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You’re out with friends at a bar, club or venue. Everyone’s having fun—drinking, happy. Out of nowhere, the bartender catches an attitude. They were all smiles before; now they’re snippy, serving your drinks with a sigh and an eye roll, maybe ignoring you completely. What the hell is their problem?
You.
If this sounds familiar, and if it's happened more than once, I'm sorry to say that you, my friend, are THAT person in the bar: The jerk whose behavior kills the vibe, doesn't realize they're embarrassing themselves, and makes everyone breathe easier once they're out the door.
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The good news is that becoming the type of customer bartenders love is easy. More than that, it pays dividends: you'll get served faster, the bartender will make you seem cool in front of your friends, and you could get a drink or two for free. Being well-liked by bartenders makes life way easier.
Who am I to make prescriptions? I worked as a full-time bartender in NYC for over a decade. Neighborhood spots, high-volume theme bars, cocktail hideaways, bumping clubs, festivals, private parties, venues—there's almost nothing I haven't dealt with or seen.
Below, five signs you're being THAT person in the bar, including things to be aware of and ways you might correct them.
Keep in mind that this is aimed specifically at people going to bars in New York City, but it's good advice for visiting U.S. bars in general.
Don’t be desperate
Snapping, clapping, whistling, or shouting for attention–yes, that includes “excuse me!”
Once, I was managing a bar on a busy night. The bartender was going full-tilt, dealing with a big crowd. Sick of waiting, an impatient customer reached over the bar and tugged on her shirt to get her attention. Nevermind that this bartender struggled with anxiety and trauma–it was a blatant violation, a kind of assault. What came next was like a highway pileup: She stopped working to tell the guy off, he got defensive, his friends joined in, and other customers got annoyed. Security removed him and I jumped in to serve drinks while the bartender went to collect herself. She came back after a while, but she was rattled for the rest of the night. Understandably so.
In U.S. bars, the tip-based service industry (we'll come back to this) means it's very much in the bartender's best interest to be attentive. If the person making drinks locks eyes with you, they're silently communicating: I know you're there, I know you want something, I will get to you when I can. You have to trust that or the whole system falls into chaos, bartenders included.
Bartenders, servers, people hate being summoned with finger snaps and whistling. Some will go along with it just not to make waves, but they would rather you get their attention like a person.
If you're confident the bartender hasn't noticed you, a raised hand or finger is a universally understood signal, ditto leaning slightly forward onto the bar. Give them a little time and eventually they'll get to you. If you've waited and can wait no more, you can flag attention with a friendly wave. I mean friendly, not wild or putting your hands in their face, or crossing the bar's threshold. Once the bartender has made eye contact with you, that's all you need.
Maybe you just want a soda or a cup of water. Pouring water requires about the same time and effort as pouring a beer, and more than opening a can or bottle. You still have to wait your turn like everyone else.
Don’t act entitled
Treating the bartender as if they work for you, expecting anything for free, saying “make it strong.”
One night, I was working through a long queue and, after getting their drinks, one couple simply leaned against the bar directly in front of me, continuing their conversation. I couldn't move to take others' orders—this wasn’t that kind of bar. I asked the couple to please move down a few feet. They turned indignant: Why hadn't I asked anyone else to move? There was no sign saying they couldn't stand there. They paid for these drinks and tipped—they should be able to stand where they want. Eventually, they walked away, scowling at me. Out of thousands of interactions, it says something that I still remember them.
Don't bark orders, ask. Don't reach over the bar and help yourself to garnishes; it's unsanitary. Don't assume you're getting anything for free; not every establishment allows bartenders to make that call. Don't look at your phone while you're ordering, it's dehumanizing.
The point is: a bartender doesn't work for you and doesn't owe you anything. Yes, they're relying on you to hold up your end of the bargain, but if you think a few measly dollars buys the right to treat them poorly, you can keep your money. Every bar has a sign saying the bartender has the right to refuse service to anyone for any reason. In New York, this applies to anything inherent to a person, anything that is not a choice.
You don't have to lavish appreciation on anyone, but a little grace and class aren't hard to summon. "Please," "thank you," and a few seconds of your full attention go further than you think.
Stop being inconsiderate
Throwing out terms you don't understand, devaluing others' time, failing to read the room
I was knee-deep during a busy shift at a craft beer bar when a person made it to the front. Clearly from out of town, they joked about being overwhelmed by the selection. I handed them a detailed menu and threw out popular options. They didn't read the menu and didn't like my suggestions. They wanted me to hold their hand. Under different circumstances, I would’ve. But this was downtown on the weekend with a ton of people waiting. I said, "Think about what you want and I'll come back." When I returned, they still hadn't decided. They wanted me to explain the differences between certain beers. I said, "Sorry, I can't do this right now," and moved on. The third time around, I found this person talking loudly to other patrons, telling them I was mean and calling me names.
