Giving It A Shot

It started innocently enough.  Last October I found myself in a very uncomfortable situation.  Credit card debt.  I was faced with 2 choices (3 including bank robbery); start being ultra thrifty, or grab a second job.  The mere thought of being a penny pincher shot a vivid image in my head of my frugal aunt who literally keeps track of money spent on little things like 5 cent candies, so after almost a full minute of consideration I decided on the later of the two.  Well that was easy!

I immediately hit fast forward on my daydreaming and envisioned myself driving a hot new vehicle, vacationing in hot tropical climates, and carrying bags that were hot out of the Coach factory.  Then suddenly I realized, I had no clue how to land a job that didn't involve writing catchy/annoying radio ads.  It was time to consult the higher powers...grown ups!  I promptly paid a visit to my old radio station to see my good friend Kwame, a seasoned radio announcer I used to work with who had only been in the city for a few years but had quickly become a local celebrity and a fairly "connected" member of social society.  It turned out that Mr. Kwame had a bit of an in with a successful business man who basically monopolized the bar and nightclub industry in Red Deer, so he generously offered to arrange a meet and greet if I was interested in that line of work.  Of course I said yes in the blink of an eye and told Kwame to just let me know when and where, but as soon as I left the station I felt strange...

What is going on?  Could I really work in a bar?  What will my sister think?  What will my dad have to say?  What does that say about me?  What if I have to dress like a hooker?  Where do you even get hooker clothes?  What if I get offered drugs?  I don't want to do drugs! 

Oh Christ...my morals were kicking in.  But as I turned the key in my Pontiac G5 and the Check Engine light illuminated my dash, I decided it was too late to abort the mission.  After all, Kwame was so sweet to do me a favor...and I had already booked a trip to California and had my heart set on Vegas in the spring.  I drove home, cleared my new financial plan with some important members of parliament (a few friends who I knew would tell me to go for it), and tucked myself into bed with a smile on my face and dollar signs in my eyes.

The next few weeks were...interesting.  After much back and forth communication and scheduling through Kwame (who I now call my agent) I finally had a sit down with the gentleman I now refer to as Asian Boss Man.  I instantly won him over with a low cut top and my charming whit, and he threw me right into the tornado of a Halloween party at one of his nightclubs, with only 3 days notice.  I was horrified (pun intended)!  I had no experience, I had no allies, and I wasn't sure if my costume was sexy or just cute.

October 31 arrived quickly.  I was as ready as I could be, which for me then meant my Ghost Busters costume was assembled, my hair was curled, and my bra was cinched up almost tight enough to lose circulation.  I showed up an hour early for a crash course with a 6 foot 1 MILLION black man named Dax who was sporting a Gi for the evening.  Coincidentally, I sort of knew him.  Dax grew up in the village of Trochu, just minutes from my home town.  We were never really friends growing up, but I was glad to have any kind of relation to grasp onto at that point.  Dax had been tossed in as manager that night though he himself was just a bartender as well, which I thought seemed sketchy until he opened his arms, shot me his pearly whites and said "Welcome to the industry!".  He quickly rattled off a price list for me, showed me how to use the liquor guns, and taught me the 5 classic drinks and shots.  It was pretty overwhelming.

How am I going to remember all of these prices?  What if I get a price wrong?  Will that fuck up my till?  What if someone asks for a drink that I don't know?  What if they want me to do a shot with them?  What if I get sweaty?  Can they smell fear?  Is someone going to barf on me?  What if I barf back?

Then something beautiful happened...Barry entered the bar.  Barry was not a regular employee but was stepping in for the Halloween party, and more specifically to be my partner in crime for the night.  Barry is Asian, but I couldn't quite decipher exactly what flavor because I really couldn't see him.  He was dressed head to toe as a panda bear.  Clever right?  Barry the bear!  PANDA bear because he is Asian!  Barry quickly slapped some confidence into me.  The first thing he did when we met was snatch my hand written price list and crumpled it into a ball saying, "Listen Babe...if you don't know it now, you may as well make it up...'cause you won't have time to look at this shit.".  He told me the same sort of rule for mixing drinks and making shots.  He said no one would get mad at me because Halloween puts chicks in a good mood, and my costume was enough to make the men happy.  I laughed because it was funny...and awkward, but as I would learn, Barry was right!

The bar wasn't packed that night.  It was steady but comfortable.  The ideal amount of traffic for the inexperienced me.  Actually the only thing I found uncomfortable that night was my outfit.  I was hot!  Not sexy-hot, sweaty-hot.  You're working fast in a room full of drunk people.  A gal is bound to get a little hot, and a little sticky...neither in a good way.  Oh, there was one other semi-uncomfortable factor I should mention.  This 4 foot factor is called Papa.  He is Asian Boss Man's dad.  He is a very tiny, very old, and very Asian man who stood beside my till for the ENTIRE night just lurking and watching.  I'm not exaggerating.  He literally stood in one spot from 10 'til 2 without flinching.  He didn't speak, he didn't sit...dude didn't even take a pee break!  He DID however find it appropriate to break wind consistently every 5 minutes.  I'm no expert on Asian cuisine, but whatever Papa had for supper was clearly giving him some digestive difficulties.  Lucky me.

Despite Papa's indiscretions, the night flew by.  It was new...it was fun.  Call me a dork, but I was looking forward to the end of the night so I could show off my superstar cleaning skills.  To my dismay, bar tenders are not required to do a lot of cleaning.  Last call was over shortly after 2.  Then we wiped down our bar, and the Swamper takes care of the rest. 

Did you know that every bar or nightclub is designed like some kind of maze or castle?  They are. There are all sorts of strange rooms and staircases, and connecting passage ways of all different shapes and sizes.  After our strenuous clean-up, we took our bucket of money and I followed a girl through 2 rooms and up 2 different staircases to a tiny little closet-sized loft where we sat on boxes and counted our change on a wooden bench.  I felt dirty, I'm not going to lie.

My first night was a success!  I left the bar with sore feet, but had a smile on my face and a wad of cash in my wallet.  I arrived home ecstatic, but with it being 4 am at the time, I had to ignore the urge to call someone to gush.  I slept until 3 pm the next day, and happily so.  For about 2 weeks after that night, all I could think about was that I wanted to bar tend again, and again...all the time!  I was almost obsessed.  I think I only made about $200 that night, but there is nothing quite like the taste of dirty, tax-free cash! 

I've continued to bar tend since.  It's allowed me to do a lot of those original dreamy type things already.  I'm tired at times and have very limited social time, so I'm sure this gig has an expiration date...but it doesn't smell funky yet so it's still good. 
Sometimes I do get a hint of something unpleasant...then I see Papa, with a shit-eating grin.