'Mixology,' As Seen Through the Eyes of One of its Fictional, Unseen Waitresses
I just started working at this place about five hours ago, but already I'm dangerously close to quitting. Now I've waitressed at bars up and down Manhattan, from trendy midtown establishments like this one to LES dive bars where there was barely enough room for stools, let alone an Addams Family pinball machine. I've seen drinkers of all makes and shapes, people whose company I enjoyed and people I'd as soon poison. But the people at this place (the name of which management refused to tell me during my interview yesterday)? They're the f***ing worst.
There's this one redhead guy, Bruce. Want to know how I know his name, despite having not even served him once tonight? Because he's introduced himself, loudly, to, like, 15 women all over the bar. Bruce won't stop saying his name, and when he does it's only to eat pizza off the floor. This is literally a thing I saw him do earlier. Want to know something even grosser? The woman he was talking to at the time was totally into it. I didn't really consider myself a feminist until tonight, when I watched a woman actively hate herself so much that she was turned on by a violation of the five-second rule.
None of the other women I've seen are much better, frankly. There's this deeply unpleasant brunette who's been sitting at the far corner for what feels like the past eight hours, just staring daggers at anyone who approaches her. Sure, that aggression is clearly born of Chernobyl levels of insecurity. But why do people go out drinking if they'd clearly rather be sitting in a dark room at home, blindly punching the air? Her friend is cheerier, but speaks with this baby voice that has me concerned. Does she think that's what guys want? Does she just normally speak like that? Best-case scenario: She's underage. Which would honestly be fine.
I'm genuinely concerned by the number of fights I've seen break out in the last few hours. Not because this bar seems dangerous or anything, but because they're all so quick and... I don't know, slappy and accidental? This one tall guy in a plaid shirt bashed some meathead's face into a pub table. Which you could tell he didn't mean to, but I heard the other guy is now in the hospital. Moments ago this Pottery Barn-looking guy punched what was clearly our "British lothario" for the night square in the face. Then he just left! It's the confusion of it all that I find really unnerving.
Don't get me started on the actual staff. Our bartender, this sort of Hispanic guy I'm pretty sure was on The Following last spring, can't make a drink to save his life. Moreover, he's giving practically all of those terrible drinks away for free! Every five minutes he's checking in with another one of these assholes patrons and, after hearing about their terrible (self-inflicted!) problems, offering them one "on the house." I'm not even kidding when I say I think he doesn't understand the basic financial requirements of a bar. Is that — oh Christ, he pulled out his guitar again. I'm going to quit. I'm going to quit in like two minutes.
The only other waitress on duty tonight is... shit, I can't remember her name. It won't matter when instead of showing up for work tomorrow I just don't do that, ever again, but for now let's call her "Crazy/Needy." Now Crazy/Needy appears to be a perfectly competent waitress, delivering drinks as ordered to the appropriate people. She satisfies the basic requirements of her job! But then she sprints back to the bar to flirt with the bartender, with whom I know she just had sex in the break-room, and ignore all the signs that he's more interested in his own shirt-buttons. Twice tonight she's quietly turned to me at the wine cooler and said "the crazy things we do for love!" before sighing and skipping away. I think she lives with her parents.
Why am I telling you all this? I'm bored, for starters. Crazy/Needy's taken on like 95 percent of the floor tonight, which, considering I knew a few hours ago I was quitting, seemed pointless to challenge. But I think more than boredom I want you to see how not all bars are great places to work, or even drink. Some should just be razed to the ground, you know?