Another Man's Treasure

All week long I have been dreading the task of going to the Social Security Administration.  Can you blame me?  It has been my own personal experience that any government run institution is a royal pain in the ass; long lines, unruly and impatient children and an either boiling hot or freezing cold climate.  Almost sounds like a dreaded trip to the Verizon Wireless store eh? 

Well anyway.... I finally mustered up the strength to tackle this errand head on today.  Having been fully caffeinated and determined to accomplish this task, I set out armed an ready for a long and unpleasant afternoon.  

When I walked into the local Social Security office I was surprised.  It wasn't nearly as treacherous as I had anticipated.  In fact, I was only one of three people waiting in line. Thank you God.  

"Number twenty-one please, " the man from behind the window called.  That's my number!!! 

After answering a few basic questions, the man looked down at the paperwork and sighed.  I must have looked concerned because he almost immediately explained his long winded exhale.  He looked at my former address and revealed how much he absolutely loved Nashville, TN.  

Before I knew it, we were engulfed in a conversation that reminded me of my own affection for my former residence.  He asked me why I would leave such an amazing city; what had brought me here, and if I ever thought of going back.  

And over the following few seconds, my entire Nashville experience flashed before my eyes.  I thought of my apartment, my favorite hangouts, my wonderful friends and even a few unforgettable memories.  I swallowed hard and cleared my throat as I suddenly remembered where I was: in a government office about a week and a half away from heading off to New York City.  

I suddenly felt a sinking feeling that I had no idea if I would ever have a real reason to go back to Nashville.  Of course I have about a hundred great reasons to visit.  But the thought of actually moving back there one day, washed over me in complete bewilderment.  

I looked up at the man on the opposite side of the counter and gave him the most honest answer I could think of on the fly; "I would have to have a really good reason."

This guy was enamored with and determined to move to the very city I had just departed.  And I couldn't help but hope the best for him.  See, I loved Nashville. I still do.  Perhaps I always will. 

Nashville is the kind of city you can simply exist within without having too much pressure or strain. It is a simpler kind of life.  There is plenty of the world's greatest entertainment, delicious food and some genuinely nice folks.  It is the kind of city that doesn't require much from its inhabitants.  And to be perfectly honest, that was precisely my angst. 

I am not ready to sit idle in a city that allows me to do so with relative ease.  

Perhaps one day, when I am tired of meeting the demands of the world, I will go running back to the South just as fast as my feet can carry me. And living there, I will feel very little push and stress from the rat race.  That isn't such a bad picture; sitting on the front porch in my later years, sipping on a sweet tea.  

But the conversation did refresh my memory of all that I loved about Tennessee.  And oddly enough, the brief exchange between two complete strangers is exactly why Nashville is such a treasure; it brings out the neighborliness in people... even government officials.  

Today was the first pleasant and dare I say, painless, experience I have ever had while at a government run institution.  It was even more pleasant than a trip to the dentist, which is shocking because I pretty much hate having metal tools anywhere near my tonsils. 

It just goes to show that one man's past, just may be another man's treasure.  It is comforting to know that there are always more people lined up eagerly to experience things I have held so dear.  And maybe, one day, I will go back there and have another go 'round of Southern Hospitality.  

In the meantime, I am hungry.  And I think a Big Apple a day is just the medicine I've needed for a long time.  Well that, and a social security card.  

When I turned around, there was suddenly a very long line behind me.  And I couldn't help but smile as I walked out the door,  having accomplished more than what I bargained for in record time. 

Today:

Mint Julep

2 1/2 oz Bourbon

4-5 Mint Sprigs

1/2 oz Simple Syrup

Muddle Mint and Syrup in a collins glass and then

fill the glass with Bourbon.  Stir with crushed ice. 

 

  

  

 

Clocking Out

One of the most unsettling aspects of today, in addition to the stormy weather and unbearable late summer humidity, is conjuring up a somewhat convincing answer to the most frequently asked question posed to me all week; 'What's next?' It's Friday, but not just any Friday... Today is my last day behind the bar of my summer job.

