Life Behind Bars Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Just What the Doctor Ordered

I have found over the years that there is nothing more important than being prepared for your shift.  You need plenty of cut fruit, juices, cream…and by all means beer, wine and booze.  As the daytime bartender, you must make sure you prepare enough for the night bartender and for yourself.  You must replace all that you used during a shift…and for the love of God, the bar must be spotless when handing it off.  Leave the bar the same way you want it left for you.  Seems like a simple thing to ask, but it is a constant battle between day and night shifts.

No more was this evident then when I worked at the little Italian joint under the tutelage of the most anal retentive bar manager I have ever crossed paths with; DOC.  He was your typical aging bartender who, like most of us who stay in the business too long, started to question if he had wasted his life and his talents pouring cocktails for unworthy and unsavory assholes.  Yes, he had 20 years of experience to know what to prepare for, and how to do it…but man, he had a lousy way of teaching it.

He was from a large family, all of his siblings following in his parent’s footsteps of becoming successful doctors, and here he was pouring drinks in a neighborhood pub.  Not quite the top of the totem pole for the pedigree of his family’s stock.  He also had to deal with not being the breadwinner in his marriage.  Nowadays that’s no big deal, as I myself am in the same boat.  But back in those days, this was really looked down on and with the double edge sword of being a failure in his family’s eyes and in the public’s eyes, thus he was constantly questioning his self-worth and his place in this world.

When given the choice between a raise and the title of “Head” bartender/manager, he didn’t hesitate at the title in lieu of the raise.  It was this promotion that finally gave Doc the reassurance that his fragile psyche needed, and at the same time gave him a head so big he looked like he belonged on a Pep Boy's sign.  On top of dealing with this mental midget, there was also the owner who had his own issues of bi-polar disorder and a pain-in-the-ass wife who was constantly butting her head into the restaurant’s business.

With all this being said, things couldn’t be going better for yours truly.  With the help of the Witch of Spring Street, I had just purchased my first house.  I was working my ass off at three separate bars, and making a killing.  With a new house and pockets full of cash, I was finally doing well with the ladies.  Although, not entirely successful as the pool of talent I was choosing from wasn’t the cream of the crop.  Sure, I was having my fun, but I was ready to settle down.

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Uncle Ray's Tricks of the Trade

Are people talking politics or religion at the bar? You must change the subject immediately! How about them Yankees? Sports can be a great equalizer and can shift a conversation on a dime. And if that doesn't work, talk about how your wife is a pain-in-the-ass. Works like a charm every time!

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Before I finally met my wife, I had been dating one of the young waitresses at the Italian joint.  I can recall working a double at two different joints and being physically and mentally exhausted.  I closed the place early for lack of business and went over to her house for a round of boot knocking.  After being done, I rolled over having spent the last of my energy.  She began putting her clothes on and wanted to go out to Morristown to bar hop with the last two hours of the night.  After refusing I was summarily dumped and back on the market, and quite frankly, I couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.

Working my dreaded Wednesday lunch shift at the Italian joint my bar was empty, as was the norm.  It was Doc’s one day off, and he would take all his regulars to the bar down the road for lunch.  Fucking snake, not only did he give me the lousiest shift of the week, he syphoned off whatever business there would have been by taking them all out to lunch!  And on top of that, he would load up his regulars with wooden nickels (free drink chips) the day before so that when they came in for happy hour, their tabs would be null…pretty much setting me up for failure on a weekly basis.  Little did he know, he was inadvertently fulfilling my destiny.

It was no secret that Doc and I hated each other’s guts, as we were constantly butting heads and screaming at each other.  There wasn’t much that could be done though, as the high grades I was getting from the night time regulars continued to pour in, as were the constant complaints about Doc.  My register receipts, as with every place I worked, were up as well.  It’s amazing, when you don’t rob the bar blind and give it away, how much extra money starts pouring into the joint.

Doc wanted rid of me in the worst way, and at times it seemed like he was getting his way...although it was tough to gauge with the bi-polar owner.  One minute the owner loved me, the next he was balling me out over something stupid like leaving the bathroom lights on all night or forgetting to punch out.  That’s when the white glove treatment began.

I started to get notes every day when I came in for my shift.  Attached to my punch card were all the things I had done wrong, or things customers had said about me.  I could do 99 percent of my job correct, but god forbid I missed one little thing.  Doc would come down on me, and most of the time in front of customers.  After making a complete ass out of him on several occasions, he began to leave the notes.

You forgot to drain the dishwasher, you didn’t run the fruit tray through the wash, the lights over the bar were not dusted well enough, you didn’t dry off the bar mats good enough and they were wet this morning, there was only three quarters of a cup of fresh cream and not a cup, there was one salt shaker that wasn’t full, there was only five ketchup bottles, not six….it went on and on like this.  But I wasn’t going to let him win, not in a million years.

