xiphias | Bartending stuff, and lack-of-depression. (Reply)

I haven't tended bar since once last September, when I was at a wedding for a friend of

sokmunky. And before that, I hadn't tended bar for nearly a year.

I've been dealing with depression, of course, for all my life, and medication helps some, but it's not enough. Because, while part -- most -- of my depression is chemical and won't go away without drugs, some of it is philosophical. Working at the Hebrew School is WONDERFUL for that: I need to be doing useful work, making a contribution to society.

But it's only one day a week, so it's not enough.

Lis has been pushing me to get more work, partially because there's nothing wrong with more money, but also because she knows this about me, and wants me to be happy. So, a few days ago, I finally put together a bartending resume, and dropped off a copy at a restaurant being built on Rte. 1, which is hiring for all positions.

I'm not going to hear back from them for weeks, but it meant I had a resume. So I made a .txt version, and emailed it to every interesting-sounding opportunity on Craigslist. I applied for like six or eight jobs in ten minutes.

I got a call that night.

One agency, APD Bartending, has been desperate for bodies for an event at BU. BU's commencement is Sunday, and yesterday, Friday, was a function for about-to-graduate seniors and their families and friends. Simple job -- pour a couple thousand glasses of champagne -- well, cheap sparkling wine, anyway -- for folks to grab off the tables for themselves, and the occasional glass of chardonnay, pino grigio, merlot, and cabernet sauvigion. And occasional sodas.

Basically, we would fill up tables with glasses -- well, disposable plastic champagne flutes -- and pre-pour champagne for folks to grab. And try to keep up with demand. And, if someone asked us for one of the other kinds of wine, or a soda, pour that for them.

There were something like eight bartenders at four bars, six waitstaff re-filling the buffet tables, and maybe ten waitstaff circulating with passed hors doeuvres, and also bussing. And about 2500 guests. Each of whom probably drank three or four glasses of champagne over the course of the two hour event, from 4 pm to 6 pm.

Keeping up with the demand was fundamentally futile. We would run out, and be pouring as fast as humanly possible, or faster, and still have an empty table, as every glass was grabbed as fast as we could pour it.

I had a fantastic time. I really, really don't mind being in the weeds. It's fun, so long as the people you're serving don't get annoyed, and they didn't.

Call was at 1:30, and I got there early, at 1:00, because I figured I'd get lost, or the MBTA would break down, or something, and it didn't. We set up the room from 1:30 to 4:00, including pre-pouring a couple thousand glasses of champagne which sat on the bars for people to grab, served from 4:00 to 6:00, and then cleaned up from 6:00 to 7:00, and were out of there by 7:15. Setup was easy, because there were maybe two dozen of us doing it, and we had two-and-a-half hours, cleanup was easy, because there were maybe two dozen of us doing it, and the actual event was fun, because we were slammed for two hours.

I love that. I mean, running out of champagne flutes, so you set up a few rows of regular plastic cups, open two bottles of champagne, and pour row after row with a bottle in each hand, pouring two glasses at once.

I found myself just instinctively flipping the empty bottles before throwing them out, I was having so much fun. I just can't help it. When I'm that busy, I just can't help giving the empty bottles a spin or two as I chuck them. It doesn't take any more time, it amuses the people waiting for their drinks, and it is just a natural expression of ebullience that I could barely control even if I wanted to.

So, at my bar, I was working with two bartenders. Timothy was maybe around my age, maybe a couple years older. A tall, thin man, looked a little Hispanic, set of my gaydar slightly. He grew up around here, but has spent the last 15 years in California. I really liked him -- he's a foodie, and his dream is to run a 40-seat bistro of some sort. I told him about the Craigie Street Bistrot, which he'd heard of, but had never been to. I told him that he had to go to a Chef's Whim night -- whatever the chef feels like cooking is what you get. It's how they clean out the kitchen at the end of the week -- and it's AMAZING. He agreed that it sounded good, and I think he'll check it out. I also think that he'd be amazing working there, too, but I'm sure he can figure that out on his own once he goes there. He has mostly been a waiter, but is enjoying being a bartender. But, personally, having met him, I suspect that he'd be happy being a waiter at Craigie Street, because that would actually use his skills in food and wine and talking to people.

I really enjoyed working with Timothy, who is smart, hardworking, an environmentalist, and a foodie. My kind of person.

The other person I was working with was Sebastian, who showed up about an hour and a half late, after all the heavy lifting was done, with a pretty pathetic excuse, needed Timothy and me to show him how to open champagne bottles, didn't bring his own wine opener so had to constantly borrow Timothy's or mine, didn't bring his own bow tie, so had to borrow one from the catering office -- which I don't think he returned, didn't bother to get the uniform vest from the catering office, got totally flustered when we got slammed, and basically just stood around while the rest of us cleaned up.

I think that I liked working with Timothy better.

I may get some more gigs through APD. They liked me, considered me competent, and had no problems with me. I may not -- gig work is uncertain.

But I remembered that bartending makes me happy.