"I mean they were cool dudes but it’s all about making that money know what I mean. Trey, took me aside and said you’re better than this. Trey. You know anastasio? Good dude, actually got a session with him soon. We’re just going to play around, see if something happens."
There is a level of disattachment that I haven’t quite mastered as a service industry professional. I’m watching this bartender and he’s good and he will talk to you, but he won’t talk to you if he doesn’t need to. It’s amazing to see the balance, but as much as I work and as much as I figure shit out, I will never master it. I’m still figuring out my catholic school shit where I’m too nice to everybody because we are all fighting a hard battle and shit. That might work in a fucking movie but it don’t work when you are trying to make a shit ton of money.
I guess it’s also weird being the center of attention. I don’t like people ad a general rule. They disgust me. I spend most of my time avoiding them.
But it’s different at the bar. Some of these people, shit, you are their only outlet. They come there, drink some beers and they confess their sins. Some you never see again, some come back, just because they liked the experience. And I can’t say no to them, mostly because they tip well but also because I feel for them. I’m involved in their lives and I want to he there when they are up and down.
I see these people and I brighten. Fuck I hate that.
I’m glad that I work in a tourist trap bar so most of these donkeys are out of my life as soon as they get the 9 am flight back to Boston. But the locals? Shit. I like them. I protect them when shit gets crowded. I’m happy when they tell me good news and vice versa.
I guess I’m just a sentimental motherfucker with a big ass dick. There are a million sad people out there and I want to be friends with all of them. Unless they are racist frat dudes. fuck them
I used to feel weird about regulars. You have these people in your life that you don’t particularly know, but they are apart of your life and occasionally, you spend more time with them them your fucking family and friends.
Like, I’m in the bar down the street from my old bar. I saw the apartment building of this girl Sara that used to go to the spot all the time. It was her first baltimore experience. She went there all the time, and when she was unemployed briefly, came to the bar to steal our wifi and work on her resume.
We weren’t frienda, but we hung out. I saw her get shit faced. I kept her upbeat when shit was down. I bartended when she was on her first date with the man she eventually married. Her friend worked at the bar briefly.
And now she’s gone. I see her occasionally on facebook, but there isn’t anything that would rekindle our friendship. She’s just a person who I can say hey to everytime I see her in fells point. But for the most part, she’s “somebody I used to know.”
Like the song.
She’s not the only one
I’ve got hundreds of people who knew me as the bartender at miltons. some of these people cried when I left. I promised that I’d keep in touch. I didnt. Now they are just memories. Specters of a time and place that I otherwise don’t want to remember. I’m glad I made them happy. I’m sad that I only see some of them rareky, in parts of the city and times you wouldnt expect.
I’ll leave the bar at some point. I expect all the people will ask where Doug went. And I’ll be somewhere occasionally seeing an object and wondering what happened to the guy who gives me book recommendations.