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This is the world of the Bro; we’re all just living in it.  The Bro has always been around.  We used to know him as Preppy, Frat Guy, Frat Dude, Dude, Surfer Dude, Yuppie, and Young Republican.  Trust me; I went to the official Bro Ivy League College, the one with the highest concentration of fraternities and frat-boys in all the Ivy League (are there any other colleges besides the Ivy League?  I wouldn’t know).  There is nothing quite like the sweet smell of a Frat Basement at 3:01 am on a Saturday morning.  Nothing as sweet.


Anyway, the 2010s are the decade of the Bro Ascendant.  Bros cross all races; they can be Ray J, or John Cho, or Vin Diesel.  (He’s African-American, right?)  He is, of course, John Mayer and James Franco.  What used to be a mere subculture is now THE CULTURE.  MMA, Extreme Sports, Energy Drinks, Axe, Flat-Bill Caps, Burgers and Fries, IPAs (the beers, not the retirement plans, which are IRAs), FauxHawks, TheDirty.com, and all that BroWorld entails has won.  Earth is officially BroPlanet; we’re just innocent bystanders to the takeover.

Bros cross all economic boundaries; they can be a lowly waiter saving up for law school, an annoying Verizon Wireless salesman trying to sell you on the latest HTC One, or a Extreme Sports Drink marketing specialist trying to convince you that a can of Monster Energy will give you the energy to….be even more Bro-ish than you already are.

ImageHow, you ask, can I identify a Bro?  First, if the smell of Axe Body Spray from 200 yards away doesn’t give him away, look for the copy of Maxim Magazine in his hand.  If he’s too poor to afford the $5.95 cover price for Maxim Magazine*, look for the Monster Energy Drink** or a Flat-Bill Baseball Cap.  Please note:  The Flat-Bill Cap must be the flattest thing you’ve ever seen.  It must be flatter than a girl with a B cup (which, by the way, and as we all know, is an abomination against Zeus, Odin, and Mon Mothra).  Otherwise, look for the vintage second-hand Ed Hardy T-Shirt or, perhaps more recently, the TapOut T-shirt.  Please note:  the Bro is not always in shape; he might be chubby and still be wearing a TapOut T-shirt.  Do not be alarmed.  This is perfectly normal.  The Bro will not wear proper Aviator Sunglasses, the best sunglasses on the planet.  OH NO.  He will wear plastic framed sunglasses—either circa-1984 Top Gun-style Wayfarer sunglasses or bizarre Tortoise-shell Sunglasses.  Who the f— wears those??  The Bro does.  He wears them with shants—Pants that Are Shorts, usually of denim material—and TapOut T-shirts, even though he has never had anyone TapOut on him.  And he wears plastic sunglasses.  This, my friends, is how you identify The Bro—LiveStrong Bracelet, TapOut T-Shirt, FlatBill Arizona Diamondbacks Baseball Cap, Plastic TortoiseShell Sunglasses, Watch that bizarrely costs more than his rent, Copy of FHM (For Him Magazine….but couldn’t it also be For Her Magazine? or For Hermaphrodite Magazine?), and 32-ounce can of Monster Energy Drink in his hands.  He’ll also have a Tattoo that attends to his Bro-ness.   The Elite Bros will have Alpha Delta Fraternity Insignia decorating their upper shoulder areas; the lower echelon of Bros will have vague references to Nascar and Pabst Blue Ribbon, along with nude silhouettes of inappropriately busty ladies, on their flabby but still large biceps.  It’s called StrongFat, by the way—having what appears to be large muscles because you have a lot of fat between your muscles.

My deepest apologies but can I please go back to the world of Fraternities for a mere second?  Is there nothing more perplexing than the thought that either your dear mom or the U.S. Federal Government is footing the bill for your $400,000 education when you’re spending every Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday night in a Fraternity Basement drinking Keystone Light and playing Beer Pong?  I do want to point out that I never joined any fraternity and still received multiple commendations for exemplary research from my Nobel Prize-winning Economics professors.  Still….I feel bad that I didn’t make the most of my early years.   Two roads diverged in the woods and I chose…skanks.  Skanks and beer pong.  And Diet Coke.  Can I also make a very small note that we had the World’s Stupidest Fraternity that actually named their Frat “Kappa Kappa Kappa.”  Look up what letters those form.  Oblivious or insensitive?  You decide.  Needless to say, I went to perhaps the least PC of the Ivies.

Anyway, before I insult The Bro too much, I want to point out that, one-on-one, The Bro is actually a decent person.  He’s faaaaaar too naive to realize that he’s a douche-in-the-making.  He’s not a Douche; he’s a Proto-Douche.  He’s still a relatively nice person; he can either choose to become a Douche or a Young Republican.  One-on-one, he’s all “Hey Dude Bro” and “Hey Brah, if you could get me another ShockTop IPA, that would be RAAAAD,” and such.  I even had a Dude Bro Brah Dude Flat Bill Frat Boy tip me 12% on a check once.  So they’re not quite DoucheBag territory.  DoucheBag-in-training.  Not DoucheBag yet.

So this brings me to the whole point of this The Bro post for a Restaurant Serving Blog.  You will, quite frequently, encounter The Bro Waiter in your travels.  Let me tell you about the The Bro Waiter.  He’s actually pretty earnest about his job; he thinks every woman wants his number and that every waitress lusts after him, but he still cares about his job because it’s one more dollar in his Law School fund and one more dollar for his Flat Bill Collection, his Axe Body Spray Fund, and his Maxim Magazine Subscription Fund.  Your tip means one more dollar he can spend on bottle service at Costa Mesa’s Sutra Lounge and one more drink he can buy a fat chick (any girl over 120 pounds) at The Butterfly Lounge.  So he’s a good waiter.  He will, of course, ridicule any hardworking General Manager that tries to actually make him bus his own tables or refill his drinks, but the customers love him.  Well, the MILFS and Cougars love him.  If nothing else, there is that.  So let The Bro work in your restaurant…..he balances out The Skinny Hippie Chick Who Walks Into Work with a Suede Handbag and Her Hangover Sunglasses On and The Jaded Former Manager Chick Who Smokes Cigarettes Like They’re Going Out of Style waitresses that you also have on staff.

Dude Bro Dude….this GreenFlashIPA is for you.

* can’t afford to pay for a whole Maxim SUBSCRIPTION, even though it’s only $3 more than a single copy of Maxim Magazine.

** can’t afford Red Bull