Notes on the Men. Part One.

I’ve been mulling over this idea for a while now, thinking of how to frame the story I want to tell about this part of life as a female bartender. For the simplicity of story telling I’ve made this about one man. The bulk of the story is taken from a recent event but I’ve added moments from other nights, other men. It’s a collage. It’s all real, if not totally linear. And some things are universal. I’m going to break this down into installments as there is just so much to write on the subject.

NOTES ON THE MEN

It's ten p.m.
I've been at work 7 hours- just passed on taking a break because my manager said he'd rather send me home instead. Before I can stop myself I say “Ya, it seems like it will stay a mellow night”. He looks at me and we both know that I’ve just done it. “Now it’s all on you” he laughs as he walks away. I’ve just jinxed myself. Big time.
He finished dinner and came to the bar to meet friends who are meeting other friends. He knows everyone but everyone else knows everyone else better. He’s the first one there and comes in alone. He sits at the bar, calls me over and barely looks at me as he makes sure I have a rum of the quality that will work for him. Once he tries a sample or two he chooses one and then asks for it on the rocks with a splash of soda and a lime. Ya. I’m in whatever they want mode because I know what is about to happen. I know because I jinxed myself.

The rush hits. The bar swells. Post dinner, post theater, post concert, part two or three to the night. Gaggles of girls walk in wearing short skirts, expensive hair and monster heels the look in their eyes says they are not sure where they are. Men have loosened their ties. A couple on a first date, if it can be called that because they met at the bar before this one are hanging all over each other and giggling like children. He orders shots of Patron, she whispers her order in his ear but he doesn’t like this, “Tell her yourself” he directs her, “Macawen” she requests. I look at her, desperate to understand, I need to keep moving to manage the crowd. “It’s whiskey” he says, “Macawen,” she says again nodding. “Ma-ca-wen?” I say, “No” he clarifies, “Macallen”. Dear lord this night is already longer than I wanted it to be. Macallen. Rocks. Patron. Shots. Fine. I pour the drinks. The next couple wants Hennesy and cranberry. It’s that point in the night. Decency is gone. Just give them what they want. The bottle is too high on the shelf, I put one shoe on the ice well and monkey up the wall to grab the bottle. It’s a necessary move, but flashy, and I forget most people don’t spend a considerable amount of time climbing things. I hop down, destroy the cognac with the cran and apologize to it a little. I take their money, point them to a seat and look up for the next order.

As the bar fills, the lights go down, the music goes up and it hits me like a wave. This is when I realize I'll be here all night, that I won't eat, that I won’t go out after work, so I just turn work into something more personally enjoyable. This is the point in the shift when I get silly. I lighten up, and stop caring just enough to let me start dancing like a muppet, play with my coworker, climb up the walls and hand people samples of drinks they didn't order. It’s not that I’m drinking, because I’m not, it’s just a switch flips in my brain and I can no longer take any of this seriously.

This is when the man notices me. Partly because he's 3 drinks in, partly because he has no one to talk to, and partly because I’m in fun mode and just climbed up the wall of my bar. It’s a perfect storm. His friend and him call me over and he looks at me as if he’s seeing me in a totally different light. I’m no longer the girl who is pouring him drinks. I’ve become something different. “Where are you from?” he asks and as I say the name of my hometown he shakes his head in disbelief. In his defense I’m from a really beautiful place, but I can see this has much more meaning for him, meaning I can’t even begin to guess at but I can see it come over him. He’s decided in his mind that I am his perfect but unattainable dream girl. I don’t say this to flatter myself because it’s not about me. This is about him and whatever his lonely boy issues are. I watch the gaze come over his eyes. He’s done-zo and can’t do much to stop him.

A group of girls show up to meet his friends and he calls me over to help them. He apologizes as he orders their vodka sodas. He leans over and whispers "These girls are so lame," to let me know that we are both on the cool kids team. Mind you, he is drinking rum with a splash of soda. It's kind of an odd order. I don't mind it but I'm just sayin’. It doesn’t necessarily put him on the cool cocktail kids team. He distances himself from the girls by leaning closer to me at the bar, drinking more to order more and I while it’s a tad bit flattering, I mostly feel bad for the guy. It’s all around an unfortunate situation. It's unfortunate that he needs to drink more to get the courage to ask me out because it does nothing but count against him. It's unfortunate that the girl he is taken with is the version of me that doesn't fuck around. She doesn't have time to flirt, doesn't find drunk dudes appealing and she knows that based on this setup- whatever happens next won't end well.

