Olives and Ice and Everything Nice

There’s too much tonic in this gin for this kind of day.


Your Drunk Bartender.

Ordinarily, that may not be true, but today? After this week? I’m wondering just how many manzanilla olives constitutes a meal.

It has become exceedingly hard to convince myself of my job path’s importance. Let’s face it, I make my living off of other people’s intoxication. It’s not exactly Nobel worthy stuff here, folks. I use my mascaraed lashes and uneven dimples as tools for extra tips, and a lot of times, most times, it works.

Bartending isn’t anywhere nearly as important as, say, Brain Surgeon, or Astronaut, or Fireman, or any of those childhood dreams. No child looks at their parents and says, “I want to get people drunk and stupid when I grow up!” Or, maybe they do. If so, I would love to meet that child. They’re probably pretty damn cool.

It isn’t an important job in the sense of saving lives or changing lives or, well, anything all that notable. I could fade into the background and I’m sure that life would go on just as it always has. In fact, I’m positive that that is true.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t help people, though. It’s so easy to get burnt out, exhausted entirely from the constant stream of personalities–a lot of them brash and brutish. It’s easy to miss the reason we’re there. Money, of course, but hopefully it’s not just that. I’d hate to think that the only reason I do anything in this world is for the cash, though I know I’ve been in places like that in the past. They didn’t last long. I couldn’t stomach a place so pungent I was only in it for the paycheck. So, no, it’s not just about the fast money and interesting atmosphere. It’s about the why. Why do people go out to bars instead of loner drinking in their house?

The answer is in the question. It’s one of those tricky multiple choice answers where it’s so easy you start to second guess yourself. People get lonely. They crave a friendly face, voice, conversation.

And that’s what we do, bartenders; we make them forget, for just a little while, the things that have troubled them all day, or maybe much longer. Sometimes, it even makes me forget my own troubles, and I realize just how much I needed that interaction.

So, here’s to them. Here’s to us. Here’s to a uniquely poignant relationship that can’t be matched. For even when I, one day, am no longer slinging liquor, I’ll look back and smile at the happiest of times. At the place that helped me grow.


7 thoughts on “Olives and Ice and Everything Nice

  1. I have never really been a bar person, or drink alone at home, person either. I will say that the last two Fridays I have gone out to the bar, the same one. I love the bonding that comes from the common theme of alcohol. You can ask a stranger, “hey what are you drinking?” Then become best friends with them before the night is over. Is it the loneliness that brings people out to the bar? Is it that everyone knows their name? Or is that one in the same? I might be heading to that same bar again tonight, it’s Friday.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Somehow, I have a feeling, that between the bars, the coffee shops and cheesy breakfast diner bar stools, is where all important things happen, the greatest theories and philosophies are born, the plots to change the world are written, souls are saved, friends are made, questions answered. 🙂
    Love your writing!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I really feel the same way. There’s something about being amidst others who are feeling the way you’re feeling and doing the things you’re doing. It’s one of the last places we truly connect as a society.

      Thank you so much for reading!


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