I'm a Bartender. Customers' New Habits Are Ruining Bars

This month marks 11 years of working in New York's service industry. It's changed a lot.

As an Irish lad, I grew up on Cheers and in my first gig in New York, I found my solace at Molly Pitcher's Ale House—a popular joint where the regulars could have been characters on that show.

Now, Molly Pitcher's is no more, Cheers is no more, and the characters are no more.

In my first gig, a month in, I had learned that the bar corner seat was Rosie's, an 80-something iconic regular.

When Rosie entered, she imperiously claimed her throne and those already occupying it immediately yielded. No questions asked. I have no doubt that this unwritten rule wouldn't be respected today.

Nostalgia is a seductive liar, as George Ball once said, and hands up, it is customary for thirty-somethings to point out that their heyday was much better (it was).

But I can't help but feel, having by now served thousands, that the public house is different, not for the better, and you, the customer, are in fact ruining the sacred space of the bar.

I simply wish to tell you, the patron, on behalf of all New York service industry employees: You. Look. Ridiculous.

Off the back of the pandemic dining protocols, change occurred. Everything has been done or is expected to be done for the patron.

This, coupled with mass phone addiction and its anti-social ramifications, has created a sick baby of over-reliance on the worker and over-convenience for the patron.

But we, the service industry employees, are not an app, a button you press, and shazam, it's done. We're people, treat us as such. The public house is just that: Public.

As technologies advance, humans come with it, but do we really need to advance the space where interaction is spontaneous and chance has a place?

I ask this because here is some of the day-to-day drivel that we now hear:

"Can you charge my phone?"

"What's the WiFi?"

"Margarita: Not too sweet, not too bitter." (Duh.)

"Split this check 19 ways?"

"Can you make this?" (Re: photo of a pink drink.)

"Can we get our checks?"—that's plural, by the way. Are customers really that narcissistic to think that we track exact tabs on every item for each person over the course of a sitting?

Oh, and: "Can you charge my vape?" (Get the f**k out.)

Bathroom waits are longer. The next time you wait in line for the loo, I bet your house that the person exiting passes you by head-down, square-eyed. Maybe you won't, as you may very well be doing likewise, both brushing each other's shoulders, your faces never meeting.

A University of Arizona study showed that a cell phone carries 10 times more bacteria than a toilet seat. That same phone that you hold on the can, in the gym, and on the subway is then rudely shoved in the bartender's face to charge. When we decline that germ-magnet, the resentment is exacted on the tip.

Dogs are frequenting bars more and more and yet people are still allergic. Some are service animals, while others are clearly not. To ask us to referee this impasse in the age of self-regard is one for Mulder and Scully to figure out.

I write all of this in the hope that in 20 years, we won't have Gen Z reminiscing that they used to have bartenders at all.

Just like a current generation's optimist will become the next pessimist, this isn't a spittle-flecked tirade from a Luddite. So then, what can be done?

Drink to your environments. If you're in Doc Holliday's, the staple NYC dive, do not order an espresso martini. Beer and shot specials won't happen at Danny Meyer's joints. It's the same for food. If you hear Frank Sinatra and smell marinara, don't be disappointed when soup dumplings aren't available.

Some bar etiquette refreshers: If the bartender is three-deep, sweat-dripping, out of breath, do not ask to split five tequilas five ways—you already have Venmo for your convenience, so figure out the dynamics of your friendship without including me.

Processing fees hurt bars as it is, which brings me to an old-school concept fast disappearing: Bring back rounds—one person buys the drinks and when they are done, your friend reciprocates.

If you disagree with this time-honored tradition, then I wonder, do you not trust the person you are with, probably a friend or partner? If so, why are you spending your time with them? And again, why are you here?

When ordering, greet the server, look them in the eye and include the words "please" and "thank you." This is something that has been in decline for some time—when we do not get this basic level of human respect, it can be the difference between a good night and a bad one.

If you are seated in outdoor spaces, note the distances your server covers when you ask for a sample, and the time and day during which you are asking for that sample. A napkin on a glass means someone is still sitting at that seat. Do not order or receive a drink in the space between two people conversing on bar stools.

If you want the bartender to charge your vape device, turn around, exit the bar and direct yourself into oncoming traffic. By the way, it is still illegal to vape indoors. Stop acting like some spiteful barkeep masterminded this law as we sat in Albany on our day off.

Never Livestream or FaceTime at a bar or swipe through Instagram stories without headphones. I think I felt most compelled to write this after some bozo-influencer took out her ring light at the bar. I stopped this circus immediately.

Making an IG story with an employee in the shot? Ask us first, would we like to be in it? It's just good manners.

At least for a while, put the damn phone away. Take a look across the bar and see if someone wonderful is looking back at you. As your bartender/bedside psychiatrist, I don't want to hear any more of the trials of online dating.

Real life and its possibilities at the public house are not defunct. Swallow that lump in your throat, approach that person and buy them a drink. Trust me, people still love that.

Being cut off doesn't have to go viral. In the past year, twice, I've suddenly found myself 12 inches from the lens of an iPhone, once as the drunk narrated that I've somehow developed prejudices while I handed him napkins to wipe the vomit off his Patagonia.

The service worker of today has flaws like the rest of them. We live in a world of main-character energy now. This degradation we are experiencing doesn't mean we should drop our standards.

"Hey, how are you?" should greet every customer just as every vodka soda comes with a lime.

But if convenience is the main thing that the bar patron wants from now on, well good luck to the future with your AI robot-bartender asking you 27 times if you are enjoying your drink.

Jesus wept.

There's certainly more conversation to be had on the 'anti-social' media or the perils of technology (E.M. Forster's The Machine Stops comes to mind).

But for now, from the experience of my world, the bar, the next time you step into one, a blank canvas for human interaction, remember why you came there. What I can see from over that counter are things people could do at home anyway.

The bar has become mundane, boring, predictable so ask yourself: Are you these descriptions? If not, then, again: Why are you here?

KC Connolly is originally from Ireland but has lived in New York City for more than a decade. He is a bartender and writer-director of three films.

All views expressed are the author's own.

Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? See our Reader Submissions Guide and then email the My Turn team at myturn@newsweek.com.