Gabrielle Volpe
October 24, 2017
Professor Off
The Life of a Bartender
Bartenders are the ultimate givers of both verbal and liquid empathy, but if you haven’t been behind a bar yourself, it can be hard to understand that the job is more than being a professional bottle lifter. The long shifts and late nights are enough to steer someone away from the position. The weekends stolen away from you are spent serving the obnoxiously rude and annoyingly intoxicated customers. On average, bartenders probably work ten to twelve hour shifts, sometimes with no break. There are hours of prep work, clean up, and catering to the demands of people who have no concept of the industry whatsoever.
A bartender is like a parent at a kid’s slumber party; working hard to make sure everyone else is having fun. Once the kids go to bed, the bartender is up late cleaning up the mess. A skilled bartender, like myself, always wants their cocktails and service to be exceptional. When you’re in a high volume environment, like The Crab Trap, everything goes out of the window. In a busy bar there is a balance between craftsmanship and efficiency. If you’re slammed with an Old Fashioned, a vodka martini up, a fresh squeezed Grey Hound with a salted rim and three lemon waters with no ice, you’re going to be much less excited to hear about what your customer is doing with their weekend. Bartenders are the Kings and Queens of multitasking. They do everything at once. It is one thing to be able to concoct a delicious alcoholic beverage, but it is entirely different to make three Manhattans at once, while taking someone else’s order, running two credit cards on one check, and simultaneously being eye-pulled by ten different hungry and thirsty strangers. The best bartenders are those who can do all of that while maintaining a warm, friendly, smile.
One particular night really opened my eyes to how impatient, ignorant and insensible human beings can really be. It was a Sunday, and I always worked doubles on Sunday. I would go in at 12, and leave whenever the “rush” was over at night. It was late November, early December, The Crab Trap is always busy no matter what time of year it is. This particular day was right after I lost my best friend to a car accident. She was working at the Episcopal Hospital in Philadelphia at Temple University. She was crossing the street and someone ran a red light and hit her. I did not return to work for a few weeks after that. When I eventually returned to work, a lot of my regulars obviously were asking me how I was doing. One specific pair of regulars pushed my buttons a little too far. A married couple, Joe and Brenda, come to The Crab Trap every single day. I think they’re pretentious and judgmental, they leave an 8% tip at most, and they create their own menu everyday. They are the epitome of the worst customers, ever. I started off my day with Joe grilling me with thousands of questions. The question that really set me over the edge though was this, “Was it drugs?”
At that very moment, I felt everything and nothing at the same time. My legs went numb and my knees were weak. I had a soda glass full of ice and two liquor bottles in my hands and all I can remember is the shattered glass of the bottom shelf Barton’s house vodka all over my non-slip sneakers. The bar was full, people were staring at us, I felt my face getting red, and the back of my neck started to sweat. Once I gathered myself and registered what just came out of his mouth, I picked up the broken glass as well as my shattered disposition and stared at him. I tried to muster up the perfect thing to say to make him feel smaller than a bug, but I needed a minute to let it soak in. I was dumbfounded that someone had the audacity to ask a question like that. I looked Joe in the eyes and said, “Someone ran a red light and killed my friend on impact. She was dead at the scene. Does it even matter how she died? It’s absolutely none of your business anyway.” I grabbed my cell phone and left the bar for a while. I sat down outside and cried. Just being reminded of what had happened to my dear friend brought out all of my emotions again. When I returned to the bar, they didn’t even look at me, and I did not look at them either. That was the end of our relationship.
After calming down from that ordeal, I continued on with my day, trying my very hardest to keep a smile on my face. In these situations, keeping it all in and hiding what you’re feeling is probably one of the hardest things a bartender has to do. It seemed as though everything just went downhill after that. The kitchen was not putting the food out right or fast enough, customers were hungry and impatient, my co-workers weren’t on the ball, and I was emotionally exhausted. The day was coming to an end and there was nothing more I wanted than to go home and curl up into a ball. A couple sat down, they seemed nice at first, but I was in no mood to talk to any more people than I already had that day. I decided to take their drink and food order and then hand it over to my co-worker who was working until closing, just to help out. They ordered a gin martini and a draft beer, but still needed a few more minutes to look over the menu. They were finally ready to order and waved me over. The woman wanted steamed broccoli with no oil, butter, sauces, or spices. That is not really an item that we have on the menu, but I figured it was easy enough for the kitchen to make, so I rang it in. The man ordered a normal entrée, I think it was a surf and turf. I thought it was weird all she wanted was broccoli but she seemed a little high maintenance and I was in no mood to have another altercation with a customer. Their food finally came out and as soon as I placed the small monkey dish of steamed, plain broccoli in front of her, she didn’t look pleased. I asked them if I can get them anything else for their meals, and the woman literally threw the broccoli at me. She chucked the monkey dish full of broccoli made specially for her at my face. She called me a few choice words that I will not repeat, started yelling and asking to speak to a manager. As anyone would, I stood there in complete shock, not knowing what I did for this woman to be so angry with me. She said that her broccoli had a “brown spot” on it and refused to eat it. She literally screamed bloody murder over a “brown spot” on her broccoli. At this point in the day, I have no patience left and I have now been working for 10 hours without any food and barely any water. I was over it. I didn’t even respond to her, I left the bar, told my manager and he thankfully relieved me for the day. He said that I had enough and that it was okay if I ordered some food to take home with me.