For Five Bucks?
Last night, when I was working my (sober) butt off bartending because Chris wanted to mess around for his last night as a Wednesday bartender, I realized that I was doing something I never saw myself capable of. Spending an evening with a man old enough to be my dad, who I didn't know from Adam, who was also drunk. And to be fair, he was a nice guy. He was respectful, not vulgar, and not creepy. But still at a bar, alone on a Wednesday night. I talked to him a lot. Granted, he was sitting next to Amanda and I was talking to her too. And I could have been snobby, and moved Amanda down the bar, and only gotten him new drinks. But I wouldn't have made ten dollars off him, nor did it make me feel uncomfortable to converse with him. I don't make a habit of being friendly to a lot of people there because they get the wrong impression and think we are friends (which leads to hugs that are NOT ok) or to awkward "can we go out to dinner sometime" conversations. But it is a service industry and part of what I'm selling is me. I get paid five dollars an hour and I keep all my tips. But how hard is it to open a bottle of Bud Light? Or mix a drink. I don't get tipped because I pour awesome shots. I'm tipped because it's expected and they like me. Or they don't ever tip, and then I hate them. I guess what I mean is, it doesn't hurt me to socialize and be friendly to someone who isn't of my age bracket, or life style, or economic status. I get paid for it! It's not something I thought I'd be doing a few years ago, when I was sitting at the Backstretch every night (why didn't I do the 50 day club? I'll never know.) and I'm glad that I've been able to do the bartending thing. It's been fun.