Week 4: We All Have The Movie.
I drop off a smoking blue Romulan Ale to a table of four - two of which are dressed as sailor scouts. This isn't surprising considering that I work at a medieval nerd bar. I'm careful not to let the long draping sleeves of my elven tunic dip into their Beefbarian Stews or Chickpea Fries. Practice makes perfect.
The generic beats of some sort of dance album play over the speakers and I have to shout in order to be heard. They still don't hear me. My voice is small. I have to repeat myself. "I said, did you want another Tattooine Sunrise?" I belt out to the lone gentleman at the table. It may or may not be of interest to know that he is wearing a tophat and a needlessly robotic looking monacle. He nods. Stoically.
I make my way back to the POS system - cursing the dance beats echoing through my head and threatening to erase any of the orders I have stacked up in my memory. Usually we all take turns choosing the music, but I've been banned from ever going near our Songza, Spotify or Youtube playlists.
I don't blame my coworkers. Without fail, when asked to put on music, I inevitably pull up the full album from Mamma Mia. To accompany this, I'd even pull up the movie on Netflix to play over our steampunk decorated television sets. (I've been banned from our Netflix account too.)
When you're working at a busy tavern on one of the busiest streets in Vancouver, sometimes a little bit of cheery music can go a long way in retaining your sanity.
Apparently everyone else doesn't share these sentiments.
So I go from table to table, channeling my inner Meryl Streep and humming "Money, Money, Money" in my head - hoping that this doesn't translate to dollar signs showing in my eyeballs when I speak to each customer.
The generic beats of some sort of dance album play over the speakers and I have to shout in order to be heard. They still don't hear me. My voice is small. I have to repeat myself. "I said, did you want another Tattooine Sunrise?" I belt out to the lone gentleman at the table. It may or may not be of interest to know that he is wearing a tophat and a needlessly robotic looking monacle. He nods. Stoically.
I make my way back to the POS system - cursing the dance beats echoing through my head and threatening to erase any of the orders I have stacked up in my memory. Usually we all take turns choosing the music, but I've been banned from ever going near our Songza, Spotify or Youtube playlists.
I don't blame my coworkers. Without fail, when asked to put on music, I inevitably pull up the full album from Mamma Mia. To accompany this, I'd even pull up the movie on Netflix to play over our steampunk decorated television sets. (I've been banned from our Netflix account too.)
When you're working at a busy tavern on one of the busiest streets in Vancouver, sometimes a little bit of cheery music can go a long way in retaining your sanity.
Apparently everyone else doesn't share these sentiments.
So I go from table to table, channeling my inner Meryl Streep and humming "Money, Money, Money" in my head - hoping that this doesn't translate to dollar signs showing in my eyeballs when I speak to each customer.