I suppose I have mixed feelings about today.  But overall, I am relieved.  It has been a grueling assignment: serving up a few thousand cocktails to some extremely demanding tourists,  a dozen old school regulars and a handful of unhappy happy hour patrons.

Generally speaking, I like almost everyone I encounter in life: strangers both young and old, rich or poor, of every culture and background.  Perhaps it is because I am a writer and I get some sort of bizarre pleasure out of examining the eccentricities of human behavior.  I've always been eager to ask questions of where people are from and what has brought them here.  It is one of the most interesting aspects of my job behind the bar: the people.

That was, until recently... 

About a  month ago, I came to a rather disturbing realization: I didn't like people as much as I used to.  I was like an old shoe, steadily worn down to where very little soul remains... And in that analogy, if I was actually a shoe, I would have enjoyed drop kicking a few hostile patrons right upside their heads.

If I hear one more person complain that the blender is out of order, or that food is not served outside, or demand lime wedges as if it were a heart transplant, I might actually lose it.  There are some things I can help you with, and many more that I simply cannot.  Sorry.  And to that end, is it right to take your frustrations out on me?  I ought to write on the specials chalkboard tonight: "Don't Shoot the Messenger, Thanks."

As I wiped down the bar last night, I shook my head in disgust over the state of my beloved country; Miley Cyrus' ridiculous circus act on the VMA's last week was enough to make any American citizen nauseated.  And the way I am spoken to on a regular basis as a bartender is appalling to say the least.

What has happened to us?

A blender out of order is nowhere near a crisis; the unthinkable acts of warfare and violence in our country and abroad more aptly fit that description.  I think about all the people suffering in Syria, having lost a loved one and who are struggling to survive.  It makes me really sad and all the more impatient when I face the guy who acts as if the broken blender is appalling and outrageous.  I can't help but think; Dude, you are outrageous and a complete waste of space.

What is happening to me????? My own distain is beginning to reflect theirs... and I just don't need to stoop that low.

This is coming from the girl who genuinely used to like people!!!  So you see, that is where the overwhelming sense of relief stems from today; knowing that I will have a break from the bar and in that, a break from forcing a half-smile when faced with some of the most obnoxious people I have ever encountered.

I truly stand by my belief of providing excellent customer service.  I think it is imperative to treat people as if they are your guest and employ hospitality and gratitude toward that aim.  When it is no longer possible to exude these qualities,  then you can be sure it is time to get out of hospitality: if only for a short while.  

And that is where I'm at; knowing full well that I need a break from service.  I'm turning in my keys and clocking out after one last Friday night behind the bar.

To answer that frequently asked question honestly, I would have to produce an equally unsettling response: I don't know what's next just yet.  I guess that is going to have to suffice for now...

With that, I am headed off to work (if the rain subsides) and will clock in, ready to serve with a smile.

I will miss a few of the people I have worked with over the summer.  It was almost like being in the peace corps together: calming the nerves of the after five o' clock crowd.  But I won't miss the repeat offenders who sit on the other side of the bar and think that a good tip somehow justifies ongoing blatant sexual harassment.  Nope, I won't miss that one bit.

Alas, two things to remember tonight: don't forget to smile and don't forget to clock out.


Today:

Long Beach Tea

1/4 oz Vodka 
1/4 oz Gin
1/4 oz Rum
1/4 oz Tequila 
1/4 oz Triple Sec
Splash of Sour 
Splash Cranberry

Garnish with a lime wedge

Mama Said, Mama Said

You ever have one of those days?  You know, the kind of day where everything that could go possibly go wrong, does?  Of course, I say 'everything' as a somewhat relative term, but you get my drift.  But it just doesn't happen very often that I find it necessary to write a play by play of my eight hour shift behind the bar.  However, in the case of last night, trust me: it is.

Wednesday: 3:00 PM 

I arrived at work and began the tedious process of opening the up the bar: filling the ice bins, wiping down the counters, stocking the liquor bottles, and counting the cash drawer.  You know, business as usual. 

