Customer service is a dying breed - that we can all agree on. The era of the friendly bartender who has your pint of Guinness half drawn by the time you enter is nearly over. Whether you are frequenting your local Starbucks, Home Depot or Mortuary, it is nearly impossible to find a competent employee behind the bar, power tools desk or that little table to sign condolences who really knows what their business is. How often have we all suffered from an incorrectly made latte, the improper Sawzall for the job or a Noble 18 Gauge Steel brushed monarch blue finished, blue velvet lined casket when we really wanted a a mocha, circular saw or Regent brushed heritage bronze finish, almond velvet interior coffin? Too often, I say.
Further exacerbating this problem is the recent proliferation of dolphins in the service industry. While passable as bar backs and bussers, mediocre as waitstaff and tolerable as maitre d', the recent influx of dolphin bartenders has set our cause back decades. For one, having dolphins handle our precious, precious booze is sacrilege in the first place - who knows what kind of diseases they carry? Secondly, they don't remember faces, names or drinks - very important skills for bartenders. On the off chance that they do remember your drink, they're going to get it wrong. That's a guarantee. Ask for a Mind Eraser, end up with a B-52. Come to think of it, I'd like a Mind 52. It will probably wash down that horrible Manhattan that the Amazon River Dolphin bartender at Flannery's just made me. You would think an Irish pub would hire an Irish person, or at least Scottish as bartenders, but an Amazon River Dolphin? That just does not compute. 2x2=4. Now that computes.
So in addition to getting the drinks wrong on a criminal basis, the dolphin's small flipper just cannot handle a properly shaken martini, inevitably spilling on several patrons. Their abuse of the bar gun for constantly watering themselves down for fear of dessication is disgusting and off-putting to patrons. And their bar-side chatter - you know your local bartender, right? "How's the craic, boy?" Ahhh, well, I could be better, my girl just hooked up with another guy in front of me. "I'm sorry to hear that. You were better than her anyway... How's a pint and a Jameson sound?" You know what, that sounds great. Just what the doctor ordered.
Now let's replace the above Irish stereotype with a dolphin, for roleplaying's sake:
"Chirp Chirp Pip Pip Pip Clikakakakakaka Click Eeep!" Um, I'm not really sure what you said but if it's how I'm doing, well, sorta bad... you see my girl jus - "Eee eee eee ee eeee eee brrrrrrrrrrr!" Thanks for interrupting me buddy. I guess I'll have a Tullamore Dew and - "Click Click Ererererererereeek!" Um, I guess I'm going to take my business elsewhere unless you serve me a fucking drink, right now. {Bartender plays with ball, eats fish, warns of child stuck in buoy}.
OK - that never happened to me because I don't frequent the type of places a dolphin would be bartending. They're usually not at friendly neighborhood bars. Instead they usually work a W Hotel Bars or places with names like "Exit", "Libation", "k@rma" or "The Douche Factory". Since my visual aesthetic involves dark wooden walls and mirrors and not red leather divans and bottle service, I am unlikely to encounter the terrible service afforded by these creatures. Unless I were on a business trip and had to entertain prospects. But since my business trips most often involve amphibious armored personnel carriers and 7.62mm ammunition to terminate the dolphin menace, it won't actually happen.
Now for your viewing pleasure, Brian Flanagan:
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