After months of this constant torture he realized that I wasn’t going to break.  Not only that, I would go above and beyond the call of duty so that I didn’t have to hear his shit any more.  Most bosses would be proud that they finally got through, not Doc though, he was out for blood!  When he realized I wasn’t going anywhere, he hit me where it hurts…he took away my shifts at my beloved Irish pub.

With no need for me to work on Saturdays, he decided that it was of the utmost importance for me to work as the host during the Saturday dinner rush.  There were plenty of other people to work it, and the girl who had the shift was pissed off to no end when it was taken from her.  But the beauty of his devious plan was that I would have to give up my shifts at the Irish joint.  The mother fucker actually gave me an ultimatum and said if I didn’t quit the other place and pick up the host shift, that I would have to hand in my resignation.

Doc thought he had me, but what he didn’t realize was that I was a new home owner, and there was no way in hell I could afford to give up the job at the Italian joint.  I had to give my two weeks to the brother’s grim and leave the first job I ever loved.  Once again, Doc, unwittingly, had set my destiny in motion and would alter the course of my very existence.  

It was May of 2006, and May is one damned fine month for finding girls!  Spring fever had set in and the winter doldrums were waning.  It was my dreaded Wednesday shift, and as always, there wasn’t a soul at the bar.  I happened to look over at the corner booth and I saw a girl that I had recognized from my college days.  I sent the waitress over to ask if her name was Debbie, and if so, to tell her I said hello.

Debbie had been in a creative writing class years ago when I was attending the local community college. I had written a violent story of the macabre, a gruesome tale about a twisted doctor who would butcher women and make this pour guy in a cage watch.  It was truly fucked up, but it came to me in a horrible nightmare and we needed to write a story about conflict.  Being due that morning, I had risen and put to paper a short story about my horrible dream…I figured it was certainly quite the conflict.

Debbie fell in love with the story, being that she had been going through a gothic stage at the time and we became immediate friends.  We had a small click in the writing class, and enjoyed cigarettes together during the breaks.  Our little click hung out a few times outside of school, but nothing ever came of it and as time passed, like many college friendships, we went our separate ways and forgot each other existed.  

So after the waitress had delivered my message, she came over to give me a hello, and a big how the hell are you hug.  After catching up for a few moments, she brought me over to the table and introduced me to her mother and sister.  Ah, sister!  And what a sister!  Holy crap this girl was hot!  My hands shaking, and my voice trembling, I said hello and shook her hand.  Not much else came from that, I said goodbye as they paid their check and went on their merry way.

A few days later, and during my hated Saturday shift, I begrudgingly sat the few people who came in for dinner.  It was the tail end of one of the most beautiful May Saturdays I had ever lived through.  The joint was dead, and rightfully so…who in their right mind would want to sit in a dark bar with no windows when they could be out grilling up burgers and dogs and sipping beers and lemonades in the cool spring breeze?

Then, much to my pleasant surprise, in walked Debbie and her lovely sister Kathy.  I sat them both and since I had the time, I joined them in-between customers coming in.  I began to realize something was afoot, but I wasn’t quite sure.  Kathy was older, so I didn’t think she was into me.  I know Debbie wasn’t into me from the brief time we hung out back in the 90’s.  So I played it cool until I could get some sort of signal from one of them.  I then asked if the both of them would like to visit me at my new house the following weekend for a BBQ.  Debbie took the opportunity to mention she had made plans with her boyfriend.

Ahhhh!  Eureka!  Now I knew what was going on!  Debbie was trying to play matchmaker, and I was the target!  Sly devils!  I didn’t think in a million years either one of these girls would have any interest in me, let alone Kathy, but alas, there we were.  It was at this time that the asshole Doc made yet another move to cement my future.  He came strolling in off the golf course to “check up on me” and when he saw how dead the place was, he relieved me of my duties.

Debbie and Kathy had just finished up eating and I invited them to join me at the bar for a drink.  The rest, as they say is history!  Kathy and I immediately hit it off and realized we were meant for each other.  We went through our taste in music, movies, politics, and last but not least, sports.  This is always the real test and she passed it with flying colors.

“What baseball team do you like?” “Yankees of course.”

“Great answer!  What hockey team do you like?”

“Rangers, all the way!”

“Another great answer! Now answer me this…do you watch sports just to make your boyfriend happy?  Or do you watch them because you actually enjoy watching sports?”

Kathy started throwing out names and statistics, she began talking about the Ranger game from the night before.  I was astounded at what had just fallen into my lap!  She managed to put a check next to every important category imaginable in what I’m looking for in a woman.  It didn’t hurt either that she was hot to boot!  So, I took a breath and I asked her flat out…

“Well, enough beating around the bush then, will you marry me?”

Without hesitation, she smiled and said, “Well, of course I’ll marry you!”

And that, was that.  We began dating immediately and within two months I asked her to move in.  After a year we were married and searching for a new house, and within two years she gave birth to our son William.  Thank you Doc, for being an anal retentive, self-conscious ass wipe!  If it wasn’t for your endless effort to destroy me, I would have never found my wife.