Having been assigned to the tiki bar, I was mentally and physically preparing for a steady stream of guests and hopefully, a profitable night.  But something was in the air yesterday... literally, that shook the very foundation of my otherwise positive outlook.  It was windy: extremely windy.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is not an exaggeration.

Allow me to paint a picture for you.  A tiki hut/bar is typically comprised of four standing posts and is open to the elements on all sides.  Three of the four sides are lined with barstools, while the back side provides an exit strategy for yours truly.  There is a roof, room for a couple kegs, and a small liquor well.  And in the middle of this little island of booze, stands the bartender, ready to serve and protect.

Okay, so you can see it right?  Before the bar is opened, there are four heavy canvas drapes that protect the otherwise exposed counter to ceiling areas of the hut.  When they are down, and it is windy, they tend to catch the breeze so perfectly, you'd swear they were at full mast, about to set sail.  

I typically do not raise the drapes until I am officially open: so as to discourage guests from walking up every five minutes before I am fully equipped to serve and take payments.  

Here begins the chaos... 

As I was counting the drawer, I was suddenly sprayed with ice cold beer.  What in the...??????? Oh no!!!! I turned around to discover a rather shocking scenario. The ropes from the drapes had somehow blown ever so perfectly toward the taps, wrapping themselves around the handle and releasing the draft to rush out.  And to make it worse, the wind blew the beer all over the counters, floor, and yes... me.  I struggled to untangle the ropes as quickly as possible.  But needless to say, it was a sticky situation and a rather peculiar start to the day. 

Approximately 4:10 PM

At almost exactly the same moment I had finished cleaning up the great draft spill of 2013, I heard a coworker shriek, "AAAAH SHIT!"  And shitty it was, all over the soles of her shoes.  Where did that come from??? Apparently, someone had decided to let their dog wander freely around the place unbeknown to us all.  And to add insult to injury, the owner did not clean up after his furry friend. 

Obviously, this was way out of the scope of our job description.  But when the shit hits the fan, or the soles of your shoes, you must do everything within your power to carry on.  And that we did... 

Here goes round two of our major cleanup effort: bringing out the hose, buckets, brooms etc.  Can we just get back to serving some drinks already???

P.S. IT WAS STILL EXTREMELY WINDY

It was 5:00 Somewhere... Which means one thing: business.

Incoming!!! With the bar top filling up fast, I was busy enough to lose track of time (which is a good thing).  And freakishly, over the following three hours, my computer froze, a guest walked out on his tab, and a small woodland creature emerged from the nearby tree, scurrying around the feet of a frenzied crowd, causing absolute and utter chaos as ladies sloshed their drinks high in the air in complete disarray.  

It's a mouse! No, it's a small squirrel!! No it's not! It's a vole!!!!!!!!!  Let's get it!!!!!! 

Everyone was frantic.  As I stood within the confines of my four post cell, I looked around at the chaotic scene that was completely out of my control, and I began to shake my head and laugh.  A few guys who'd been enjoying their night out, caught a glance of me laughing to myself as I continued to work steadily through the chaos,  and they erupted in laughter as well.  

They were amongst the first guests to arrive that afternoon, so they had already witnessed the dog debacle and a few other hiccups of the night.  

And honestly, at that point, it was (kind of) funny. Oh and yes, it was still windy. 

What was happening??!!??

At approximately 8:00 PM,  it was too much. 

Everyone sitting at my bar turned in unison to witness a woman screaming at her cocktail server to "Get the hell away."  The server, defending herself, refused service at that point, and had to simply walk away.  

And then, after being asked out by a guest, literally ten times, I too, had to take a break.  I'd had enough.  Maybe it was closer to 9 at that point, but regardless, I had met my limit. A fellow bartender was kind enough to take the wheel from me so that I could discreetly slink away and hide... and hopefully, recover.  

I sat in the back alley for about five minutes, where no one could see me.  And when I looked up and saw my own reflection in the window, to my horror, I saw that almost all the strands of my hair were standing straight up on all sides of my face: the result of standing in a wind tunnel for the past five hours. 

Whatever... At this point, looking like a damn clown was more than appropriate. 

