I always thought bar-tending was about filling a glass with alternating layers of alcohol and fruit. But a closer observation and an in-depth field study from one of the popular clubs in town taught me better. The stench of sweat and vomit hung densely in the air. The local DJ was trying all he could to get them to move in sync with the music, not that it was his job, but those chaotic figures off whom weird lights bounced swung in relation to where the hottest girl stood. It was one of those nights, the last of its kind before summer drove the crowd away and the bartenders were desperate to try anything to get a few extra quid their way. I exploited that.
Before long I was behind the bar watching the mayhem from a new perspective. The young girl who I befriended moments ago, an over esteemed bartender for her age, helped me label each of them – Jerks, Junkies, Sweethearts and Suits. Despite their distinctions, they all shared a collective yearning to get her to hate her job. The following are some of the different shades of people that came that night.
Mrs Bitch who aint so Rich
This lady leaned all the way across the bar and was just inches away from her face in order to let her know that she’d want a drink. Her cigarette breath and boob tattoo were enough inspiration to ask that question twice. She did seem the kind of lady who would leave a pretty decent tip. Two shots and a beer later, she rummaged through her pursue and slammed some coins on the deck. Then, with all gratitude and genuineness, said ‘Keep the change!’. Few pennies! Maybe one can save a dozen more and get a newspaper.
Aint Filling Your Grave Yet?
She was smiling because she was in the service industry and not because she agreed to his weird political views. ‘Its their age’, she told me later. ‘When you are well past your ability to make good love, then politics may seem the closest thing to it’. But that did not justify them poking her every few minutes to highlight some incredibly stupid conclusion they gathered from every newspaper there ever is and calling her inefficient when she took longer that usual to prepare those drinks. ‘Ever wondered what is more weirder than a 70-something-man at a club?’ she asked. A 80-something-woman? No. I could not think of anything at that point. ‘There-’ she pointed to where another old man was cleaning up vomit, and clearly not his own.
Talk you into Bed
It is not surprising at all for a guy to undergo complete transformation when he knows that he has got friends around. This one chap was a timid young lad a good twenty minutes earlier, but now he and his friends were turning out to be the biggest jerks in the bar tonight. After their havoc on the dance floor, they turned to the bar. One of them hurried over and slid next to a girl and began what seemed to me an empty conversation of pointless small talk that he hoped would possibly lead to sex. But clearly she was way out of his league, and mine.
Finger and the Fist
The once-timid lad started quizzing my new acquaintance on prices. She hardly had the time for that. Here time was money. ‘If there is a possibility that you might not have enough to pay for it, don’t order it.’ That is not often the quintessential know-it of a party. What is? The number of the girl whom you met earlier at the smoking area is. He asked her to get him a shot that was cheap, strong and good. I sneered. All of those adjectives conflicted each other. I bet he knew that when he downed it. However kind, timid and shy you may be, you are defined by the friends you keep. If your friend is an asshole, chances are that you are too.
Bar-tending as a profession? Here’s some data:
Money: 1/5 Sucks
Free Drinks: 5/5 Too Drunk to Comment
Girls: 4/5 Nope. Not that Guy.