PO`Q]RSa continued from previous page
— at the end of my service-industry tenure I never thought I’d miss it, but within 10 minutes of being behind a bar, I do. There’s an energy, an orchestrated flow that happens in a busy restaurant or bar that doesn’t happen anywhere else. “Cameraderie� isn’t the exact word for it, but the spirit is along the lines of a military sense of “We’re all in this together.� Patrons can feel that energy to a certain degree, the staff much more so — especially when the rush is happening. Which occurs around 8 p.m. at the South Philly Tap Room this evening: glasses begin piling up at the bar, the printer keeps buzzing with drink tickets waiting to be made, and every seat at the bar fills up. Head down, diligently washing glasses, I look up for a second. An older fellow catches my eye. “You’ve got to be stoned to listen to this kind of music, right?� he asks. It takes a second for the
Hendrix track playing in the background to come into focus over the din of a busy restaurant. I had kind of forgotten about the small-talk aspect of working behind a bar. “Aw, I don’t think so,� I answer. “But it doesn’t hurt.� Then a young-looking couple sits down at the end of the bar. Right away, Candace IDs them. Over the course of the evening, more than a few under-21s come in trying to get served, causing some of the staff to wonder if some Liquor Control Board sting is afoot — something bar workers always have in the back of their minds. As the night progresses, a few feelings keep popping up. The first one is a combination of “Goddamn, my feet hurt� and “This is by far the most physical labor I’ve done in, well, I can’t even remember how long.� The second is how easy it’s been to get back into the groove of being behind the bar.
I do my first real bartending of the night for a couple who comes in from the Phillies game and are introduced to me as regulars, and pour them my first drink of the night, their usual: two Allagash whites in 12-ounce glasses and two shots of Jameson, a double and a single. Allagash white is usually served in a pint glass — why the change in glassware? It’s neither here nor there, just one of the benefits of being a regular. Another regular comes in a little later whom I recognize from evenings spent on the other side of the bar. Somehow I’ve retained his regular order: a can of Budweiser poured into a chilled pint glass and a shot of Sauza. Hours into my shift, I am actually having fun. I’d approached this preparing for the worst-case scenario, complete with shattered glasses in the ice bin (a true tragedy at a busy bar), spilled drinks and slip-and-falls. But my continued on page 8
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