I walked reluctantly back to the bar to hear, "Adriane!!!!!! Yo, Adriane!!!!!! We were waiting for you!!!" Oh goody.... they are still here.

And that is when the lightning began to strike.  Huge bolts flashed, illuminating the night sky.  The wind howled, thunder cracked and I knew at any moment, it was about to break loose. 

And it did. 

The rain sprayed my face as it fell, gusting along with the relentless force of the wind.  And all I could think of was that song from the fifties... You know it... "Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, my mama said. Mama said, mama said..."

After all of that, I left work wearing a half smile and a crazy ass 'fro atop my blonde head.  I didn't really see it as a bad day to be honest.  It was just one of those days you never forget.  

Tested by the elements, exhausted and dampened from the downpour, I clocked out and called it a night. 

I have no idea what was in the air.  All I know is that when it rains, it pours... and if God has a sense of humor, well then I had experienced a truly biblical comedic sketch. 

It's a brand new day.  I survived the storm, the unidentified woodland creature, the draft spill, the meanies, as well as a handful of overly friendly gents.  It was an epic night behind bars.  And I just felt that it was noteworthy enough to report.  

I think it's important to remember that nothing in life is promised to us.  The weather can't always be sunny and still.  The people we encounter may not follow the rules, get the hint, or clean up after their dog.  But one thing we can be sure of is that Mama said there would be days like this, and all we can do, is all we can do.  

And if gets to be too much and it's just not funny anymore, take a minute to walk away and look at your own reflection.  What you see may surprise you: even, make you laugh. 

Today:

Nameless Deliciousness

1 oz Cherry Vodka

Splash of Pama Liqueur

Finish with Lemonade.

MAMA SAID: WATCH THIS HILARIOUS VIDEO AND SING ALONG!!!!!

Call of Duty

We are soldiers, an infantry.  No really... Look around and see for yourself.  There are thousands of roles that we rely heavily on each and every day: mechanics, doctors, janitors, grocery stockers, teachers, barbers, techies, gardeners, baristas, engineers, farmers, wine makers, construction workers, stay at home parents, gas station attendants, and servers/drink slingers a plenty.  If you stop and think about it, we really do rely on one another to fulfill a number of roles that support the overall infrastructure of our community.

Who knows the reasons why certain people end up filling specific roles within society.  Perhaps it was what they wanted to do for a living, or perhaps they didn't believe they could do anything else. 

When I stop to think about it, I am comforted to know I am not alone: far from it. We rely on so many other individuals each and every day to keep the world as we know it, functioning.  It is for that reason, that we ought to take a second look at the person behind the counter, the badge, or the bar.  Extend an added ounce of dignity and gratitude to the person whose job it is to make, one or more aspect of your life, easier. 

Can you imagine what the world would be like if we could answer the call of our dreams, rather than the call of duty? A little chaotic and frustrating wouldn't you say? 

Hey lady, stop singing and just make me a hamburger! Stop painting that mural, I need a teeth cleaning! My electrician has run off to become a Nascar driver?? Now WHAT? My coffee beans are stuck in South America with no way of being being shipped here?? Guess it's time to take a trip!

Some of the roles I mentioned earlier are almost certainly someone's dream job.  How many little boys have you heard say they want to be a fireman or a fighter pilot when they grow up? And that is exactly what they do.  I always marvel at stories like that: the kids who evolve naturally into the life they imagined for themselves long ago.

I sometimes feel like I have sacrificed certain measurable successes in life because I am pursuing something outside of the every day ordinary.  While I'm not ashamed to serve others behind a bar, I do not like being treated as though I ought to be embarrassed.  There are more than enough soldiers alongside me in the trenches who are perfectly happy to be there.  It is what provides them with a few dollars and even a few more friends. 

And that ain't so bad ya'll. 

But even still, I admit that: No, I do not want to be behind bars for the rest of my life.  It is not my dream to come up with the perfect cocktail for your twenty first birthday.  Though, as long as that is where I'm at, I am happy to try.  

At some point, people either shut up, give up, wake up, or shake it up.  They pull up their bootstraps and answer the call of duty. Whether that duty serves their fantasy or reality, only they can truly say. 

