First, dear-guy-who-advertises-bartending-school in my comments, thank you, but no….I was mentored for six months by a master mixologist with 20 years of experience in both my part of the South and several major cities like Atlanta, and I’ve been learning all of your crash coursing aspects over the past five years. It’s nice to lure people to bartending on the pretense of haute couture clubs with frou frou electric blue cocktails, exotic resorts a world away and promises of making up to 100,000k, but really, it’s a dog eat dog world where I made it by sole chance and others have spent years trying to get up the ladder to bartending. It’s not about experience, it’s about seniority.
Anywhoo, so, everyone knows I work at the Pub, right? And that I have picked up a couple of shifts at this other place called the Bar. Let’s examine why this place is fucking apeshit. My last shift there (of the four I have worked) went as follows:
(1) The pm bar manager who I work with on Wednesdays is having a panic attack in the office because he just snorted an entire gram of coke…(hello…cardiac arrest?) because
(2) the owner was absolutely shitfaced (happens every night like clockwork seven nights a week) and stormed into the office causing him to have to hurriedly send her on a quick errand to try and force a gram of blow into his nasal passages because
(3) she was raising hell that the only time liquor inventory came out SOMEWHAT, POSSIBLY, KINDA but not-really but good enough close to what we actually sold is when I worked because
(4) so many people drink for free that I typically don’t even run but half the tabs and try and account for what I sell and pour while he’s two handles into the evening of whisky. Anyway it’s good that he’s digging his own inventory grave because then I have time to
(5) shriek at the barback who wound up making WAY too big a cut off of us last Wednesday night for doing crap, being noncompliant, a douchebag, constantly pulling attitude and he kept moving my damn strainers…but what am I going to say because
(6) the place runs like everyone is in planetary orbit and no one goes near anyone else unless an asteroid (like their 70 percent liquor costs) pushes them into each other’s paths (there are 7 FOH employees not including me, servers and bartenders and both day and night bar managers). Literally anything goes, so no one really cared because
(7) the owner was shitfaced, the cocktail waitresses and the barback were pissed that they didn’t get the blow they were promised, owner A (a crotchety old man) stomped out to the truck owner B (a scary looking old woman) and I were getting into (because I had to drive her home, being that it helps that I live on block over so her drunk and pillpopped self didn’t die on the mile long trip) to sarcastically tell us “you two have fun”…..eww, shudder. I mean, eww. A great end to a day that began
(8) when we ran out of everything liquor wise behind the bar because the am bar manager had scooted out leaving the place a mess and no sign of the liquor delivery. Yay. Until owner B rescued us with a few borrowed bottles, I was pouring as rail vodka: Absolut. Smirnoff. Crystal Skull Head or whatever. In that order. Yeah that vodka that is endorsed by Dan Akroyd? That was our house vodka for about half an hour. I cried a little.
I am being sniped by one owner for allegedly having an affair with another owner when I’ve actually been groped by her son when he was dating my best female friend….that owner who is interrogating me about the house being given away while I play dumb and hope she will forget about it which means that the bar managers clientele who drink for free (aka, ALL his clientele for three to four nights a week) will be gone if she starts weighing liquors and if she really gives me the pm bar manager job which means screwing over my friend, and while everyone orbits around running the place into the ground I get to try and just make money and remind myself that it’s paying for grad school and a new car.