Ulysses S. Grant subs in for Ben Franklin

I bartended a party in Southampton, for some very wealthy people. The party was about 6 hours. I was tipped $50 dollars!!!!

Cheap Bastard!!!

-M

This reminds me of a personal favorite Rude Hamptons story - Georgi Vodka Beats Ketel One In Blind Taste Test

The Crying Game of Hamptons Liquor

Our blog friends, GuestofaGuest, tipped us off to a Page Six WE HEAR . . . article that a few Hamptons restaurants are under investigation over refilling high end booze with the rot gut brands. I guess law enforcement never read our story from last summer, Georgi Vodka Beats Ketel One In Blind Taste Test, where some asshat actually thought Georgi Vodka was Ketel One.

Good to know that some restaurants don't do such terrible things.

- The Editor

You got Georgica'd - the act of clearing a line by removing foul weather protection

So, I think I just witnessed the rudest thing yet in the Hamptons (this season):


Essentially, at Georgica in Wainscott this Saturday, Matt Levine (of The Eldridge fame) decided that the best way to handle the crowd out front was to remove the awning at the door and get everyone soaking wet in the rain. People were SO mad...

Gotta love the Hamptons!

-Nick Leighton, Producer

Plum TV

Georgi Vodka Beats Ketel One In Blind Taste Test

As a second job, I work as a Bartender on the weekends for private parties; mostly serving up easy mixed drinks like cosmos and Pinot Grigio to guests who are generally pleasant, friendly and in a good mood. But last Saturday, I bartended for a party that had 2 guests (a couple) who, when they walked into the garden just beamed high maintenance and nasty vibes.......the black cloud over their heads was so visible you could cut through it with a knife. HE: loudmouth balding middle aged man all dressed in white with lots of gold jewelry. SHE: even louder mouth with a voice from hell that cut through the entire party of about 80 guests, and on the cell phone half the time.

HE: Comes up to my bar and asks for Ketel One on the rocks, where I promptly oblige. Then insists it's not Ketel One, even though I poured it straight from the Ketel One bottle in front of him. So I discard drink and pour him another one, again from Ketel One bottle. Still insists it's not Ketel One and slams drink on the bar. I told him to take it up with the host, this is what I was furnished and other people were waiting for drinks, to please step aside. He storms off.

SHE: comes up to the bar shortly after and asks for one of the most expensive reds the host had placed out, in a glass with lots of ice! Even though I raised my eyebrows, I promptly served it to her. She then told me to make her husband another drink and MAKE IT A KETEL ONE THIS TIME. I offered to go into the host's kitchen, where he had another wet bar and backups for us just in case, and told her would absolutely, positively get Ketel One from the Host's own private bar. I went in there and poured the cheap "Georgi" Vodka on the rocks and brought it over to him; he took one sip and said "now that's the right vodka - and from now on goddammit, when someone tells you it's not the real thing you better listen" and "I'm going to tell **** (the host) how difficult you were to deal with"!

PS: Insult to injury: SHE never even drank that expensive iced down red wine, just kept coming back for "freshen-ups". What a crime, this was $400. a bottle wine.

PPS: Further insult: SHE kept coming back to my bar, turning over my clean glasses and discarding her used toothpicks, shrimp shells and cocktail napkins in them like my bar was a garbage dump.

And they wonder why The Locals are "so difficult to deal with".

- Another Local Yokel Trying to Make a Living off Rude Summer People

Four Simple Tips To Avoid Dying and other Personal Calamities

Ah yes, that lovely time of year we call Memorial Day is once again upon us. Here are some lovely tips to our day trippers, weekenders, three or four monthers, etc, as this time of year can surely become rather dangerous to anyone and everyone.

Tip One:

Summer, when a Sunday drive before church becomes an adrenaline-fueled game of chicken with 3-50 bicyclists, riding side by side down our scenic "country" roads. Wearing unflatteringly tight spandex of a plethora of clashing fluorescent epilepsy-inducing colors, they have a tendency to dive in and out of oncoming traffic like crazed deer at the sight of headlights. That double yellow line running down the middle of the road is not intended as a bicycle lane, my friend, and those loud greenhouse gas inducing objects coming at you or honking madly as you slow down traffic do indeed have front bumpers for a reason.

Tip Two:

A warm, inviting Friday night on the town can also have its hazards. What should be a stroll through the crosswalk of Main Street on your way to a ten-fifty it-better-be-good movie becomes a race for your life, since the signal for pedestrians to walk safely has an average lifespan of about 1.26534 seconds. Perhaps that little green man should be edited, because to me he looks like he's walking, not sprinting the fifty yard dash. Stop lights are not a mere suggestion for a Lexus or a Mercedes, you are just as obligated to stop as that landscaper truck waiting next to you.

For those who have failed to translate the little sign that reads "Yield to pedestrians", in English it means "For the Love of God Don't Hit That Person Crossing The Street!!"

Tip Three:

It is not considered polite or professional to curse and then spit at the young lady or gentleman who made your lunch at one of our many local food establishments, while calling her an idiot because she put iceberg lettuce on your tree bark and tofu sandwich instead of romaine. Think about it, do you REALLY want to eat food that was made or remade by a person who is secretly wishing to hit you with a crow bar? I wouldn't.

Tip Four:

Have you ever wondered why, after entering a quiet local bar and ordering a tutti frutti razzle dazzle drink that involves being mixed drop by drop, shaken exactly 37 and a half times, poured into a champagne flute and then topped with an umbrella and a three foot yellow twisty straw (Hold the cherry), that you get laughed at and possibly assaulted before the end of the night? That's because you've entered an establishment of normal, average people. If you want something fancy that tastes like pixie sticks, go to one of those places where you have to pay to snort flavored oxygen. You're the reason why a simple beer in a bottle is a whopping five dollars.

Here's to another Summer in The Hamptons, and I hope you take these kind words of advice and cherish them, to make this season as happy as the last.

-E