Does it really matter either way to us? In the long run, it probably doesn't.  But I would hope that in the very least, we can try just a little bit harder to appreciate our comrades out there in the fields.  

They may have sacrificed their dream to answer the call, whatever it may be.  Or perhaps what they are already doing for a living is their dream and we ought to respect that.  Sometimes I feel like the battleground for personal happiness is constantly under siege.  It is a struggle for survival out there; and no dream is too insignificant to be left behind.

Today, as I mentally prepare myself to assume the role I have been temporarily called to serve, I remind myself of the strategy and the mission: the mission possible, so to speak. 

I feel grateful to those I meet along the way, who look beyond the uniform.  For a flickering moment, they see me.  And everything I hope to achieve is reflected back in their eyes.  And it is as though, for a moment, I am closer than ever to winning this war.

We are all faced with this battle to survive and thrive.  So as you march along, remember to thank the person who has answered the call, so that you might be able to answer yours: even if it's the call to sit and enjoy an ice cold beer at the local bar. A drink for you and a dollar for me:  it serves us both.  

With that, we can get through anything, together. 

Today:

Rob Roy

2 oz Scotch

one dash Sweet Vermouth

Stir and strain into a martini glass.

Garnish with a cherry

How Can I help you?

photo credit: pit.edu

       

      

      

Rage Against the Mean-Machine

From the moment we are first thrust into social interactions we are tested: preschool, birthday parties, school plays, dance recitals and team sports all evaluate, in one aspect or another, your overall ability to play well with others.  Think about it.  Our ability to tolerate one another has been a struggle from the get-go. 

Like in kindergarten, when we put on our school play, I was forced to be one of the clowns.  All of the other really cool parts were already assigned.  There was a tiger tamer and his three tigers, gymnasts with their really cool tights and spandex, a ring master, and us stupid clowns.  I hate clowns! They are freaky: from their bad clothes and to even worse hair.  

But what could I do?  When we began rehearsing, I would look around at the other groups and study their moves.   The tigers were being tamed, the gymnasts were very balanced and us clowns, well... we were completely out of control.

What a minute; we get to shoot the crowd with squirt guns while running amuck on our stick-ponies?? THIS IS AWESOME!  

And it was.  I would very much like to think that we were the hit of the circus.  Everyone laughed and cheered at us yahoos, who completely stole the show.  And I realized two very important things that day: you have to make the best of whatever role you play in life and never underestimate the importance of making someone smile.  Squirt gun or not, it felt good to know that I was making so many people laugh.

There are a hundred more examples where that came from.  It didn't take very long to figure out that things rarely turn out according to your initial plan.  And yes, many times it is also unfair.  That's life.  We are often thrust into roles we didn't exactly choose or desire.  We are also constantly living in relation to others.  These two challenges often test our patience, as well as our tolerance. 

I believe that it is perfectly understandable to experience moments of rage.  Road-rage for instance, is something I can certainly identify with.  Hostile caravans of out of control children tossing french fries from their windows, while mom is inches shy of kissing your bumper.  And the multi-tasking teenager who manages to swerve (somewhat) within her lane while texting, snacking, primping and yes, smoking.  Sure... I feel moments of rage too.  

But what enrages me the most to be perfectly honest, is meanness.  Being a mean person is infectious to the world and is also completely unnecessary.  While it is understandable to have moments of anger, it is really not warranted to express that emotion in a mean way.  

For example, if you are frustrated that there isn't enough parking and you have to wait for a long period of time, okay: you can be frustrated.  But if you take that frustration and call someone a "Donkey's Ass" then two things will happen:  no one will want to help you and no one will tolerate you.  Because that is just mean.  

Meanness serves no one: especially the person it infects.  I believe that half of the violence on this earth comes from a place of meanness: and I am enraged.  People get angry.  Anger breeds contempt.  And contempt often leads to destruction.  

While I know that it is impossible to cure the myriad of factors that promote anger, I do hope to promote in some small way, more laughter.  Don't worry, I've hung up that squirt gun long ago.  But, I am still very much a silly clown at heart, all these years later.   

