For better or worse (and it usually evens out), every bar has their Cliffs and Norms, their regular customers, those people who come in most every day, usually drink the same things, plug the same songs in the jukebox, sit in the same spot, are as predictable as a Jay Leno joke.

There are numerous reasons some patrons become fixtures: There’s comfort in familiarity, and often regulars choose a bar out of convenience (it’s close to home), and go back out of habit or laziness. In some sadder cases, the bar can become a surrogate family.

It’s a strange relationship between the regular and the staff of the bar they frequent. While the regular often thinks that they’re establishing a genuine friendship with the people who work at "their" bar, that evolution is a rare occurrence. The regular usually doesn’t realize how tenuous a connection they have with the staff.... until it’s too late.

Regulars can develop a rather annoying sense of entitlement. While it’s true that they receive buybacks more frequently than the new faces, that doesn’t mean it’s a given. Special treatment is always, always at the discretion of the bar.

At my bar, we recently banned two regulars. Two very different circumstances, only one of which I’ll go into here.  Let me tell you about Chester (not his real name), a cranky middle aged man who came in every single day right around opening for dinner and wine. He’d sit at the bar, and at first was a nice guy, a little demanding, but not a problem.

But as time went on, Chester started to complain about the bar. To the staff, other patrons, anyone in earshot. He didn’t like the music we played (it IS a rock club). He didn’t like the staff. He didn’t like the clientele (he tried to pick a fight with two kids one night). He didn’t like the service (especially if he had to ASK for bread, even if it was a meal that didn’t come with bread). He often didn’t like the food.

So, why, you may ask, did Chester keep coming back, day after day? Well, we asked ourselves that, day after day. Inevitably came the straw that broke the camel’s back...our camel’s back. He came in, his normal early time, ordered the lamb stew that was on the specials board and within a few bites, demanded to see the manager. "This is shit. This is hot dog meat. This isn’t Lamb. Where do you get your meat? This is unacceptable. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS?"

Maybe it wasn’t the highest grade lamb on earth. We’re not Salaam Bombay. But it certainly wasn’t worth this level of scorn. The manager made numerous apologies, offered to substitute anything else, comped the entire check, but it still wasn’t good enough. Chester fumed, ranted, demanded a copy of the specials list, he was taking us to the Better Business Bureau. He was closing us down.

I’d have loved to have heard that phone call. "Yes, Better Business Bureau? My dinner didn’t taste good, I need you to shut down this bar!"  ** click **

So, you’d think that would be it, right? No more Chester. He even stated, "I’m done with this place." But Regulars are weird creatures. The very next day, like clockwork, in walked Chester, ready for another meal. But WE were done with him. He was informed that he’s no longer welcome at our establishment, and good riddance.

I won’t go into the details of the second banning (they’re too sketchy), but this guy (we’ll call him Spanky) was our most frequent regular. If a day went by that he didn’t come in, it was strange. And this was for years. Most of the time, he was a good guy, but he could be a royal pain as well. Many nights he was barely tolerated.

What Spanky failed to realize is that omnipresence grants you no license. The rules still apply. And regardless of how often you come in, how much money you spend, how many first names you know at the bar, you are still Not One of Us. And if you cross a line, that’s it. Spanky had been tiptoeing around that line for a very long time. Then, finally, he crossed it, numerous times in one night.

Spanky and Chester were both ignorant of (or refused to acknowledge) a truism that escapes many bar patrons: When you’re in an environment as potentially explosive as one revolving around alcohol, the customer is most definitely NOT always right. Bartenders come to recognize trouble well before it starts and take the steps necessary to nip it in the bud. And our word is law: If you’re cut off, you’re cut off. If you’re asked to leave, you leave. There is no discussion, no arguing. Take your lumps and go. If you do so with grace, odds are you’ll be welcomed back at another time.

Just don’t make it the next day. Try another bar for once. To be frank, I don’t

get the regulars. I don’t understand why someone would want to go to the exact same bar every day.

Variety = Spice and all that. Familiarity breeds contempt.  Other aphorisms. That’s why I like to stay at home and drink alone in the dark.

But maybe that’s another column.