Well hello there.
Still semi-employed here.
When I decided to make the jump from working stiff to self actualized lounging, scraping by but likeable stiff, there was really only one job in the back of my mind that I considered to keep me busy and, well, fed. I’ve since taken up with that job and started along the most cliche path towards not writing the next great American novel. I’ve become a bartender.
Best decision I’ve ever made.
Along with all of the reasons I listed for being happy in my last post regarding my vocational life you can now add “satisfied with current line of work.” Slinging drinks is the monetary glass slipper to my slender Cinderella foot of qualifications. I can stay up late, I know how to get people drunk, I can talk to people I don’t like very much and I have a somewhat strong five second memory (unless you order a Vodka Soda and Gin and Tonic, in which case I will switch them up, every time).
Truth be told, as much as I used to enjoy my old line of work, if were to apply myself to this current venture, I’d be making close to triple what I used to. Imagine if I applied to a gay club and over dryed my jeans. I’ve already made several hundred dollars on incidents directly related to my love and respect for the practice of reverse sexual harassment.
There is nothing about bar tending that does not fit with where I want my life to go right now. I despise morning, what an awful time. The hours of 8 to 12 should be a national holiday, every day. When I was more gainfully employed I never once accomplished anything of value during those hours. Unless of course you consider facebook stalking the cute techno girl who lives down the street that you want on your stalk to be something of value.
When I used to do something extraordinary I would clamor and make a fuss just to make sure my bosses would notice. Now, if I wipe down the well by 4:15 I get a shot of Patron. Explain to me how that’s not better.
I work two or three days a week.
I spend two hours a day working on those “long fiction” projects I’ve been putting off since high school (I mercifully dropped the rom-com screenplay I wanted to spec out just in the off hope of seeing Scarlett Johanssen’s left boob).
I eat breakfast twice a day. Once in the afternoon when I get up, and once after my shift in the waning hours of the night.
Content doesn’t even begin to explain it.
If prostitute is the oldest profession, then bartender is probably the fourth or fifth (remember, beer was brewed Egypt over four thousand years ago). I’m sure the mystical and honorable facets of the job are lost on many… but to me… I feel as though I’ve joined a society that’s simply been waiting until I was done fucking around with regular life. Was my unnatural obsession with shagging female bartenders an attempt at becoming one through reverse injection?
So that’s where I am right now… still semi-employed, though I may pick up more shifts if I develop some sort of crippling drug habit. I’ll keep you informed.
In the coming weeks, I do however expect this blog to get back to its original mission: etiquette. Though I’m getting a new perspective from the inside of the service industry. I do promise not to constantly bitch about bad tippers. Even though my liveliehood is now determined by people’s flash estimation of my character and their decision of whether or not to contribute to my completely tax free income, I will not constantly bitch about racial stereotypes and their relationship to gratuity.
Except for black people… that old line of crap about them being bad tippers is completely false.
So, again, thanks for your patience in this, my time of chaos. Hopefully I’ll find some sort of rhythm that isn’t just reverb from me being stationed next to a sub woofer all night.