Anger can promote passion.  Take a stand to make a change.  If you have passion in your heart, then perhaps you might also foster compassion as well.  I think compassion speaks louder than hate.  And I believe rage can serve society, if it fuels a common good.  

Enraged by GMO's, littering, oil spills, endangered species, hunger, dwindling resources, education, deforestation, over-fishing, gun control, shootings, bombings and threats of all kinds?  It's okay to be angry.  But, hate begets hate.  And the ends, rarely justify the means.

You don't have to be a meanie to be heard.  Just smile, take a breath, and say what you mean instead.  

Cheer up and try to play well with others today. 

Today:

Smile Cocktail

1 oz Gin

1 oz Grenadine

1/2 oz lemon juice

Shake and strain up in a martini glass

Click for this and other recipes

Photo Credit: tallskinnykiwi.typepad.com

On the Nose

When I was in film school, we had an expression we used when we thought something was a little too convenient.  We would say that the story was "A bit on the nose." 

For instance, if I were writing a screenplay, and my character happened to bump into the love of her life, just moments after breaking up with Mr. Wrong:  her bags are already packed and he just so happens to have two tickets to Paris.  It is just a perfect twist of fate that she turned the corner and smacked into him.  This is a story that is a little on the nose. 

Because in reality, one of them probably has an expired passport, she is going to lose her job anyway because Mr. Wrong was actually her boss, and the love of her life is probably leaving the U.S. for tax evasion.

(At which point, I would re-write the plane tickets to be for the Cayman Islands or somewhere with... ehh shelter)...

Which movie would you like to see?  I guess whichever story you prefer, says a little something about how you see life.  Hopeful and optimistic? Or perhaps a little cynical and jaded. 

If I were to write myself as a protagonist at this stage of my life, I would probably say that I fall somewhere in the middle of the two extremes.  Which is actually a good place to write from.  It is having enough innocence that you can still maintain an open mind about things magically falling perfectly into place.  While at the same time, arming your hopes and expectations with a little dose of reality: so you don't have too far to fall when someone lets you down. 

A person's age tends to have some direct correlation with their life experience.  Their life experiences greatly affect their overall point of view.  Their point of view is what we come to know as their character.  See how that works? 

Now suppose you are, oh I don't know: the local friendly bartender.  And it's another day/another dollar for you my friend.  Life isn't exactly glamorous.  But you keep your head down, you show up on time and you do a pretty damn good dirty martini.  And then, as a total hypothetical, you are faced with quite possibly one of the most obnoxious bar guests... IN THE UNIVERSE.

If it were a movie, you would say; "No way, that's too much.  People don't actually say things like that."  The customer hovers over the bar, studying your every move.  He has very vocal opinions about the job you are doing for him.  "That's a bit light. This one has more than that one." 

Then he proceeds to study and evaluate the other bartender, saying "Well I never... that is meant to be stirred, not ever ever shaken." OK dude. WE GET IT...  

WE SUCK. YOU'RE THE EXPERT.  The end...

But characters like that don't really exist, do they?  Wouldn't that scene be a bit on the nose?  Aren't characters written that way a cliche? 

I would say yes.  However... sometimes things do land right on your nose: tennis balls, glass doors you didn't see closed,  cappuccino foam... assholes.  Oh wait a minute, this is hypothetical right? 

Well, thank goodness life isn't really full of spot on, stereotypical, jerk-faces like the ones we might write about in the movies.   Can you imagine how annoyed I would actually be??  

Each day begins anew.  And with each day, an opportunity for a re-write.  A recipe for for failure might actually be a recipe for success, if you take away a single ingredient. 

So maybe stories in the day to day life of a bartender aren't always oscar worthy.  But they sure make it interesting, even if the roles we play are a bit on the nose. 

Today:

Bad Attitude Cocktail

1/2 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Gin

1/2 oz Rum

1/2 oz Tequila

1/2 oz Triple Sec

1 oz Amaretto

Splash of Pineapple, Orange and Cranberry Juices

Shake together and poor into a tall glass. 

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photo credit: thefunnyinbox.com

photo credit: sodahead.com