The Death of Common Sense

Originally written by Lori Bergman.

"Three yards of black fabric enshroud my computer terminal. I am mourning the passing of an old friend by the name of Common Sense.

His obituary reads as follows:

Common Sense, aka C.S., lived a long life, but died from heart failure at the brink of the millennium. No one really knows how old he was, his birth records were long ago entangled in miles and miles of bureaucratic red tape. Known affectionately to close friends as Horse Sense and Sound Thinking, he selflessly devoted himself to a life of service in homes, schools, hospitals and offices, helping folks get jobs done without a lot of fanfare, whooping and hollering. Rules and regulations and petty, frivolous lawsuits held no power over C.S.

A most reliable sage, he was credited with cultivating the ability to know when to come in out of the rain, the discovery that the early bird gets the worm and how to take the bitter with the sweet. C.S. also developed sound financial policies (don't spend more than you earn), reliable parenting strategies (the adult is in charge, not the kid) and prudent dietary plans (offset eggs and bacon with a little fiber and orange juice).

A veteran of the Industrial Revolution, the Great Depression, the Technological Revolution and the Smoking Crusades, C.S. survived sundry cultural and educational trends including disco, the men's movement, body piercing, whole language and new math.

C.S.'s health began declining in the late 1960s when he became infected with the If-It-Feels-Good, Do-It virus. In the following decades his waning strength proved no match for the ravages of overbearing federal and state rules and regulations and an oppressive tax code. C.S. was sapped of strength and the will to live as the Ten Commandments became contraband, criminals received better treatment than victims and judges stuck their noses in everything from Boy Scouts to professional baseball and golf. His deterioration accelerated as schools implemented zero-tolerance policies. Reports of 6-year-old boys charged with sexual harassment for kissing classmates, a teen suspended for taking a swig of Scope mouthwash after lunch, girls suspended for possessing Midol and an honor student expelled for having a table knife in her school lunch were more than his heart could endure.

As the end neared, doctors say C.S. drifted in and out of logic but was kept informed of developments regarding regulations on low-flow toilets and mandatory air bags. Finally, upon hearing about a government plan to ban inhalers from 14 million asthmatics due to a trace of a pollutant that may be harmful to the environment, C.S. breathed his last. Services will be at Whispering Pines Cemetery. C.S. was preceded in death by his wife, Discretion; one daughter, Responsibility; and one son, Reason. He is survived by two step-brothers, Half-Wit and Dim-Wit.

Memorial Contributions may be sent to the Institute for Rational Thought.

Farewell, Common Sense. May you rest in peace."

Liquor Board "Sting"

Another waste of tax dollars.

In an undercover sting, a nearly six foot blonde "penetrated" several Victoria-area nightclubs in an operation to bust liquor serving establishments that allowed entry to minors.

Underage drinking is rampant. I did it, you did it, we all fucking did it. The fact that the Victoria Police Department had to go undercover to discover that this happens is a sign of gross benightedness on their part. One may add that it is probably part reticent as well; I'd be nonplussed to hear of a member of that police force who had not indulged in an alcoholic beverage before the ripe and tender age of nineteen, and I'd be addled to hear that they did not attend such drastic measures as to having snuck into a tavern when they were underage.

And yet, are they going after provincially owned liquor stores? Well...no.

How about the liquor distribution board (government owned)? Not so much.

Instead, they are targeting their considerable resources after privately owned nightclubs and bars. As if they are the source of the scourge which is underage alcoholism.

(That they had to go undercover may suggest just how little an issue this is. After all, were it such a problem, they wouldn't have to sneak undercover marks into bars, they would simply outright close bars grossly offending the liquor act.)

At the end of the day, nightclubs and bars are easy targets, particularly for groups like MADD, which has turned from a victim-rights advocacy group into a viciously powerful self-serving lobbyist organization. It's simple to blame a nightclub for overserving someone, but that same person can go to a liquor store and buy a 40oz bottle of vodka and in an amazing show of hypocrisy there is not a word of protest.

