In the Weeds: Bartender Got Back!
I’m a bartender. Ta da!
Yes, my snobby server self says this is slightly lower brow, but after being out of work for nearly two months, I want to be where the money is, and the recession is driving us all to drink, according to CNN and my own personal experience.
I’ve been in training for this job for quite some time. The boss man had me do a week of following and testing, two weeks of serving, and a week of training behind the bar before finally releasing me as a full-fledged tip share person on Sunday. I was prone to pouting about all this training for “just a bartender” job but I must admit that I’d rather work for a company that expects employees to know their shiz as opposed to a company that’s all willy nilly.
My last employer had us all brainwashed that they were the biggest game in town and we could never ever find work or even happiness that could compare to what was offered inside their mahogany walls. Psssshaw I say. I no longer have to worry about “corporate not approving” of anything I do thanks to the wonderment that is local ownership. I shall never be secret shopped or berated for using the word “sure” instead of something more couth like “with pleasure.” I shall wear a cute, fitted v-neck tee instead of a potato sack jacket and a noose bow tie, and I get to open beers with a smooth, shiny church key that protrudes suggestively out of my back pocket. And most importantly, I will make money…the kind of money that I enjoy making.
My first solo shift proved not all that different from what I am used to. I did waste valuable time with a lot of spinning and searching for the bottles I needed, but there were the familiar things like ladies wanting iced-tea with NO lemon, specific and absurd requests such as a burger that has nothing and especially tomatoes touching it, and of course, the requisite perv. There is at a minimum at least one perv at every restaurant in the world at any given moment. Mine took my hand as if to shake it. When I went for the nice-to-meet-you handshake, he quickly put his other hand over mine and held it tightly while saying we needed to talk. Uh oh. I see I’ve fallen for the perv trap again . . . drat! He came in drunk from the golf course, and now I’m locked in a double handshake with a man older than my father as he tells me in his slurred Kettle-1 voice that he thinks I should know that he will be looking at my ass the entire time. I said, “If you can focus on one thing in your condition, I congratulate you. But it doesn’t come free. So keep your mouth closed and your wallet open and we’ll get along just fine.”
Hallelujah, I am born again! I usually have to put a disclaimer here saying, okay I didn’t really say that, for fear of being fired (oh wait, they fired me anyway…bygones). But this time, ladies and gents, I really did say that! Sweet freedom.
So I am back in the weeds and armed with new stories. Like a girl with a new boyfriend after a long-term relationship, I have been strangely reluctant and a little homesick this week for what I have known before, but I am optimistic that this guy..erm job…is gonna treat me right.