WARNING: NBS Graduates May Be Subject to the Bullshit of Mutton-Chopped Greasers named Chewy
Okay....i admit it, maybe im not cut out for being a bartender, but for fuck's sake, people....
I graduated (barely) from National Bartending School last week. granted, both the written test and speed test were passing grades because of the good nature of my teacher Patty who probably was sick of watching me writhe uncomfortably under the pressure of mixing fake liquids together. either way, i passed, i got my little degree that i was told to "frame and grab off the wall if my house catches on fire," so that's it, bring on the interviews, right? well, if you spell right w-r-o-n-g, than you'd be right....oh fuck thats confusing.
so i find out that theres another bartending school hardly five minutes away from my new apartment that will help me find jobs because they are a branch of NBS. so i stop by there today to drop off my resume and certificate and whatnot, expecting to walk in and walk out either with a couple possible jobs in my hand, or at least be able to set up an appointment. i walk in the shady SHADY back door and practically walk right into this guy's office. as he walks past me, i catch a glimpse of his blonde roots gasping for air under the weight of his shoulder length inked black hair. i tell him whats up, and start taking out my resume...he tells me to stop because the job placement guy wont be in until tomrrow. so i put all my shit away, and as my mind begins to drift out the door, the guy turns to me and says "ya got a minute?" and i say, "yeah."
so he leads me to the bar, while saying "while we're a branch of NBS, we do things a little differently around here, and before i agree to help you out, i want you to make a few drinks to see what you do differently." sounds reasonable. so i climb behind the bar, get my self situated, and he has me make four or five drinks. now (per the skin-of-my-teeth passing of my bartending test) i'm not exactly the fastest or most accurate bartender in the world (i'm no tom cruise, par example), however, i clearly know my drinks well enough for my bartending teacher to feel bad for me and give me my certificate out of pity. i struggled a bit through the drinks, only fucked up one ingredient of one of them, but i got through all of them without too much trouble. he looks at me afterwards and says, "so, i dont think we can help you until you at least sit through...let's see...lessons 2...3...4...and 5 and see how we do things here." now, for all you who havent attended national bartending school....there are SIX fucking lessons spread out over the course of two weeks, if they do things in a remotely similar way, that means i'll have to wait at least another week and a fucking half to find out whether or not i've reached the Godly standards of Chewy the grease monkey who took a mental snapshot of me making five drinks and deemed me an unworthy student in his presence. now, that humiliation aside (along with his "i'm gonna be TOTALLY bruttally honest here"s) i could have at least had some respect for this man, until what he did next.
he brought me around the bar and had one of his fat failure students show me how it's REALLY supposed to be done. he listed off five of the most random ass drinks with their "slang" which they "specialize" in and this poor girl scurries around like a hampster digging for its missing children to sloppily throw these drinks together. showing off your show dogs is one thing, Chewbacca, but do you really need to be smirking your sneaky smirk, boring your eyes into the side of my head the entire time while this girl proves how inadequate i am? you've proved it, you're smarter than me, bigger than me, and you've got a posse of hampster-women anxious to do your bidding....you can have my milk money.
I graduated (barely) from National Bartending School last week. granted, both the written test and speed test were passing grades because of the good nature of my teacher Patty who probably was sick of watching me writhe uncomfortably under the pressure of mixing fake liquids together. either way, i passed, i got my little degree that i was told to "frame and grab off the wall if my house catches on fire," so that's it, bring on the interviews, right? well, if you spell right w-r-o-n-g, than you'd be right....oh fuck thats confusing.
so i find out that theres another bartending school hardly five minutes away from my new apartment that will help me find jobs because they are a branch of NBS. so i stop by there today to drop off my resume and certificate and whatnot, expecting to walk in and walk out either with a couple possible jobs in my hand, or at least be able to set up an appointment. i walk in the shady SHADY back door and practically walk right into this guy's office. as he walks past me, i catch a glimpse of his blonde roots gasping for air under the weight of his shoulder length inked black hair. i tell him whats up, and start taking out my resume...he tells me to stop because the job placement guy wont be in until tomrrow. so i put all my shit away, and as my mind begins to drift out the door, the guy turns to me and says "ya got a minute?" and i say, "yeah."
so he leads me to the bar, while saying "while we're a branch of NBS, we do things a little differently around here, and before i agree to help you out, i want you to make a few drinks to see what you do differently." sounds reasonable. so i climb behind the bar, get my self situated, and he has me make four or five drinks. now (per the skin-of-my-teeth passing of my bartending test) i'm not exactly the fastest or most accurate bartender in the world (i'm no tom cruise, par example), however, i clearly know my drinks well enough for my bartending teacher to feel bad for me and give me my certificate out of pity. i struggled a bit through the drinks, only fucked up one ingredient of one of them, but i got through all of them without too much trouble. he looks at me afterwards and says, "so, i dont think we can help you until you at least sit through...let's see...lessons 2...3...4...and 5 and see how we do things here." now, for all you who havent attended national bartending school....there are SIX fucking lessons spread out over the course of two weeks, if they do things in a remotely similar way, that means i'll have to wait at least another week and a fucking half to find out whether or not i've reached the Godly standards of Chewy the grease monkey who took a mental snapshot of me making five drinks and deemed me an unworthy student in his presence. now, that humiliation aside (along with his "i'm gonna be TOTALLY bruttally honest here"s) i could have at least had some respect for this man, until what he did next.
he brought me around the bar and had one of his fat failure students show me how it's REALLY supposed to be done. he listed off five of the most random ass drinks with their "slang" which they "specialize" in and this poor girl scurries around like a hampster digging for its missing children to sloppily throw these drinks together. showing off your show dogs is one thing, Chewbacca, but do you really need to be smirking your sneaky smirk, boring your eyes into the side of my head the entire time while this girl proves how inadequate i am? you've proved it, you're smarter than me, bigger than me, and you've got a posse of hampster-women anxious to do your bidding....you can have my milk money.