An excuse

The bar person is a peculiar breed of creature, who craves human contact while simultaneously hating the general public. Being mainly nocturnal we have problems forming relationships due to the erratic nature of our migratory habits and shift patterns.

“Smile” reads a sign before enter the bar from the back “the customer is not the enemy”, which is a smart thing to remind staff because sometimes it is easy to slip into the “Us or Them” mindset, people don’t realize that bar staff are not deaf or blind, or that the three foot of wood between us is not enough distance to muffle the theatrical sighs, muttered threats, pouts and eye rolls. We notice every skipped please and thank you every time your coins are handed to us in a pool of bar gunk or even threw at us. Ok we don’t cry ourselves to sleep but it does chip at our good moods and indeed the blocks of our very good natures, delicately but persistently, until we are left eroded sculptors of surly hate, and animated golem of our misanthropy lumbering from customer expecting the worst, and normally getting it.

But then there are days when the bar is your stage, all bar staff, at least the good ones, are show offs at heart. We enjoy the attention, loud and gregarious, serving the customers is one skill but keeping the crowd happy is entirely another. Banter can be inclusive, smiles attract smiles and people are more willing to be served out of order or wait if they’re happy. That’s why I like to have a little drink myself before work, I just find it easier to make the transition from cynic to my usual swaggering bar persona with a little confidence juice.

a bad tempered misanthrope yesterday