From Cruising To Dead
I used to be a shift whore. Any time someone wanted me to cover, I would do it. A couple of times I worked Thursday to Sunday from four-thirty til close. Forty hours in four days is definitely the path to burn out. I haven’t had as many opportunities to cover, as of late, but I haven’t had as much of a desire, either. When Nicole asked me if I wanted to bartend with Kevin on Sunday, the day before M.L.K.’s birthday, I hesitated, but figured, why not?
I spent Sunday afternoon at a friend’s house, smoking weed and watching football. I don’t go to work high, but after taking my last toke at three-thirty, I feared that I wouldn’t come down in time. I got to work at six and after an iced coffee, I was sober. I walked in and the bar was packed with kick ballers. I don’t know how vigorous the sport is but I was immediately hit with a wall of b.o. Hey, as long as they pack the place, I don’t care if they all shit their pants. Kimi was supposed to work until eight-thirty, but since she had April’s going away party, she asked if I could come on an hour early. Since I was already there, it wasn’t a problem. I’m glad I did, because one customer tipped me ten bucks on a ten dollar car bomb, then forty on two cocktails. I never want to look a gift horse in the mouth but I had to say, “This is too much.” He responded that it wasn’t and who was I to argue?
Kevin came on at eight-thirty and there was a decent crowd. Any time I’m added as an extra bartender on someone else’s shift, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. I have my shifts and I don’t want to take money out of anyone’s pockets. At ten-fifteen, it seemed slow enough that I would just leave. I told Kevin my plan, when we got a pop. I stuck around but I really wanted to leave. First of all, this was Kevin’s shift. Second, I had internet porn to watch upstairs. It slowed down enough and I told Kevin that I wanted to leave. He informed me, “I had a big night (drinking) last night and I just want to cruise.” Then he added, “What are you drinking?” So that’s how it was gonna be. I poured myself a Ketel One, rocks, twist, and we cruised. We alternated our fifteen minute cigarette breaks. After eleven, it wasn’t busy enough for two bartenders, but if he wanted to cruise, I was all in. I must say, the night took forever to end. We had some cool customers, which, of course, means no douche bags. If Sunday night was a cruise, Monday and Tuesday resembled a morgue.
Tuesday wasn’t much better, but Monday was an unqualified abortion. I came down from the office around midnight and there were five people in the bar. It wasn’t just our bar. Finn McCool’s closed at ten. Again, Monday from what I could tell, was douche bag free. Now Tuesday was a different story. Some people expected it to be busy since we have a new president in office. It wasn’t the case. I guess we could’ve tried to throw some sort of party, but it’s not like election night, which was more like a sporting event, where everyone was on pins and needles waiting for the result. The inauguration was a great speech from nine to nine-thirty, then some dopey poem, which was embarrassing after listening to President Obama. In any case, I got a call at midnight from Craig that he was downstairs. We sat down on the patio for a smoke when I spotted him. The douche bag drought had finally ended. Kevin said he was rapping earlier and butchered the word “inauguration.” Kevin named him “DJ Cunt.” It’s got a nice ring to it. DJ Cunt is one of those customers who’s always in your face. He suffers from high self-esteem and a high threshold for purchasing cigarettes, since he seemed to always be bumming from people. He sidled up a table of two grunge muffins with backpacks. I can’t tell the difference between the homeless and campers, but these guys were a little of both. They seemed to be amused by DJ Cunt. He was way too loud, but since the homeless campers enjoyed his company, I figured they could have him.
Overall, Sunday was a huge day, while Monday and Tuesday were brutal. I’m hoping it’s just a blip, because I don’t know how long we can survive with single digit crowds. I’m not too concerned. It is the slow time of the year, but, still, in three days we went from cruising to dead.
