I was a barmaid for about 10-12 hours one night of the Norwegian music-festival By:Larm. During which I contemplated both suicide and homicide. People started off nice enough. Complimenting my fanny-pack and asking inane questions about drinkprices and directions to toilets. Information which they could have gotten on their own if they chose to use their eyes for other than sexual partner-detectors and as douche, plastic and useless eye-wear background.
After a few concerts people grew restless in the lines. Their faces growing ever sweatier as the dancing, dehydration and alcohol took hold. The compliments towards my fanny-pack or lesbian hair-style became more frequent, paralleled with a loss of motor skills which inevitably lead to them spitting on me as they spoke. People kept coming back to me after hours expecting me to remember that "a nod and a wink" ment India Pale Ale or Gin and Tonic.
A young man bought a beer and felt the need to take my picture with his phone as he did so. Like a domestic cat would proudly present you with its latest small and furry animal victim, the man presented me with the picture every time he bought another beer. I wanted to as: "what do you expect me to do with the fact that a complete stranger has a picture of me on his phone?" but I just smiled politely and discretely shoved the tip-jar closer to him.
Another man presented me with a CD as tip for my services as a giver of beer. I am now the prowd owner of a CD by the hip-hop group Envy. I thought it was quite presumptuous of him to think I like hip-hop. I don't particularly look like a hip-hopper and move to the music about as smoothly and rhythmically as deaf person with vertigo.
The scream-spitting inane questions became worse as the night grew darker. Every sweaty-drunken female became living proof of Alice Coopers sense of style as their copious amounts of make-up painted their faces with the movement of the sweat.
A group of men thought it wise to grab my attention by bending down so far that only their heads where above the bar. I, once again, smiled politely and gave them their beers. The group luckily scattered from lack of attention except one rather dashing tall, dark-haired man. I thought this might be the handsomest man I've seen in weeks, and he's talking to me! Then I realized that his beer-goggles where as think as bottle-caps as he smiled, slurred his words and was quite unsteady.
Last but not least a Spanish-speaking gentlemen between the age of 50-60 years old, came to the bar and bought a beer. I made the mistake of smiling at him and therefore had him staring, winking and muttering Spanish at me for about twenty minutes.
I ask you bartenders: How do you do this on a regular basis? Is it really worth the tips? Is that where the widespread alcoholism among bartenders stems from?
By Joab, I shall never again be THAT person of the many I listed above and I praise bartenders everywhere.
Hare Krishna
Siren
Innlegg
