single girl saturday night.

 

So, some friends of mine opened a bar. I gladly help them out from time to time, picking up a shift or bar backing. Doing a shift as a bar back consists of bitch work. You know, taking out trash, making sure there is toilet tissue, cutting fruit. The things that make possible speedy drinks from the people doing the real work. As previously written, two years ago, I worked at an extremely popular bar in downtown Durham. Said bar is where i met the majority of the people i love the most in my life. Twas a wonderful experiance...TWO YEARS AGO.
So, when I guy I couldnt have picked out of a line up of people I have said two words to in my entire life asks me, "have you had another job since j&j", as i was pulling two giant bags of trash from behind the bar...you know, the gods of sarcasm blessed me. however, said blessing makes it difficult for me to not reply with a "no, I have been living under a bridge waiting with starving, baited breath to serve you again, you asshat." I am not really a person at all.
Why so bitter, one may ask. I really am not. I find that there is a strange and delicate balance withing the service industry. On the bus this morning, I recognized at least two people that i serve on a regular basis. They averted their eyes accordingly. I am uncertain if the discomfort comes from the fact that I know that they occasionally tipple a 10% Belgian beer at lunch time or the fact I live in their neighborhood. Is seeing a bartender in the daytime the grown-up equivilent of seeing a teacher outside of school??? OR, is the sight of the person that brings you your beer and whiskey even less than that strange childhood memory? Are we really just servants that occasionally inflate our egos to the point of thinking we actually matter to the people we serve?

"if you have something to fall back on, you will"

These words were spoken while in art school by a former student who had reached a relative level of success. Now, the only hold overs from my youthful aspirations are the fact that i never tried teaching and the fact that i still dont drive. (you know, because who drives in nyc?)
Yesterday was the last day of school.
we had a *planned* event at the bar. 90 EDUCATORS due in at 3:30pm with a buffet of finger food, like wings and dip. so, i head into work on my day off around 2:15, thinking that is plenty of time to help the day bartender get ready.

Apparently EDUCATORS cannot tell time. Poor dude is up to his elbows in margarita salt and these grown-ass people are pounding on the bar like its last call trying to get is attention. One doesnt make alot of mixed drinks during the day. One also doesnt have to make room for another body in a small space. The first 30 minutes were tough. We get the bar set up proper and good and the lubrication commences.

"I DONT DRINK BEEYAH"
well, baby, i can make you what ever you want
"MAKE ME A MOOJITO"
im sorry, i dont have fresh mint
"CANT YOU USE SOMETHING ELSE??"
yeah, no, i cant.
"WELL, WHAT CAN YOU MAKE ME"

and so on.....i made about 100 margaritas, 50 cosmos, 20 or so lemon drops and 5 long island ice teas (those were for the same person, had to get a ride home)...
not to mention the dozen or so sweet teas i poured, oh and there was one really hot guy drinking guiness. I am pretty sure he taught earth science.

After all of that...I walked with $60.
not only are EDUCATORS miserable people in awful clothing, they are VERY VERY cheap.

Once again, as much as i complain, i really love my job.
I love it even more when i can be reminded.

lunch shift be damned.

Typically, i work at night. i dont get out much in the day. My typical work night ends someplace between midnight and 4am. I usually spend my day drinking coffee and watching the hipsters walk to the busstop in front of my porch while wondering what need they have for jihad scarves in the middle of the 100 degree afternoon.
So, when the daytime bartender goes on vacation i have to rediscover the alarm clock and haul my ass in at the ungodly hour of 10am. One thing that i have forgotten about the "real world" is the fact that there are a multitude of words that i now longer need in my life. Concise, organizational chart, ducks, row, dot i's/cross t's... etc....
i walk pass these tables, fill their soft beverages and listen to them speak to each other emphatic, concerned, worried, defiant, ready to quit, ready to promote, all climbing on top and around each other and i am so HAPPY to not have to do it anymore that i seperate their $8 checks and pocket their $.75 tips with outright GLEE.

but on another note...i didnt know what the soup of the day was today. see, yesterday the beer buyer/weekend bartender was in during the day making calls and bitching about the owners and shitty schedules and we decided that it would be fun to go out while its daylight. except daylight in the south lasts a LONG time. and even with a break for burritos 1 am came surprisingly quick. not as quick as 9am did, though.

so, i get the bar set up, and i am so attractive, as you can imagine, not a note of puffiness or odor of whiskey about me...and OF COURSE the suits are READY for lunch at the clock strike of 11am and i still have wutang clan playing in a vain effort to get my ass moving and dude asks what the soup of the day is....