And here is why-
The bar is a fantasy. It's an imaginary power dynamic. The bar frames me in a way, gives me an authority and focus that does not carry over into my real life. Behind the bar I am there to serve, and also take on the role of the gatekeeper- the booze controller- and my shake isn't that bad either. I wear skin tight jeans and a top that “accidentally” rides up to my waist if I don’t secure it down with my apron. I am there to make him happy, to entertain, to laugh and tell silly stories and be interested in him. On the flip side I’m intimidating and tough- he watches me kick a guy out for licking a girl’s ear (more on that later I promise) and make another guy go up to his room to get me his ID before I’ll serve him. That is my bartender persona. That is me doing my job. In real life I can be quiet and selfish. I can be an emotional jellyfish, incredible fragile and incredibly dangerous. In my head I’m convinced everyone dislikes me, I’m a stressed out wreck who seems to only like unavailable men who find me fascinating but just want to be friends. I’m cute but not untouchable. In real life he might not talk to me if he met me on the other side of the bar. It's why even ugly rockstars have superhot girlfriends. There is an inherent charisma in the role. It’s not me he’s taken with. It’s the girl I’m playing against the backdrop of my beautiful bar.
There's always been something off when I've gone out with men I've met at work. I couldn’t put my finger on it for a long time and then one day it hit me. They wanted to be going out with that girl they met at the bar. They wanted that outgoing, interested, shit talking girl in the tank top. They want the girl they invented in their mind and and here they are talking to this very nice albeit really sensitive girl who doesn’t want to be objectified and isn’t fascinated in every work he is saying because honestly, she is not getting paid. And just to say, just because I took the number and called doesn’t mean I want to jump your bones. You might be a cool dude, but especially if I met you at work, I am on high alert. There is no more bar, this next meeting is optional for us both. Please don’t assume I’ll act the way I did at when I you met me at the bar. Please please don’t be going out with me cause you think it’s a sure thing. It’s not.

So he doesn’t know any of this. There he is;. 6 ounces of rum, a shot of vodka and a beer in- that tipping point for him when his inner life is no longer private. In his mind he wants to be close to me so he's literally leaning as far across the bar as he can be, watching my every movement. This is really, really annoying. It is my job to catch these indications- to look up, to notice someone and get an order. There are no orderly lines at a bar, I go off animal instinct, so this watching is throwing me off. I keep looking up and he motions that he's okay, no drink needed, so I go back to whatever it is I'm doing- which is hard when I'm feeling watched and waited for. It takes energy to ignore someone.

I do him a favor and hand him a glass of water but he doesn’t know it’s a favor. He acts offended. Here’s the deal, if a bartender is handing you water they are trying to help you stay on your game. It is act of generosity. Please do not refuse water by calling me over and asking why I gave it to you as he does. “Well then what would you like?”, I ask, my head looking left and right because as I mentioned I am slammed at the moment. “I don’t know, what do you like to make?” he asks. I don’t have time for this,“I like to make you happy,” I reply “so what do you want?” when he falters I offer my go to, “How about a beer?” He considers it-“No no,” he says, “I’ll just have another one of these rums.” Fine.

And now I pause to offer this: when your bartender is busy- please don't slow her down- please be prepared with your entire order. Please be prepared to pay. Please don't want to have a conversation. On a personal note- if you want to impress me- seriously- and you see I'm busy- order beer. It's the easiest thing to serve- it's not physically demanding- it’s what I drink- and it won't get you drunk as fast. Yay beer. Bartenders love when you get beer.

Moving on.
The night draws to a close. He is about to leave. He is summoning his courage. I can tell. I hand him the bill. He holds my gaze. “Let me take you to dinner” he begs. I look him over. It’s an incredibly awkward moment for several reasons. It’s happened so many times now that I can’t help but get a little angry. I’m angry because I have just handed him his bill, he is about to tip me, but before he does he wants to know if I’ll go out with him. He wants to know that this was all real, that I was flirting with him because I like him, not because it’s my job to be outgoing. If I say yes he’ll be stoked. If I say no his ego will be shattered. Either way he is making me answer BEFORE he tips me. It might not be intentional, but over here in sober land it’s an infuriating thing. Men of the world: please don’t make it personal. Please don’t ask me for my number until after you’ve paid me. There’s a tip from me to you.

I don’t give out my number. Please don't ask for it. You could be Brad Pitt, James Franco, whoever, I won’t give you my number, but I will take yours. If you want this is the best solution. I probably won’t call, but I might. I might go home and stalk you online, which I totally did and got no where with this guy although it was frightening to learn the odd things that show up when I start digging for info on someone. So here is my second tip, which I offered him and he was too drunk to understand. You know where I work. It’s not like we met on the subway and if you don’t speak now you’ll never have your chance. You can always come back.

I would like to offer this to the men of the world who like to hit on the cute bartenders they meet. If you are serious, if you have crush, might I suggest that the first visit you play it cool. If the girl is that rad, ask when she works and make a note of it. Tell her she was awesome and you’ll be back next week. Don’t put her on the spot by asking her for her number, instead flatter her drink making skills and show you have some follow through by actually coming back. Build a relationship. Bring a friend with you, hang out, have a few drinks. Come alone one time to say hello and have a drink before heading to whatever else you are doing. Then, on the second, third, fourth visit, after you’ve talked some more, then you can suggest you go do something not at work. Maybe bring up something you’ve been wanting to do, or ask about a restaurant she’s been wanting to try. Suggest you try it together. That’s how you build friendships and trust that can actually turn into something more interesting than an awkward first date that doesn’t go anywhere. I have some amazing friends who were regulars at my restaurants over the years. On the flip side I’ve never gone on more than one date with a customer who gave me his number.

This concludes part one. Stay tuned for part two which will include the ear licking story as promised along with other creepy stories and lessons of what not to do at a bar.