Life Behind Bars Chapter 16

Chapter 16

You’re Welcome!

I have been accused of many things in my life.  I have been told I am arrogant, brash, have a small shred of modesty, and I have a propensity for know-it-all-ism.  All true to a certain extent, but merely the product of being a sarcastic wiseass.  I am a bleeding-heart liberal, if you couldn’t tell, who believes in helping the common man and to never forget where you came from.  So spending 20 some-odd years surrounded by right wing maniacs and rich douchebags often prompted my behavior, and thus people’s perceptions of me.

The person I am at home surrounded by friends, neighbors and family is certainly a lot different than the person I was at work.  If for one second you let on about your weaknesses and fears to your customers and coworkers they will walk all over you.  I’m not ashamed to say that there were situations I faced in my years of tending bar where I was actually scared or intimidated by the situation I was in.  There were even a few close calls, and I was more than happy that the police department happened to be patrolling the neighborhood when they happened.  Or, failing that, a regular who stood up for me and helped me deal with a sticky situation.

The one recurring theme that has seemingly followed me wherever I worked (except on Spring Street) was always feeling unappreciated.  Nobody ever seemed to notice or care how clean and organized things were when I worked there.  Nobody seemed to notice the systems I put in place, or the tweaking I would do with the registers to make them more efficient.  Nobody seemed to appreciate that I was never late, never got sick and never ever called in.  And on the rare occasion that did happened, I would always find coverage.

Over the years the underappreciation became daunting and truly killed my morale until eventually I just didn’t want to be a part of it any more.  I worked my ass off, and always went above and beyond the call of duty when serving my customers, making money for bosses who didn’t deserve it, and helping out co-workers whether we were fighting or on good terms.  After all, the goal is to make the restaurant you are in a success.  The better product you produce as a team will bring more customers in, and more customers means more money.  It’s that fucking simple.  So instead of thanking all the people I have come across over the years as most would do, I am flipping the course and saying, you’re welcome!  

To all the wives out there who can’t stand listening to their cranky husbands that spew hatred and vile bigotry, sitting in their living rooms all day watching Fox news and blaming all the world’s problems on the liberal agenda…you’re welcome!  I’ve taken several nonsensical rants for you and as a result have lost all faith in humanity.

To all the office workers out there who have had it with that strange dude who sits in the corner of the office plotting to murder all of you...you have no idea how close you have come to being another statistic. Believe you me, he has enough guns and ammunition at home, that he was somehow able to purchase legally, to obliterate all of you ten times over. Yes, it is because I’ve talked him off the ledge a million times and given him an ear to listen to that you are all still happily alive…you’re welcome!

To all the missing sons and daughters out there who have written off their parents and are patiently waiting for them to die so they can inherit their fortunes…you’re welcome!  While you screen your phone calls and avoid your parents like the plague, I have been more of a devoted child to them than you ever have.  I have spent the last 20 years listening to their stories and feeding them lunch and dinner.  I have even gone to their homes on occasion and helped them mend things that are broken or cut their lawns.

Yes, I’m so glad you swooped in at the last moments and made your amends so that this sleazy no-good bartender didn’t end up in the last will and testament taking all of Mom and Dad’s fortune.  Yes, I hope you remember this when your own children hate you and are awaiting for you to kick the bucket.  Remember, fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree so when you find yourself rotting in an old folk’s home and the only person who cares about you is your local barkeep…don’t be shocked.  And, you’re welcome!

To all the divorces out there who I’ve seen married three or four times, I’m glad I could be there for you all those times at the bitter end when you made your paycheck even smaller yet again.  Perhaps if you just went home to your wife every night instead of getting shitfaced at the bar on the way home, maybe you’d still be on wife number one…you’re welcome!

To all the Millennial bartenders out there who felt it was above their pay grade to do side work and restock your bar…you’re welcome!  Those beers in the fridge didn’t magically appear all by themselves you know!  Those bins of fruit and all those fruit juices in the fridge waiting for you…guess what?  They didn’t self-generate as previously thought!  Yes, that was me, crazy old Uncle Ray doing that for you. Not some magic beer fairy that came in the middle of the night! You're welcome, you useless nitwits.

To the rude impatient customer with manners not befitting a dog, you’re lucky I never spit in your food or wiped my ass sweat all over it. Despite fighting off the urge to do so for years you were spared. Out of pure professionalism and the simple fact I would never want it done to me, I held back on those urges.  You’re welcome! P.S. not everybody does!

Never in a million years did you deserve fast and friendly service, but you got it because I worked on tips.  I listened to your crap for years and took your punishment because you were wise enough to leave me 20 percent when all was said and done.  You better hope that the elimination of the tipping system is never implemented, because your days of having your ass kissed will be over quicker than a snot being wiped on the bottom of your cheeseburger.