A bartender can't and shouldn't tell you what to drink. That's not their job. When people ask what's good or what the bartender personally likes, they're abdicating responsibility for their own experience. Wanting some direction isn't a sin, but this is your experience—you're paying, so you should have what you want. There's a fine line between presenting guidelines (e.g., "I want a sweet cocktail") and taking a complete shot in the dark ("I'll have whatever you feel like making"). Help them help you.
It's fine to not know precisely what you want—that's why menus exist. Sometimes you need a minute. If business is slow, a bartender is generally happy to provide guidance. If it's busy, you've got to make a call.
Don't push to the front or cut the line—use the time you spend waiting. If the bar is crowded, be ready when the bartender gets to you. That is NOT the time to turn around and solicit your friends' orders. If you're with a group, DO NOT all get separate checks—Venmo one another or take turns buying rounds. And stop closing out after every round. Seriously.
Avoid social vampirism
Making unsolicited advances, insinuating yourself into others' conversations, getting sloppy
A bartender I know built up a nice situation—leading with charm and a welcoming disposition, she had regulars who came to see her every shift. She comped drinks, laughed at jokes, and made a nice living. It worked out for everyone until one regular began pushing the boundaries. It began with him unloading his stress on her, fishing for encouragement. Then he began asking her out socially. She would decline, but he persisted, treating it like a funny joke. He began monopolizing her time and energy, getting upset if she didn't spend sufficient time talking to him. He would drink to excess and when she cut him off, he would beg. She told him he was violating boundaries, but he disregarded her. She began to dread going to work. He hadn't hurt anyone, hadn't made threats, hadn't made a mess. Still, she felt unsafe. He wound up banned from the bar.
Being a social vampire means becoming a burden to others. That can take many forms: forcing your way into conversations, oversharing, getting so drunk you can't take care of yourself, getting into fights or arguments, making a mess, unloading your emotions—it all goes to self-awareness or a lack thereof. If the person you're speaking to isn’t smiling or asking follow-up questions—they’re looking for a way out.
More often than not, public unburdening goes poorly, and it almost never gets you the result you want. You never want to be the drunkest person in the room, but you also never want to be the most earnest.
A bar isn’t the place to find yourself; it’s a place to unwind and have fun. Slow down, appreciate the privilege of being there. Space out your drinks; let your body metabolize one at a time. Don't get ahead of yourself; don't chase a feeling. Enjoy the feeling you’ve got. If you feel yourself getting carried away, that's a good sign that it's time to go home. There’s always next weekend.
Also, men: leave women alone, they're not in the bar for you. Let’s be real: 99.999% of the time, when someone is making an unwelcome advance in a bar, it's a man talking to a woman. Every bartender has seen it: some dude prattling to a woman who is only interested in finding a way to free herself from the interaction.
Tip like you’ve got some sense
Not taking the bartender's effort into consideration, tipping small change, stiffing the bartender altogether
I was working at a small cocktail bar owned by a very wealthy corporation. One night, the big regional boss came in with their partner, plus manager underlings in tow. The boss ordered round after round of cocktails and encouraged the other managers to do the same. This went on for hours. I stayed past closing to serve them. At the end of the night, the under-managers gestured to pay. The boss stopped them, saying that drinking without paying was a perk of their position. I assumed the boss (who, that very night, I overheard talking about flying on private jets) would cover the bill and take care of me. The big boss left five dollars and walked out. For all that work, all those hours, I made less than my commuting train fare.
Whoever designed the software for point-of-sale these days has maybe done irreparable harm to bartending as a gainful employment.
Bartenders make less than minimum wage because of a New York State law called the tipped minimum wage, which allows employers to satisfy the minimum wage by combining a “cash wage” paid by the employer with a credit or allowance for tips. Generally, when payroll does withholding, it all goes straight to taxes—it's a wash.
People who work at counters—coffee shops, fast food joints, bakeries—are almost certainly making more than minimum wage. So, if you don't tip the person who made your sandwich, they miss out on a little extra. If you don't tip the person who made your cocktail, they get nothing. You probably won't miss those few dollars, but they make a big difference to the bartender. Trust me.
Anyone who says bartending is easy is probably a bad bartender. Making drinks is only the beginning. You're responsible for all the money, drunk people, and the crowd's flow. You often have to make food, clean every glass and surface, restock, bus tables, and stay awake late into the night. That's if a night goes by without problems—think a broken glass, a burst pipe, a fight. Still not convinced? If you're not in a medical field, which of a complete stranger's bodily secretions have you ever had to clean? Every bartender I know has an answer and it's never just saliva.
Nobody is saying bartending is noble or heroic or anything. You don't have to lavish money or praise on them (although, if you want to, go ahead). Just remember that the person on the other side of the bar has a life and people who love and care about them, and if you aren't tipping, you're quite literally devaluing them. I don't think you want to do that. At least I hope not.