We still joke to this day with Debbie that the only thing she really knew about me was that I wrote this horrible graphic story about torturing women, and based on that, she decided to set me up with her sister!  We’re still trying to figure out what her motivations where there!

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Things you didn't want to know

Bacon is usually partially cooked in bulk once a week. It is laid out on a tray of stale bread and left uncovered all day and all night for every type of vermin in the restaurant to have a field day. It is thrown in the fryer at the last second to finish cooking before being placed on your burger. Enjoy!!

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I tried working just one night at week at the Irish joint, but it just wasn’t working for the owners.  They needed somebody to do Friday and Saturday night…not to mention have the flexibility to fill in other shifts from time to time.  I just didn’t have the availability any more, and being in a serious relationship, I wasn’t as eager to pick up the extra work as I had been in the past.   

So with a heavy heart, we were sort of forced to part ways.  It was one of the hardest things I ever had to do.  I had to quite a job I actually loved.  After Doc had given me the ultimatum I had no choice, there was no way I could afford to pay my mortgage without the shifts at the Italian joint.  Never in my short life did I have to face that sort of situation.

I can recall my final shift and how bitter I had felt knowing that I had to leave and work at a place where I couldn’t stand the owner or the boss or most of the regulars for that matter.  I had made great friends at the Irish joint and that included ownership; for a brief time anyways.

After the gang had left and the place cleared out, I poured myself a nice cold pint of Newcastle Ale.  Yes, that’s right, a nice simple brown ale.  We didn’t drink beer so loaded with hops it made your eyes water and your stomach want to wretch.  We didn’t drink beer flavored with lemon grass and blueberry undertones that paired well with our fried cheese curds!  No, we drank beer like fucking men, and ate greasy deep fried mozzarella sticks.  

I took my time cleaning up and wiping everything down.  I smoked a few cigarettes, as we were still able to at the time and drank a few more beers.  I dropped the money in the safe, took a good look around and I locked the doors for what I thought was the last time.  Sure, I said I could fill in from time to time if I actually had a day off, but that wasn’t the same as being a regular part of the gang.

Back at the Italian joint, tensions between Doc and I were at an all-time high as we continued to bump heads on a daily basis.  I had to keep my cool though, and he knew it, my house was now holding me hostage.  For the first time in my life I actually had to hold back and kiss ass in order to keep my job.  I hated that feeling more than anything.  All my life I rebelled and fought the good fight, and now I was trapped by the very thing I spent years yearning for…my little dream house.

On the bright side, Kathy had moved in; and although it was not really official, we were pretty much engaged.  I did ask her to marry me on the first night we hung out, but didn’t really make it official until sometime later.  But the story is certainly better the other way I tell it.  Either way, work sucked, but I had something to come home to.  No longer would I have to eat a microwave cheese steak and bag of Munchos with a sleeve of peanut butter cups as dessert.  That was my go-to meal on nights when I didn’t have time to eat a shift meal.  I didn’t keep food in my fridge because I was never really home.

After a few months, Kathy and I managed to make it work with the two of us having opposite schedules, but something had to give.  Now that she was contributing to the bills, I was able to quit the place up in Newton.  The witch of Spring Street was sad to see me go and even tried to talk me out of it on a few occasions, but she knew it was for the best too.  I wasn’t going to be able to keep up that sort of schedule and be able to have a successful relationship at the same time.  So she sent me on my way and wished Kathy and I luck.  I thanked her for her guidance and for everything she had done for me.

It was just about Christmas time and I had been keeping in touch with the gang at the Irish joint.  They had gone through a slew of bartenders for my old gig, nobody being able to fit in or make the money they had hoped for.  I had come close to having a fist fight with Doc on two occasions, each time he backed down and left me alone for a while until things cooled off.  He continued to try and make things miserable for me, nitpicking every little thing I did or didn’t do.  My patience was growing thinner by the day, and then, just like that, the call came.

The Brother’s grim was in a bind.  The daytime bartender whom nobody thought would ever leave, for some reason had had enough.  The offer was given, and my dream had come true.  A Monday through Friday lunch shift at my bar of choice.  No more nights of dealing with drunks and creeps coming in off the streets.  No more working until four in the morning.  No more weekends!  No more weekends!  Well, what do you know?!  I was finally home.

Nothing pleased me more than right before the busy Christmas season to sit down with Doc and tell him to take his Saturday shift and shove it up his ass.  And that’s exactly the way I said it.  Don’t get me wrong, I gave a proper two week notice and worked it to the bitter end.  I let my thoughts and feelings on Doc be known to everybody, including him; taking every moment I could to throw him under the bus for being such a colossal douchebag.  It was almost as satisfying as when I left the payroll company and shed my corporate shackles.  Oh, what a time to be alive!