To Mr. Personality, aka, most of you barflies, the social nitwits that you are. Your wives can’t stand you, your co-workers can’t stand you, your families can’t stand you…yet, there I was day in and day out with an open ear and a smile.   Perhaps a cold stiff cocktail and a warm plate of fries to brighten your day. No matter what I was doing when you walked in, I stopped and made sure you felt right at home. Because God damnit, that was my job! It was my pleasure, and you're welcome!

And last but not least, to the owners who have been so gracious over the years in “allowing” me to work for them.  It was an honor and a privilege to afford you the luxury of your fleet of Mercedes, your house in Florida, your house at the Jersey shore, your house on the golf course, for keeping a secret your numerous extramarital affairs and for not telling your wife the real reason you were spending a month in the Dominican Republic…you’re welcome!  I am certainly honored I had the privilege of being in your service and that I was stupid enough to spend 20 years of my life filling your coffers.  

But with all that being said, it was still a fun ride...until it wasn't. And that's why it was time for this birdy to fly, and fly away I did. Handing it off to the next generation to learn from their mistakes, learn how to become a professional, and then an old stick in the mud to pass on what they have learned. And perhaps teach a thing or two to the next round of barkeeps...Millennials and all.

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Bartenders Save Lives!

We all know that bartenders are great listeners. We also know they give great advice. They have also been described as the world's best therapists and confidants. As a bartender, you will, at a some point, deal with a customer that tells you they just can't go on anymore. When this happens, you must take this seriously, and offer them this sage piece of advice..."Go to the nearest Walmart, or Dollar Store and simply walk around for an hour or so. Soak it all in. When you're done, not only will you no longer want to kill yourself, you'll feel like the luckiest son-of-a-bitch in the world!" I've saved more than one person with this little piece of advice, I pass it on to you.

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Epilog (aka, The Long Con)

Somehow, some way, I always knew it would come to this.  Writing a book about bartending, that is.  Any idiot can pour a drink, any moron can memorize dozens of cocktails, and any dipshit, bowtie, suspender wearing douchebag wannabe can shake a mixer and jiggle his or her ass in the process…but not everybody can be a bartender.  

Every book on the subject I have ever fingered through was exactly the same.  Some sappy thank you page to the regulars, four pages of background on the author and then endless pages of pointless recipes that you’re most likely never going to use.  They eventually get jammed into some forgotten overstuffed drawer behind the bar.  After a while, you forget they were even there or simply toss them out when you’re tired of finding a home for them.  And now that you can look any drink up you want on your handheld internet box, i.e. your smartphone, the need for these pulp-producing recipe books is quite frankly pointless.

This is why I dove into the real meat and potatoes of the industry.  The everyday struggles of “not doing anything with your life” and the sadness of alcoholism and bigotry and hatred you will slowly but surely discover as the years go on.  What starts as a party will slowly evolve into the realities of life of those around you and that of your own.  The world is a scary place, full of scary people and it's a struggle just to survive. But sometimes pulling off the road, out of traffic, and having a quick cold one and greasy burger with your favorite bartender can ease the pain. Even if just for a short while. Enough to get you through just one more day.

I can’t count how many times somebody asked what else I did for a living and were shocked to find out I was nothing more than a “simple” bartender.  It didn’t always come out at first, but usually after a lengthy conversation of sorts.  You would be surprised how often a bartender ends up being a college educated failure at something.  For me it was trying to be a sportswriter.  Yes, I always did want to be my father, and yes, I too was disappointed when I figured out I couldn’t cover a sporting event with the greatest of ease.  It was my failures in life that drove me to the bar, just like everybody else.

But like I said, deep down, I always knew something glorious would come of it.  Shit, I met my wife, had two great kids and ended up with the house of my dreams.  As the years went on, I kept mental notes and wrote this story in my head.  Over the two decades I spent behind bars, the revisions kept getting bigger and longer and more grandiose until the book you have just read finally came to fruition.  

People would always laugh when I would say “that one is going in the book”.  They always thought I was joking, or that I was too lazy to pull something like that off.  Or too stupid, maybe a combination of all three, who knows? It was nothing more than “the long con” as my wife would always put it.  She too always felt that there was a reason I had chosen to spend a good portion of my young life dealing with people’s crap on a daily basis for a 20 percent tip.  Market research, I suppose.

Will I ever bartend again and put myself back in my cage?  Probably.  Once a bartender always a bartender.  You can only stay away for so long until you are called back into the game.  Lady Liquor will always be there for you in a pinch, and it's an easy way to make money if you're willing to put the work in and deal with the bullshit. But that's any job, isn't it?

Yes, I'm sure I'll be back at some point, whether it be from my own impulses, or one of my old bosses realizing that it was me people were coming in to see, not them. Or realizing it was my honesty that made my cash register bigger than any of my co-workers. Or that the place was always clean, immaculate and well stocked after I worked a shift.  And thus, after all the bullshit, finally feeling appreciated.

Ding, ding, order up! It's about fucking time!

The End.

Cheers!