Occasionally I have a dream that I still own the bar. For those of you that don't know, I owned a bar.
The dream is always the same. There's a ton of people waiting and I have to cook for them as soon as I walk in because the kitchen guy is late. I'll have to beg the bartender to stay past her shift.
Delivery drivers start coming through the back door to fill beer orders. Sales reps are waiting at the front to take orders for the weekend. The weasel bastard landlord is there to talk about the bar he opened next door.
Everyone orders at the same time. How is that even possible? And they all want something different. There's a plumbing problem (Again?) in the men's room.
Hell of a start for a Thursday, I think.
Finally, the cook shows and I pass the spatula. He's had car trouble and his phone is turned off. I like him, though, and he's a good worker. Just perpetually 20 minutes late. Works is ass off for me when he gets there, though.
I relieve the bartender set the room for the band. (Bands were there on Saturday. It must be Saturday. OK... hell of a start for a Saturday.) The bartender is supposed to do it but never does.
The waitress shows up drunk from being at the pool all day. She says she didn't want to let me down by calling in for a replacement. Now it's too late to have another waitress come in. It's OK, I say. I'll handle it.
The band calls and can't find the place. They're going to be late. The doorman is arrives. On time. Problem is that he was scheduled last night.
It's gonna be a long night...
I wake up really tense. I'm actually sweating. It feels like I didn't sleep at all. My teeth hurt from grinding them and I have acid reflux. My pulse is racing and my hernia is acting up. I think I'm developing psoriasis.
Sure do miss that place.
wow, I'm not the only person who still has fond nightmares about the taproom? mine are all from the perpetually late cooks perspective though. "sorry boss, this cop tried to arrest me for not being a criminal but had to let me go after an hour of searching my car. lets do it, 50 orders, thank god I did prep earlier... who froze all this food? people can't eat frozen food, wth... if you know you're allergic to it then why did you order it moron? btw I put my monster on that club pal and took pictures so everyone else can enjoy that sammich as much as you jerk. next time don't order after we're closed.
ReplyDeleteFor the sake of the story, I combined you and John, Peter. You were the good worker and he was perpetually late. In other news, that club was for me, dammit. Please destroy all evidence. I may want to run for public office some day. I have an overwhelming need to gargle. With Lysol.
ReplyDeleteIt takes a special (peculiar?) kind of person to enjoy that kind of torture. Could probably say the same for any kind of restaurant. Tony Bourdain's first book sounds a little like this - barely controlled chaos, unique characters who thrive on this kind of pressure and don't fit the typical 9-5 work-a-day grind. Life in a cubicle would kill them in a minute.
ReplyDeleteHey Big Joe,
ReplyDeleteHere is a post that includes a brew at the end.
http://poetslife.blogspot.com/
If you don't know Hook and Ladder, it was founded by a volunteer firefighter. They give a part of their sales to burn units.