gurney, his butt and inner thighs were completely covered in feathers. Cleaning the men’s room after that was a mixture of disgust and hilarity. Mostly disgust.”
It Was Superman Who Needed A Hero This Day
“I used to work in a Working Men’s Club here in the UK. For those not familiar with the term, they are social clubs where the members mostly consist of old men who used to work as miners/steelworkers/ironworkers back in the 1950s and 1960s.
Most of the usual members of the club were well over 60 and were mostly tough old dudes. Real rugged, hard, muscly kind of guys. They were all friendly and kind, but you got the impression that as well as several years of hard labor, they were also pretty tasty in a fight. As well as this, the club was a popular venue for a lot of teenage drinking, as the booze was cheap and the atmosphere was safe.
One of my favorite regulars was a guy called Billy, who was about 75, about 5-feet-8-inches and hard as nails. He worked as the doorman, making sure that kids had their IDs, looked out for suspicious characters, that sort of thing. He would also have no trouble breaking up a fight and throwing anyone out if they caused trouble. He loved doing this, and would sometimes get carried away.
Anyway, one Friday night I’m working my usual shift, and a group of 19 to 20-year-olds come into the club in fancy dress (this was pretty usual for a weekend here – a nearby nightclub had fancy-dress nights.) One was dressed as Jack Sparrow, another was the Bride of Frankenstein, and one was Superman. There were also a few others that I can’t remember. As the night went on, they drank a good amount of vodka and whiskey between them, and as I watched them, I noted that Superman was getting wasted much quicker than the others. A few hours later, most of the fancy-dress group moved on to another bar or club but left Superman behind for whatever reason. Superman was wasted by this point. He was also upset that his friends had left him. I had stopped serving him drinks at this point because he was so out of it. Because of this, he was getting angry. I saw him roam around the bar hassling other patrons and being a nuisance. I didn’t care, so long as he was away from me.
About 30 minutes later, I notice I haven’t seen Superman for a while. Behind the bar I was working at, there were the CCTV monitors for the car park, each of the rooms and the cellar doors. I take a glance at the monitor and see Billy, the 75-year-old doorman, beating several shades of crap out of Superman in the car park. It was an incredible sight – an old age pensioner smashing the heck out of The Man of Steel.
A ring of people surrounded them, and Superman was pleading with Billy to let him go. Billy was having none of it and proceeded to pick up Superman by the scruff of the neck, slap him in the face, and boot him out of the main gates of the car park.
Billy turns around and walks triumphantly back into the club, bathing in the applause from his fellow patrons, safe in the knowledge that this Friday night, he had just beaten up Superman.”
Not Even The Smell Of Pee And Poop Was Ruining This Guy’s Good Night
“I used to work at a place, and we had this one dude who was a regular. He was a massive lump of a man who could drink like Jenna Jameson could fool around. That is to say, he could get messed up, and he kept coming back for more. Drink after drink. He’d sit there for hours until he got glassy-eyed and could barely speak and he would do that multiple times a week. Everyone knew him, and he was harmless enough. Somehow at the end of every night, he’d stumble off into the darkness and make his way home.
One day he just took it too far. He needed the toilet and decided that rather than exert the effort and walk the five meters to the facilities, he’d just save himself the trouble and pee where he was sitting. He was positioned on one of those tall bar stools and just sat there and did a massive pee. He was a huge dude so needless to say it wasn’t an insignificant amount. It was literally as if there was a fountain of pee dripping off the front of his chair. He didn’t even bother to unzip his fly – he just peed. And all the while he had another pint on the table and kept drinking as if nothing was happening.
At first, people noticed and were muttering, ‘Is he really! Seriously!?’ As it became apparent that he was doing what we thought he was doing, someone shouted at him and still he didn’t stop. He just gave the room a cheesy grin and carried on.
Eventually, security was called, and we were asked to deposit him outside. He wasn’t aggressive when they arrived, but I suspect he was just so wasted that there was no way he could contemplate moving. So they each took one his arms and tried to assist him. As I said, he was quite a big guy, so their first effort only resulted in him being lifted off his chair and ceremoniously dumped in his pee all over the floor. Then the smell hit the room. He’d pooped in his already pee soaked pants. By now the whole debacle was creating quite a spectacle, and Mr. Pee Pants was completely oblivious to it all he just sat there in his feces and rolled his glassy eyes back in his head while clinging to his pint glass.
