I wanted a job where I didn’t get notes on the work I was doing. I wanted a job that was less subjective than writing a script. Your drink tastes bad? Fine, tell me what you want in it and I’ll make it. There, that better? Good. Next? The boundaries for interpretation would be a little more confined. And there would be nothing to take personally -- “not responding” to my cocktail? I don’t care. I didn’t invent it. I’m just the messenger. Talk to Mr. Boston; he wrote the book on this shit.
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Of course within the first hour of my first night of actually working, not training, but really working behind the bar, all the above went in the shitter. People do bitch about their drinks. Everyone has a different way of making “their” drink and yes, you do hurt my feelings when you push away the full Cosmo I made for you and ask for a Chardonnay. Oh well.
But here’s what I love about bartending:
For five hours you can think of nothing else besides the task at hand. I can’t think about:
1) How fat I am.
2) How I didn’t workout earlier that day.
3) How I didn’t get staffed on that show.
4) How old my mother is getting.
5) How fat I am.
6) How I’m not going to eat tonight.
7) How I’m not going to drink tonight.
8) How to write another pilot that no one cares about.
9) How to think up new ideas for the show I am working on.
10) How fat I am.
1 comment:
You're not fat, our mother's are not old and I'd love a cosmo right now... Summer vacation: Day 1, 3:51 pm!
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