The bar is full of
people who are waiting for seats in the dining room, having an after-dinner
drink, and those just who have just stopped by for a few drinks. It's clear that you are in charge. You are the captain of the ship. You are also the activities director, the psychologist, the referee, the librarian, the judge, the traffic cop, the bookie, and the pimp. You control the mood, the tempo, and the degree in which inebriation escalates.
The crowd is three deep at the bar and everyone wants a
drink, wants to pay, or wants to ask some stupid question. A lesser bartender
would fold under this pressure. He would be in the weeds with no apparent way
out. But not you. You are in your full element. You are constantly scanning the
room. You are looking for empty glasses, full ashtrays, and fights.The place is
loud with laughter and excitement, and greetings, and orders, and stories. You
hear everything and choose what to ignore and to what you will react. You are
able to decide, immediately, which of your next moves will take priority. You
are in a groove. You make people laugh, and put people at ease.
Throughout the night, you will have at least one person
misplace a phone, or a wallet, or a credit card, or a purse; at least one
person will send back a drink because it’s not the same color as the one they
were served at some other place while they were on vacation; at least one
person will point out that they had been a bartender while they were in
college. At least one couple is on a first date; at least one couple are on the
verge of an argument; and at least one person will ask you for a drink “on the
house”. “Whose house?” is your standard reply. “I don’t own this place. When
Giuseppe comes by, ask him.” You know this answer will shut them down. You
always say the right things with confidence. At times like this, you have the
ability to tell someone, anyone, to "fuck off" and they would smile
and say thank you.
*****
You love your job. When you were a senior in high school,
you got a job as a restaurant busboy. You eventually became a waiter and
realized you were really good at taking care of people. You made it your
mission to transform grumpy people into happy customers. But it was more than
the job that you enjoyed; you were attracted to the lifestyle that accompanied
the food service industry. There was a camaraderie that came with your job. You
had a built-in group of friends who you shared a bond with and with whom you
would spend late nights and early morning hours. To some extent, it's necessary
that those sorts of relationships form; much like soldiers or sports teams. You
spend countless hours together dealing with duties in an industry that no
outsider could possibly understand. And your off hours are at a time of the day
when none of your other friends are available. And there’s not much to do
during the middle of the night except drink. Sure, there were 24-hour bowling
alleys open, but somehow the main activity was to get loaded. “Why not just go
home and sleep?” people ask. Well, if they have to ask, then they just won’t be
able to understand.
So you left that first
restaurant for a better one, where the tips were better and the customers were
better looking. That place had a bar and you, as a waiter, were required to learn a little about the bar business. You were required to know how to garnish every drink and to know the difference between Ron Rico and Bacardi and Calvert and Beefeater. You had to know how to upsell. If a customer ordered a Vodka Tonic, you needed to be able to instinctively ask if they’d like Absolut, Kettle or Goose. The difference between any of those and the shitty well vodka could mean the difference of several dollars. And you understood that those dollars added up. Since the customer leaves a tip based on the percentage of the entire bill, this meant more money in your pocket. It all came naturally to you.
During your time as a waiter, you also learned a lot about
people too. You learned how to be prejudiced – something you’ve been told to
NOT be your entire life. You justified this by telling yourself that you were
simply profiling. When you think about it, your parents, teachers and the
entire politically correct society has been sending some pretty shitty mixed
messages to you for your entire life. When kids are little, they are taught to
not touch hot stoves, approach random dogs or take candy from strangers. It was
an attempt to keep you safe, but you were also taught to NEVER judge people
based on their appearances. How fucked up is that?
The restaurant industry has taught you how to generalize
based on culture, color and religious background. You learned some very basic
and general rules about people:
When given the choice for deserts, Asian people are more
likely to order some sort of fruity item. Fruit topping, fruit pies, fruit
cobbler - instead of chocolate, fudge, or butterscotch.
Smokers tip better than non-smokers.
Drinkers don’t scrutinize over the bill.
The folks who you wait on after church on Sunday are
terrible tippers.
English, Mexican, Black people, and teachers are terrible
tippers too.
So, like your approach to a stove, a pit bull or some crazy-eyed
stranger in a van, you view customers and understand the possible outcomes of
your pending interaction before it actually takes place. Sure, you are
sometimes wrong. But you are often right.
By the time you were 21, you had landed a spot as a barback,
and within six months after that, you were picking up daytime shifts behind the
bar. It came natural.
*****
11:00 P.M.
The kitchen closed at 10:00, but the bar is still full. You
will decide when to yell “last call” and begin the process of encouraging the
last of your customers to leave. You usually tell them they have to go and then
make them feel special. “This is last call and we’ll be closing pretty soon,”
you tell them. “But you don't have to hurry. Enjoy your drinks. I’m just going
to lock the doors and start cleaning up.”
Your friend Ryan is finishing with his last table in the
dining room, going through the routine of sweeping the crumbs from the linen,
offering coffee, and presenting the check. "Take your time," he says.
To you, It almost sound like he means it. The customers always believe he is
being sincere.
Ryan walks into the bar and asks you if you have time to
"help" him with something in the back.
"Absolutely," you
reply.
You tell your customers
that you need to take care of something in the kitchen and that you'll be
right back. Then, you follow Ryan through the swinging doors, through the food prep area that's littered with leaves of lettuce and chunks of French bread, through the dishwashing area and out the back door. You each sit down on a couple of overturned plastic milk crates and Ryan pulls two Heineken bottles from his apron pockets. You each light a cigarette and spend the next five minutes drinking your beers and smoking and staring off into space. Neither of you talk. This is a nightly routine and it's your favorite part of your shift.
A half hour later, you and the last few customers walk out together, pausing to lock the front doors and turn out the lights. Their night has come to a close, but yours is just beginning.
Read Part III >
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