Eventually, he parted from the scene of the crime with much reluctance. His attitude was more of ‘Why me?’ rather than ‘OMG, I can’t believe I just shat my pants in a bar and peed everywhere.’ I suppose that was the amusing part. The hard part was the smell.”
This Bartender Saw All The Crazies Of The World At This Hotel Bar
“I used to work at a hotel bar in a college town, so we would get a plethora of guests from around the world.
1) I once had a few fellows from Germany come in and order a beer. It wasn’t their conversation that struck me as odd, but the fact that one of the guys would randomly fart out loud. In the middle of their conversation, he would let one rip, and both acted as if it never happened. I was baffled.
2) On my first day at the job, I noticed a ‘That was easy’ button on the counter. Curious as to why this was sitting out on the bar, I asked my boss why it was there. He told me that the bartender that worked there before me was a younger female. One night a businessman came in on a slow weeknight. After a few drinks, I guess the bartender decided to work for a good tip. With an empty bar, she walked around from behind the bar and proceeded to give the man a ‘good time.’ The next morning, when the fellow was checking out, he gave the desk clerk the ‘That was easy button’ and asked that he give it to the bartender. She was fired, and I got a job!
3) I once had a softball team come in after a game. There was this one Latino girl who kept ordering tequila shots. At first, she was nice and having fun, but about six shots later, she began to slur. It came to the point that I could barely understand what she was saying, and she was stumbling around. I decided to cut her off as I would be held responsible for anything that might happen to her in the hotel. When I told her I think she might need to take it easy, she stood up, grabbed my earlobe, pulled my head across the bar through our hanging cocktail glasses (broke a few of them), and without a slur, clear as day said ‘Don’t you ever cut me off, jerk.’ Her friends instantly saw this, came over and told her to stop. A few seconds later, she passed out on the bar, and her friends carried her out.”
He Couldn’t Believe The Things He Saw Behind The Bar
“I have dozens of these that I can add. The funniest one was when I saw a man trying to pick up a gorgeous woman. I could tell she was just rambling on about her dreams and hopes and whatnot (stuff he didn’t seem to care about based on his facial expression). All of a sudden I saw him go from tan/bronze to pale white as he proceeded to projectile vomit his entire night’s worth of drinking, plus his shellfish dinner directly onto her face. It turns out she was allergic to shellfish, had to be epi-penned and an ambulance took her away.
ANOTHER STORY: I was a barback for three months at a VERY high scale hotel/restaurant/bar a year ago. These people were astoundingly rich, we charged people $8 a beer (minimum) and $19 for a shot of Patron, and they would order them by the dozen. They thought they were invincible.
I was working one evening, and it was particularly busy. Every Saturday night we managed to pack 100+ people into the bar. It was an outside bar, and even though it was packed, people didn’t seem to mind. However, the service was incredibly slow, like a ‘wait 10 minutes for the bartender to even glance at you’ slow. Anyways, a guy comes up to me asking for another drink. I explained to him that I could not serve him because I was only a barback (it was easy to mistake people because we all wore the same uniform). It was very loud and what I thought he said back was ‘Can you just get me a drink of water?’ So, I filled a glass up with water and gave it to the gentleman (probably around 45ish and I was 20). He immediately started screaming at me ‘SCREW YOU I SAID MY DRINK TASTES LIKE WATER GIVE ME ANOTHER DRINK!!’ and threw the glass behind the bar nearly hitting one of the female bartenders. All of the bartenders went silent, and out of nowhere one of them climbs over the bar and punches the guy in the face and calls security to have him taken away. Never saw that jerk again.
Okay, here’s another quick one.
It was pretty common that where I worked all of the bartenders, and some of the barbacks would drink on the job. Not going to lie, I participated on the busier nights. It really helped the night go by faster and made us all more personable. However one night a bartender took it over the edge. He had long hair, a glorious beard and would always be smashed tending the bar. We cleverly named him ‘wasted Jesus.’ Management never really cared about us drinking until one night Wasted Jesus got blackout wasted. And by blackout wasted I mean puking in the ocean wasted (the bar was dockside) and blatantly asking girls if they wanted to ‘get screwed by their savior’ (he loved his nickname). The bar manager was FURIOUS, came down and fired the guy on the spot. The next morning Wasted Jesus came in and started setting up the bar for a double. When I asked why he was here, he told me ‘because I’m working a double today,’ oblivious to the fact he got fired the night before.”