Typically that shit is written down somewhere and someone who has been there all day tells me this information when i come in at 6pm.......

i shrug and walk at the only pace i can muster to the kitchen and back.
"today we have a chilled asparagus and sweet potato soup."
he then asks me if IT IS GOOD.
i mean, two seconds ago i didnt know what it WAS, so how on gods earth would i have an opinion of it????? I assure him its a fine soup and he just stares at me.

sorry sir, i say, i am not really a morning person.

"young lady, i will have you know it is dangerously close to afternoon"

now, is this a threat? or a warning? i have no idea.

he orders the soup and an unsweet tea and he and the rest of his party spread out papers and get down to BUSINESS.

jesus takes mercy on my pounding head and i have only 4 tables all day. i made $20. tomorrow i am back safely behind the bar. less work, more money and not a damned expectation of efficiency whatsoever....

there are good things about this particular line of work. like sunny days. playing mission of burma records all day while everyone else is pretending to be nice to each other or climbing up some invisible ladder. its a gorgeous day and i still have an hour or so to kill. People in this town love to sit outside and as i am behind the bar tonight, i am guessing i am not going to have to deal with many of them. This, my friends is a good thing.

range rovin with the cinema stars

so, its been well over a year. there are a multitude of stories from the 6 months i spent as a bartender at an irish pub. but another time. its been over a year and the truth is i am still a shitty waitress. but now i live in a town full of shitty waiters and waitresses so at least my misery has lots of company.

my main issue now is i find myself often out of my league. the foodie revolution completely missed me while i was pouring 50 guiness, drafts, perfect, priest collar-no bubbles, just a little drip down the side guiness an hour to a ridiculously loyal happy hour crowd in another town, making mojitos at a latin american place near a university or opening pbrs and chasing crackheads at the downtown haven that no longer exists that none of us ever got over, a job more missed than a favorite lover, but such its life. we take what we can get...

back to the foodie revolution. i just dont know that much about food, about cheese, hell, about the hops in the expensive belgian beer i pour. i can fake it most of the time. and then, like last night, i think im on my game and this strikingly beautiful young refugee from the local campus orders a cheese plate. "tell me about your cheese" she blinks at me through lashes, tossing her hair over her tan shoulder, her billowy blouse worth more than i make in week, earnestly, wanting to know about my cheese. FUCK. "i havent had the cheese today, we have a new selection" LIE
"well, do you have anything close to brie?"
now. at this point in my "career" i should bloody well know what BRIE is like, but i DONT.
at which point her equally lovely companion says to her, "we dont have to choose the cheese, they put the plate together FOR you"
"oh. the cheese plate will be fine. to start"

JAYSUS! its fucking cheese on a plate that you are pairing with allagash fucking white...with a lemon.
i am not accounting for poeple's taste, but i am guessing i should have some of my own by now.

The students are back. I know this because they come in in groups, fresh from winter in barbados or wherever the fuck rich girls with pony tails go in the winter. They come in with their debutante coats and high tilted chins to eat chips and salsa and OHMYGOD quesidillas and veggie burritos. they dont flinch when i wish them good day, so i stand behind my bar and roll my eyes, check the clock, text a friend at another bar and will the night to end. a former co-worker has half price sushi at his bar and its been a couple of weeks so, lets just get this shift over so i can go see some folks that matter.

by the way, you pronounce it CHIP-POE-T-LAY, it took me like 3 weeks to get that shit right.