Chronicles of an Aging Gheorghie: Bar Tabs and Boat Drinks

A bit of consumer advocacy from our friend in OBX, which may well explain how we manage to rack up $700 bar tabs when we're in his neck of the woods. And the wisdom at the end is worth noting, though I suspect we all fall on the right side of that advice.

A brief tale of fading memory, camaraderie and small business accommodation that may resonate with those who age, who drink and who visit this outpost:

Several weeks back, a buddy and I met one afternoon at a local watering hole that shall go nameless, but rhymes with “Shmortuga’s Fly.” We sat at the bar and were there between two and three hours. We had a few beers apiece, we each had a meal, and at the end I ordered some takeout to carry home for the missus. I put the bill on my card, my buddy gave me cash, and off we went.

Fast-forward a couple weeks, and the charge on my credit card statement for that day was considerably higher than I remembered. There were no shots, no swag, no round of drinks for the bar. Of course, I didn’t keep the receipt to check against the statement, ‘cause I don’t need any more small pieces of paper in my orbit (Is that a thing? Do people keep receipts for a month to check against their credit card bill?).

Texted my buddy and asked if he remembered the total. He did not, but said it seemed high. Told him that I didn’t know if I had any recourse, since I didn’t have a receipt. Coincidentally, he owned a restaurant/bar in the Maryland D.C. suburbs for 25 years and said that most joints keep a record of credit card transactions, and certainly for the past month.

So, I drove to Shmortuga’s and talked to a manager. Wasn’t demanding or accusatory, but wrote out the date and the details as I remembered, and asked if they could research it. She was very polite and said it might be a few days, but they’d look into it.

A couple days pass, and into my inbox pop several texts. The first says, the bill looks right, with a screen shot of our order. Several more beers than I recalled, an appetizer we split that I didn’t remember, and I put the tip on the card, when I thought I left cash. Another text came in a little later with a screen shot of the card charge for the exact amount, complete with my illegible signature.
I texted back and thanked her for checking. Told her this is what happens when you’re old and you have a few beers and your memory’s shot. She said, no problem, we’re at the beach, it happens all the time, and thanks for my business.

I’ve heard a few anecdotes here of groups getting doctored bar bills – an extra pitcher that wasn’t ordered, an upsell on drinks (“when you asked for a tall one, I thought that meant you wanted a double”). For the most part, folks here play it straight. The Shmortuga’s manager assured me a couple times that they don’t do business that way. Told her, I’m not suggesting that you do; I might have mis-remembered, folks make honest mistakes, but just take a look if you can.

My takeaway is that my mind is an unreliable bookkeeper when out drinking and eating – during and after. Catawba White Zombie Ale on draft is a little pricier than you think. The bill is whatever it says it is, so just pay the damn thing and don’t waste my or any overworked manager’s time. And don’t let any of it deter you from visiting a little corner we’ll just call the Shmouter Blanks.