Survival Instincts of an Uneducated Booze Slinger
It is no secret that I have a dystopian outlook on humanity's future. My views and attitude made me unpopular in my youth, so I learned to obfuscate negativity behind a veil of logic and humor. I opted to try and enjoy the life I was given because despite the multitude of awful things my species does, there exists plenty to suckle and enjoy. I forgave myself for being another worthless body, buying shit and consuming resources, considering I was never offered the choice to be born. I watched humanity swirl around the drain, and I honestly didn't care to change its course. Something fucked up is going to happen, I always thought, but it won't happen in my lifetime. Surely there are just enough resources left to continue this frenzied tilling until I'm gone. There was joy to be found with my time on Earth, so I adapted to live in a culture dominated by the influence of money. I was already here, and there was little sense in fighting my nature to seek dopamine rushes wherever and whenever possible. I squelched my inner struggle with a compromise: I would not deny myself an enjoyable existence, but never would I reproduce. The last thing the world needs is another human, and if I am correct in thinking humanity will reach a violent breaking point near the end of my lifetime, why would I subject an innocent to that grim dark?
Things went well for some time. I steadily progressed my restaurant career and had a lot of fun along the way. I believed that as I gained experience, I would find myself at higher-end bars and age like a vintage port, forever being good at parties. I had hope for the future, even looked forward to it, for the first time in my life. Then Covid happened, and I admit with shame that it paralyzed me. I find myself searching for grains of wisdom as I sift through fear, regret, and uncertainty. This piece is about the future of bartending, looked at briefly from the perspective of a concerned 37-year-old who spent nearly a decade in college and never obtained a degree.
I ignored the chaos for some time, assuming it would blow over and things would return to normal as soon as realistically possible. But as the situation intensified and the industry I knew and loved edged closer to a yawning abyss, I succumbed to negativity. Will restaurants recover? How long will it take? What will they be like in the aftermath? The health department was already a giant bag of dicks; I can only imagine how they will be now. Tip the scales too far in the other direction, and working in a bar will quickly become the opposite of fun.
Let us assume the best and imagine a world where restaurants bounce back to the way they were before 2020. Sounds nice, right? I believe that is what the general public wants. But I cannot escape the realization that hit like a baseball bat to the nose: the moment shit got real, bartending became a memory. The job that I thought was timeless and recession proof disappeared quicker than a thought passes through a Kardashian's head. And let's face it: Covid's economic effects are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to "shit getting real." The money machine went brrr, industries went about their business while some even flourished, and digital streaming services became the opiate of the masses. This is a far cry from the chaos I imagine when I think about "shit getting real." People need food, not waiters. If the flu can eliminate my job overnight, I imagine I won't be sitting pretty when the lights go out either.
There comes a point in every server's life when he or she makes the choice to make a career out of the industry. I made that choice long ago because I was good at the work and I enjoyed it. I accepted the lifetime of downward pressure that society puts on career bartenders because I took comfort in knowing that no matter what happened and where I went, I would always have a job. And then 2020 smacked me across the face with an oversized dildo.
I grew numb to condescension as a waiter, but it always got to me whenever a customer would ask, "what else do you do?" It blew my mind that so many people have the audacity to essentially tell their server that his or her job needs to be a stepping stone toward something else. I mean, do they ask the cashier at Kroger what else he or she does? I always confirmed their opinion that I was a useless nobody by admitting I had no other professional projects, but what I always wanted to say was, "go fuck yourself." I would then contemplate how many times they could fuck themselves during the hours they spent stuck in traffic to and from their days spent sitting in a cubicle, but I digress. The point is that I have to live with the decision I made 15 years ago to pursue a career that turned out to be as fragile as gossamer.
Anxiety fills my days as I consider what else to do with my life. I guess this is where most people just "pick something" and proceed to hate their job for an eternity. Going back to the drawing board at my age feels awkward at best, but I have already wasted too much time. I'll be the old guy in the classroom for awhile, but I assume I have a leg up on the Twitter generation considering I know which pronoun applies to me and which bathroom to use.
It is with a heavy heart that I am choosing to abandon my career. It has been a great run, and the people I have connected with along the way have created a life bursting with vibrant memories. Would that I could do it forever, but in the interest of self preservation, hanging on to tenuous threads is just not prudent. Whatever happens, I will always be able to craft you a cocktail that will blow your mind, and I will always be happy to do so.
Things went well for some time. I steadily progressed my restaurant career and had a lot of fun along the way. I believed that as I gained experience, I would find myself at higher-end bars and age like a vintage port, forever being good at parties. I had hope for the future, even looked forward to it, for the first time in my life. Then Covid happened, and I admit with shame that it paralyzed me. I find myself searching for grains of wisdom as I sift through fear, regret, and uncertainty. This piece is about the future of bartending, looked at briefly from the perspective of a concerned 37-year-old who spent nearly a decade in college and never obtained a degree.
I ignored the chaos for some time, assuming it would blow over and things would return to normal as soon as realistically possible. But as the situation intensified and the industry I knew and loved edged closer to a yawning abyss, I succumbed to negativity. Will restaurants recover? How long will it take? What will they be like in the aftermath? The health department was already a giant bag of dicks; I can only imagine how they will be now. Tip the scales too far in the other direction, and working in a bar will quickly become the opposite of fun.
Let us assume the best and imagine a world where restaurants bounce back to the way they were before 2020. Sounds nice, right? I believe that is what the general public wants. But I cannot escape the realization that hit like a baseball bat to the nose: the moment shit got real, bartending became a memory. The job that I thought was timeless and recession proof disappeared quicker than a thought passes through a Kardashian's head. And let's face it: Covid's economic effects are the tip of the iceberg when it comes to "shit getting real." The money machine went brrr, industries went about their business while some even flourished, and digital streaming services became the opiate of the masses. This is a far cry from the chaos I imagine when I think about "shit getting real." People need food, not waiters. If the flu can eliminate my job overnight, I imagine I won't be sitting pretty when the lights go out either.
There comes a point in every server's life when he or she makes the choice to make a career out of the industry. I made that choice long ago because I was good at the work and I enjoyed it. I accepted the lifetime of downward pressure that society puts on career bartenders because I took comfort in knowing that no matter what happened and where I went, I would always have a job. And then 2020 smacked me across the face with an oversized dildo.
I grew numb to condescension as a waiter, but it always got to me whenever a customer would ask, "what else do you do?" It blew my mind that so many people have the audacity to essentially tell their server that his or her job needs to be a stepping stone toward something else. I mean, do they ask the cashier at Kroger what else he or she does? I always confirmed their opinion that I was a useless nobody by admitting I had no other professional projects, but what I always wanted to say was, "go fuck yourself." I would then contemplate how many times they could fuck themselves during the hours they spent stuck in traffic to and from their days spent sitting in a cubicle, but I digress. The point is that I have to live with the decision I made 15 years ago to pursue a career that turned out to be as fragile as gossamer.
Anxiety fills my days as I consider what else to do with my life. I guess this is where most people just "pick something" and proceed to hate their job for an eternity. Going back to the drawing board at my age feels awkward at best, but I have already wasted too much time. I'll be the old guy in the classroom for awhile, but I assume I have a leg up on the Twitter generation considering I know which pronoun applies to me and which bathroom to use.
It is with a heavy heart that I am choosing to abandon my career. It has been a great run, and the people I have connected with along the way have created a life bursting with vibrant memories. Would that I could do it forever, but in the interest of self preservation, hanging on to tenuous threads is just not prudent. Whatever happens, I will always be able to craft you a cocktail that will blow your mind, and I will always be happy to do so.