Thursday, March 16, 2006 – St. Paddy’s Eve
Since November, I have been bartending at a country club. The average club member is about 55 years old, plays golf, flies down to Florida on a regular basis, and probably voted for Bush - both times - even though some have come to regret it. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m probably not the ideal bartender for such a setting. A good barkeep should be able to chitchat about topics that his or her clientele give a crap about. I just keep the Dewar’s and Bud Light flowing, smile a lot, and hope for the best. I try, but it is damn near impossible for me to shoot the shit about golf, or pretty much any professional sports topic outside of the Red Sox - and even that’s a stretch this early in the Spring. Don’t get me wrong - I have nothing against golf. In the summer of 1999, I played nine holes as a goof and had a good time doing it. But to fork over several thousands of dollars each year to whack a ball across a field into a tiny hole 18 times is just something I have no interest in doing. If there was a country club for movie, music, and comedy fanatics… now that would be something. I would dazzle the patrons with my encyclopedic knowledge and rake in tips like the hottest stripper at Scores.
Tomorrow night, there is a St. Patrick’s Day party at the club, which I have to work. Kinda sucks, ‘cause St. Paddy’s Day in Boston totally rocks, and I’ve never been able to really enjoy it, either because I was underage or out of town. I should be able to swing over to Southie on Sunday for the parade. I went there last year and had a blast. It made me want to be a fireman for a day. When the firefighters march down the street, the women of Southie go absolutely insane. Many of them drape banners from their windows emblazoned with “Men In Uniform Drink For Free.” Lucky bastards. If only assistant editor/bartenders were invited into anonymous women’s homes for free drinks and good times! Oh wait, firefighters run into burning buildings and save thousands of lives every day, and I don’t, so I guess they do deserve it, and I don’t. Maybe I could get a job on “Rescue Me” where I could digitize footage of actors pretending to be firefighters running into burning buildings to save people’s lives. It’s sort of related. I bet then I could weasel my way into some residual safety worker adulation. I was a lifeguard for a while, and my grandfather was a volunteer fireman back in the day, so it’s not totally preposterous – just 99.9%. Hey, even a wuss can dream.
3 comments:
I've never bartended in my life, and by BOC's accounts, I don't think I ever shall. I did wait tables... once... for a total of two weeks before quiting that horrible, horrible job. I vowwed to never work food service after my brief but plenty bouts in Naval mess halls (known as Galley in the Navy, but often I receive blank stares when I call it that), but alas I gave it another go when I moved out here... for those two weeks, and that was enough to remind me how much it sucked.
Although, bartending somehow doesn't seem like the same thing. It seems cooler.
Oh well...
It is cooler.
Dude, speaking of hot chicks going crazy for firefighters on St. Patrick's Day -- on the cover of Saturday's New York Times there was this smoking hot redhead who'd jumped into the parade and grabbed on to some hapless, grinnin' fireman. And I mean hot. So gorgeous she made me doubt the path in life I'd taken because it hadn't led me anywhere near her. And this dude just gets this rowdy drunk redhaired beauty because he puts out fires, saves lives, and is in a parade. Those lucky firefighting bastards.
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