The Little Things

Well, I booked the PGA gig. Tough interview:

Hi, I’m calling about the bartender position for the PGA
Tour

OK, show up here at this time.

Great,
thanks.

*Click*

I’m actually feeling pretty good about the whole thing. I mean, it’s a pretty important sounding gig and it looks like it’ll be a pretty good little payout, so I’m happy. Perhaps I can parlay it into a regular gig at a she-she restaurant or something.

I don’t want to get my hopes up or anything. It’s been my experience that planning out things like this, things that basically come down to luck, never really works out. Playing it by ear is probably my best bet thus far.

I spoke with my mother shortly after booking the gig. I think it’s safe to say that she’s not too thrilled with the current course her son’s career has taken. She was trying to suggest that I take some bullshit desk job making a damned slight more than what I was making at my last job; which, if she’d bother to recall, wasn’t nearly enough to make ends meet.

It’s a bit of a downer, really. Here I am, getting what promises to be a sweet gig and instead of “Alright, way to go,” I get, “Is that really what you want to do? I don’t know about this whole bartending thing.” Yeah Ma, thanks.

My girlfriend, on the other hand had a different take. She’s a bit of a go-getter – a characteristic I really do love about her. While I didn’t manage to get an “Alright, way to go” from her I did get an “OK, so book more guest bartending shifts now.” I was a little disenfranchised by this. Sometimes I get this vibe like I think she thinks I’m a slacker. I talked to her about it after she said that and I know that this isn’t the case, but it’s hard to not feel that way. She’s just really hardcore about things and sometimes forgets the niceties that sometimes accompany conversation. At least I can talk to her about it, not like my parents. They get something in their heads and no manner of logic or reasoning can change it.

Oh well, what can you do?

I was thinking of going to the bartending school to practice again today. Lord knows I need it. I’m just nervous about my first shift. Like with every other job I’ve ever started, I know that by the end of the first shift it’ll feel like I’ve been doing it for years. Still, I can’t help but get that little twinge of doubt. I know that most bartenders in New York don’t know much about cocktails. I mean, I’m a cocktail drinker, and I’ve spent a fair amount of time shouting the recipe of my drink over the awful club music blaring overhead, at bartenders who seem to hold no shame over not knowing. I’ve even felt a bit of contempt from a few who seemed to blame me for ordering something that they can’t be expected to know or something. I don’t order anything that I can’t see Sinatra ordering, so I just don’t get that vibe.

I know that, as a bartender, I really don’t want to not know. Call it pride or something, but I just think that it’s only right that you should at least try. There’s something James Bond about knowing the proper way to make a drink. It probably sounds corny, but I really do want to be a good bartender. I don’t know if that makes me more deserving or something, but I can’t help but feel that it’s sort of unfair that there are people who really don’t care all that much working right now and I’m left here, wanting. I may start and find my way into a real rainmaker gig, if there is any justice, but I won’t hold my breath.

The Start of My New Career

After two weeks of searching and interviewing with little to show for it, I’ve decided to start guest bartending. I’m pretty much out of cash and am borrowing more money than I’m comfortable with. I hate borrowing money from people, but I’m desperate, so I don’t have much of a choice.

A friend hooked me up with someone she knows, and I e-mailed him this morning. After a brief exchange of messages I was booked for next Friday. This was a much welcomed turn of events since my grocery budget has been reduced to ramen noodles bought with a nearly maxed-out credit card. It also feels good to know that I’ll finally be getting behind a bar which is something I’ve wanted to do for a very long time.

It’s been almost a month since I graduated bartending school and I feel like I got my driver’s license but have no access to a car. Nothing makes me feel antsier than learning something that I can’t apply; especially when it’s something that I really want to do. I felt the same thing when I went to college. Not using what I learned drove me nuts for a very long time. I still fantasize that I may, someday, get a chance to use my degree, but I can’t get caught up with that right now – I have work to do.

Since I haven’t been using my bartending skills in the last four weeks, I decided to go back to the school and take them up on their policy of letting former students use the facilities. I arrived at the school and met up with my teacher outside. After a short cigarette break he informed me of a week long stint bartending for the PGA Tour. Rich and famous people with loads of cash – where do I sign?

I got the number and called. The office was closed, so I’ll have to call tomorrow.

I hope I get it because that could set me up for a little while and it would make my resume look much more promising to potential employers. As it stands, it looks like I may have to resort to the old beginning bartender trick of lying on my resume. I’d hate to do that since I’ve never lied to a potential employer before (which probably explains my lack of gainful employment); but it looks like most working bartenders did just that to get their start. I’ll thank my mom and the Catholic Church for my nagging conscience later, I suppose.

