I like my job. The technical side of bartending fascinates me. The mixology, making strong spirits potable always stops me in the midst of the din of a busy restaurant and makes me smile. Martinis, Manhattans and Negronis are mildly intricate but quick to make and beautiful to look at.
Beyond the alchemy almost every shift brings a few moments of joy, real comedy or at least gallows humor. I like my regulars and coworkers. I love the new GM. The room is excellent. And the commute is tolerable. Why then do I hate going to work?
15:00 to 16:45 are routinely the worst minutes of my day. I loathe and thus procrastinate brushing my teeth, shaving and finally the shower. Once dressed I fret about dry cleaning, collar stays, the 1 California schedule. Upon leaving the apartment the angst shifts to my relationship with A. Did I wash my dishes? Did I make the bed? Is my desk clear?
And then the bus filled with early teenagers shrieking over their card games and texts. My route passes a few parks and I look with abject jealousy at the homeless lounging in the grass.
This anxiety is the cost of being on time. Most days I step behind the bar precisely at 17:00. Till counted, tie tied, apron knotted. And instantly the angst lifts.
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The new GM? What's changed? And I remember your smiles when making cocktails!
ReplyDeleteNothing's changed from your days. L is still GM. I just think of her as new although she's been here for close to a year. Ron Wood Syndrome.
ReplyDeleteWe will have a new waitress for the day shifts while Javy is away on paternity leave. Typical Z move: we trade a Peruvian for a Swede.