Regarding Sauce's (a local martini bar) contravention, the inspector in question felt compelled to note that the undercover agent was a six foot blonde who by the inspector's own admission appeared to be more than 'mature.' The inspector felt appropriate to note that she was wearing a "low rise" shirt...not sure how that is relevant....

Verbatim from the inspector's report: "In this case, there is the suggestion that the licensee should not have been relying on the SIR (Serving it Right) program and should have had some written tests for employees"

Which tends to suggest that the $50 certification that is supposed to be mandatory for all employees in the hospitality industry is not sufficient. Which begs the question, what then is the purpose of such certification?

Kincaide Show

I must be getting old. Kincaide performed at my bar last week, reinforcing my notion that I am out of touch with teenagers.

The opening bands were in their late teens, scruffed in neo-punk clothing, barely old enough to be performing in the club. I didn't understand the necessity of the lead singer screaming indecipherably into the microphone for minutes on end. This parlayed to the impression I got from the customers at the bar was that I was "The Man." The stench in the room pervade a strong sense of anti-establishment, and somehow the bar staff were lumped in with parents, teachers and authority. Put a black dress shirt on my back and I may as well have been an alderman.

The music I grew up around never made me want to rebel; it only made me want to get nice stuff and wear shiny Hammer pants. The rap that I grew up on, Biggie, Puff Daddy, Busta Rhymes, Mase, never really spoke to me. I couldn't relate to living in the projects, or in areas festering with violence. My definintion of a 'ho' would be the girl in the grade below me who had sex with her long-term boyfriend long before many of the guys in my group of friends popped their cherries. Violence and the tragedy of broken homes was not a factor in the interminable suburbs of the Pacific Northwest. Not that Puff Daddy would know anything about either, which brings me to my point - I missed out on socially literate music during my formative years. Where was my Bob Dylan?

Through the cheap earplugs stuffed into my ear canal, I could not make the translation from what the artists were saying on stage to what those kids were feeling, heads bobbing in the crowd. I can't fathom the lyrics, or understand why anyone would enjoy the cockeyed screaming. By gauging the rebellious and standoffish propensity of the crowd I can only hope that whatever it was that was being screamed on stage that night, it was important enough to make them angry.

How to Impress Your Bartender

1. Tip me well. If I give you great service (i.e. your drink is on the bar waiting for you when you approach the bar) tip well. If the service is marginal, mediocre or I'm rude, do not tip me. Give your business to someone else. Please don't reward bad service. It blows my mind that certain bartenders and servers out there make a living simply because people feel guilty about not leaving them something.

2. Have your money ready. It saves you time, it allows me to give service to the next customer. Things go faster, which means more time for everyone to drink.

3. Let me know if you are having a good time. It matters to us. If you are having a good time, there is a very good chance that we are too.

4. Drink knowledge! It surprises me everytime someone orders a 'high-ball' without knowing what kind or even what it is. It doesn't hurt to be picky and at least mildly knowledgable about what you put in your mouth.

5. Challenge me. If you're uncertain exactly what it is you want to get into, come up with an idea of what you would like. Start with a colour, or a favourite ingredient. Most bartenders have got tons of really good recipes floating around the back of our heads which go largely unused. Give us somewhere to start, however; the disappointment is palpable on most people's faces when they ask me for my favourite drink and get a Jack and water.

And of course, how not to impress your bartender...

1. Make a crack about how you know that the liquor guns are watered down. I am sure that there are a couple cabaret operators in this vast industry that do such a ridiculous thing, but they are the exception. It makes absolutely no sense to do this. Why? Because getting caught doing this would require in losing the club's liquor license, terrible word-of-mouth, and various legal complications (tax fraud, etc). At 40 cents a shot, and a 400-500% profit margin when it goes over the bar, it doesn't hold sense to do this.