I practiced for a little while and went to the mall to buy some nifty bartending attire. New York City bartenders usually wear black. While I have black clothing, I don’t have many things that are entirely black. What kind of leftover from the metal/grunge scene am I? Anything I have wouldn’t cut in behind the rail in most NYC nightspots, I know that much.

Two black shirts and three pairs of black pants were purchased on the aforementioned, nearly-maxed-out credit card and I was off. If this bartending gig doesn’t work out, at least I can join up with Project Mayhem (any mildly hip film fans got that, I hope).

The Bar Rag Chronicles - An Introduction

This is my account of the trials and tribulations that face a person trying to break into the New York City bartending circuit. The plan thus far is to chronicle the seemingly impossible task of actually getting a job, a steady job, as a bartender in New York City and then the first year behind the bar.

Should the job turn out to be boring, this project will end much sooner; if it’s interesting, then it may go on past a year. It’s not that I have some huge master plan here. I don’t. I just want to document my journey.

Bartending, from my understanding, is a fairy interesting profession. I’ve heard many an interesting story from those that have stood behind the rail. If half of what I’ve heard is true, then this should make for an interesting little blog at best.

About me:

I’m a male, in my late twenties. I was born and raised in New Jersey, mere minutes away from New York City. I’ve been going to Manhattan my entire life, so I’m a bit more familiar with NYC than a fresh transplant, but not as savvy as a long-time resident. I’m a blogger, and in the interest of keeping things as anonymous as possible, I’ll be keeping my real blog separate from this one. Not that I have any secrets or that I don’t want it promoted or anything, it’s just that I want to be as honest as possible and I wouldn’t want to offend anyone. That said, I will also be changing names (if I do in fact know the names of those mentioned) of anyone I interact with as well as any detail that might give up too much. I apologize in advance for this, but my goal isn’t to hurt anyone (in any way) or to blow my own career.

The choice to become a bartender was one of need. After a series of dead end jobs, I need a change; I need a career that I actually enjoy; mostly, I need money.

I graduated college, thinking that I was on track to begin my life in the real world. That piece of paper really turned out to be a ridiculously expensive waste. I know people who either didn’t go to school, or dropped out and their doing fine. Me; well that’s a different story. Every job I’ve had since college has been a joke. Not that the jobs themselves were a joke, but the fact that I couldn’t land anything better with my degree was. I got out of college about the time that the market crashed and the job market went with it. I entered the work force with individuals that were grossly over-employed in the late nineties. That may sound like an excuse, but college student with retail experience versus former vice president of operations for So-and-so.com isn’t really much of a contest. I wouldn’t have hired me either I suppose.

I quit my last job because, while it started out to be a really interesting job, it turned into a corporate nightmare. I was underpaid, and in the end, under appreciated as well. I decided to leave after I learned what my raise was going to be, but I figured I’d hang around until our busy season was over. I didn’t have anything against my boss or the company, after all.

I told the boss of my intention to leave when things calmed down and things went on as they often do. It wasn’t until I began to butt heads with my boss over a variety of things pertaining to the job that there were some problems. I had been in this position for a number of years and was, at this time, the senior person in the post. My opinions, schedules and assessments of the workload were, for the first time, in question. I felt ignored. I had never had my work ethic questioned like this before (unjustly question, I might add).

Truth be told, I was never really supervised that closely either. It’s for this reason that I don’t blame my boss for anything. The job was sort of specialized and had many subtleties to it; things often didn’t go as planned. I always approached it with an inclination to err on the side of caution and my boss always agreed. This year, however, my boss’s bosses wanted to be more hands on and added more pressure to the mix. My boss, not understanding the parameters of my job, blamed me for things that normally occurred and questioned all of my input. After several months of conflicted understanding and disagreements, I was told that I could leave a bit earlier than my scheduled date of departure (about a day after it seemed that the busy season was over). I guess my boss was kind of sick of my shit and figured I was sick of hers; whatever, it worked for me.

I have to say that I really bear no ill will toward her despite the friction. Sometimes these things just happen. I do wish we parted on better terms, but the past is indeed the past, so I’ll just let things be.

As of right now, I graduated bartending school about a month ago. Due to personal reasons (of no real relevance to this journal) I’ve only begun my job search two weeks ago. It’s been slow going to say the least. I’ve been on a few interviews, but nothing real has come up… until today, that is.