The act of whistling is akin to the act of talking on one's cell phone in that it's utterly annoying to everyone except the person whistling or chatting. In most public places it's not acceptable to tootle what are in effect high-pitched squawks. You would never hear a two-finger whistle at the library, in a college classroom or even at the grocery store. But, as with many other bad behaviors, the bar seems to be a perfectly justifiable place for folks to practice their incessant warble.
Many bartenders would claim that the most annoying whistle is the one that's blown to grab his or her attention. Certainly, it's hard to glance up and smile at someone whose intention was to shatter your inner ear. Still, it's a gentle cousin compared with the all-out party whistle.
As bartenders, we've all seen that guy (and yes - it is always a guy) who starts getting a little too jazzed about the night and starts whistling the loudest whistles ever blown by mankind. Directed at no one in particular, the whistles are a resonating clamor that lingers in the air. These whistles are jeering and disruptive, nerve racking and chilling. How one human being is capable of creating a sound at this decibel level is somewhat of a miracle, a true feat of human faculty. And once a whistler starts, he cannot stop. Each whistle gets him a little more pumped than the last. I've noticed that the party whistler is never trying to garner anyone's attention, so I assume it's some sort of mating call for female howler monkeys, which we don't allow in the bar. Because even though we tolerate a lot of bad behavior, throwing one's poo is still out of the question. -
The Whistler
1.5 oz fresh squeezed lemon
1.5 oz simple syrup
1 oz. St. Germain
1 oz Crater Lake Vodka
Shake and strain into a cocktail glass and slowly add 1/2 oz of Pama Pomegranate Liqueur.
