Every year the International Convention of Philosophers comes to the Bridgeport Marriott and every year the tab at the hotel bar is just impossible to manage. Finding some of the things these people drink is a huge problem, let alone getting them to settle the bill amongst themselves. This year it was especially bad.
The first big problem came up about two hours into the first night. None of the events at the convention were scheduled until the next morning, but everyone rolled into town and headed down to the bar after checking in. As usual, they tended to sit in clusters among common philosophies, the Kantians sidling up next to the pre-Sartrean Existentialists and whatnot, but there's only so much space in the bar. The Agnostics, both weak and strong, were sitting awfully close to the Classical Fatalists and things got dicey when their pitchers of beer got switched. See, the Agnostics tend to drink a little higher on the hog than most, so they sprung for a pitcher of some good Northwestern IPA. The Fatalists stick with the cheapest piss they can find on account of the beer being guaranteed to end up as piss anyway. When the barback brought the IPA to the Fatalists' table, they refused to switch it with the pitcher of PBR that showed up at the Agnostics' table, claiming that the IPA was destined to end up where it did and that it would be wrong to "correct" its path. Jerks that they are, they would only agree to give the Agnostics the beer they ordered if they could agree on whether the switch was a mistake or the conscious intention of some unseen kitchen staffer. A fight nearly broke out.
Things weren't any better the next afternoon when the lunch crowd showed up. The Epicureans decided to sample a half-shot from each bottle of whiskey behind the bar to determine which one to favor for the remainder of the convention. They all got shit-faced and ended up starting a drinking contest with the Hedonists. Some stupid girl from the latter camp damn near got alcohol poisoning. Her friends forced her to get sick and then injected her with... hell, nobody on staff knows what that stuff was, just that the Hedonists were using it non-stop and few of them slept a wink all weekend. They were sprinkling it on their French toast, for God's sake.
The bartender had a hell of a time on the second night getting the Spinozans to stop harassing the Deists. They'd toss peanuts into the Deists' drinks and say something like, "Why are you mad? It was all a part of The Great Architects plan!" and then they'd high-five. The Nihilists got their asses kicked by some Fascists for talking on their cell phones during the lecture on ethics, the Scientologists served their cocktail waitress with a court summons after they overheard her laughing with one of her friends about Tom Cruise's outfit from the Oprah finale, and the Confucianists got in trouble for trying to help behind the bar when things got too busy.
As always, the worst was when the convention ended and everyone had to settle up. The Marxists got pissy, as usual, about who put the most strain on their collective drink budget, then turned their ire on the hotel manager for "setting the prices too high". The Objectivists tried to only pay half of their tab, claiming that the gin was substandard and clearly doesn't deserve to command its listed price. The Satanists... actually, this year the Satanists were reasonable. We're pretty sure they stole a Christian Scientist's credit card to pay their tab, but at least there was no blood on it this time. Honestly, the only reason we here at the Bridgeport Marriott host the convention is because we make a mint on the room rentals. We eat our hats when it comes to the bar.