2. Wink sleazily and tell me to give your drink a generous pour. If I decide to do this, it will be on my accord and because I feel that I stand to benefit from doing so. No such thing as a selfless deed, particularly in this industry.

3. Ask for a pen. The guy before you asked for it and never brought it back. And the guy before him too. In the age of cell phones, PDA's, the pen & napkin should be considered a dated method, but I suppose old habits die hard.

4. Promise a tip later. "I'll get you on the next round..." I don't mind you not tipping, really. It's the always unfullfilled promise of being tipped at a later date that irks. Come on now, if you don't have money to tip now, why would you later?

5. Run an excessive tab if you don't do it often. It's the best of both worlds with those who run tabs in the arena of several hundred dollars. It's sales for the bar, but amateur binge-drinkers will always dispute the bill, believing it preposterous they had ten beers when they are using the bar counter as a third leg.

This goes back to the watered-down drink thing; long before the doors open, customers have a pre-formed perception that nightclubs and bars are ripping them off, whether it's the cover charge, drink prices or watered down drinks. Once they get some hops up in 'em, this insistence of being decieved bubbles furiously to the surface.

6. Leave a drink on a table and be surprised that it is cleared. This one is more for the bussers and porters. You should take your drink with you, regardless if it's the bathroom, smoke area, whatever. If you have to leave the club for a minute to make a call or smoke, leave your drink with a friend.

7. Pick up the change that your friend leaves on the bar as a tip and put it in your pocket.

Nightclubs and the Sneakiness

Nightclubs are a bizarre place when you break it down. I imagine it is supposed to bring people to some sort of euphoric state; low lighting, flashing strobe bulbs, mind-altering drinks and narcotics. In terms of behaviour, however, nightclubs are places where people do things they’d generally never do, say things they otherwise would not say, and behave in ways they’d never behave. This euphoric state stinks of fakeness.

After all, when was the last time you saw a man slap a girl’s ass in a grocery store? Or two girls spontaneously break out into heavy-handed grinding in your neighborhood retail outlet? These things would seem incredibly pervasive in our day-to-day lives, but in nightclubs, not only are such occurrences not out of the ordinary, they are commonplace and downright acceptable.

Some of the campy behaviour demonstrated by patrons - both sober and intoxicated - has refused to escape my mind. Some of it 'sneaky'...

1. Girls squeezing their boobs and leaning across the bar. This is actually known as the 'squeeze-and-lean.' Many girls do it, some get away with it.

2. Putting your change into one pocket, then reaching into the other to sample some of the nickels, pennies and dimes, which briskly wind up in my tip jar.

3. Asking for a tall pop to be filled only two-thirds. I know you are going to run to the bathroom and pour in half the mickey you snuck into the club.

4. Stealing coins off the bar.

And some of it, not quite so sneaky...

1. Smiling magnanimously towards me while you ply the sloshed girl beside you with another drink. It takes no game to pick up a girl who is slobbering.

2. The middle-aged man, wearing a leather jacket a size too small with a curly rat-tail, who fell asleep standing at a urinal, member in hand and all. He was found as the bar was being locked up, and would have spent the night had a bouncer not done a last minute bathroom check.

3. Most recently, the spitter. About twenty years old, she had curly red hair, freckles. When she gaped her mouth it was possible to see rows of elastics, and when she spoke loudly, as she always did, it sounded cartoonish. Her thick lisp was compounded by the obstruction of her braces. She could say ‘vodka and coke’ and I could hear the saliva bubbling in the back of her mouth, spit like fireworks arcing from the corners of her mouth. Seeing that she was faced, we made the decision to cut her off. Under the impression that we had stopped serving, she stormed off, her two dollars in hand. Ten minutes later she came back and saw us serving other customers. She stood on her tippy-toes, face flushed with indignation, palms propped on the bar and leaned over the bar so that her braces glinted under the bar lamps, and bawled: “YOU STHAID YOU WERE CLOSTHED TWENTY MINUTESTH AGO!” This is not, as you can imagine, the way to get a drink.