TAKING A BREATHER WITH BAR HAVOC

There comes a time in everyone’s life when you really take a good look at your job and ask yourself,

“where did I go wrong in life to end up here?”

Everyone has good days and bad days; the good coming from moments in time where we have had enough sleep and the perfect cup of coffee, where we look around and feel like we are right where we’re supposed to be, like we’re invincible. Other times that’s not the case--not by a long shot.

I know exactly how I got to where I am, behind this bar day and night. Every moment of my life has led up to this,

and while I often have that perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it’s all wrong,

and as I am walking to work in the morning the sun is too bright, my eyelids a little too heavy, and the conversation too forced. Just as one can sense the irritation in a customer service representative’s voice over the phone when we call Comcast for the 90th time, everything starts to bother me, and the bartender starts to hate you.

No, you can’t have half a beer, that’s not real. No tip after I spent 15 minutes explaining all the IPAs we have and giving you your first one for free? Thanks. And you, with no teeth, that spit went right in my eye, dear God, right in my EYE!

Some days I look around and I think, why? How?

Sweet Jesus, this is my life, sides of ranch dressing and opening dishwashers while they’re going full force and getting a face full of burning hot water, smudging my eyeliner and having that being the last straw that makes me have to go run out the back door before I lose my mind.

The air hits your face, time slows and it’s everything you ever wanted. The roar of the crowd melts away until all you hear is the wind whistling and you take a breath; inhale, exhale, and the crowd roars back to life, and you wipe your smudged eyes and get back to the bar with a smile, a real one, because with that one breath you’re ready for anything.

We’re bartenders. We live for this shit.