March 29th, 2018

Let it be said and known and understaood that I have never in any way shape or form held my tongue when it comes to the depth of loathing I hold for the uniforms the bar staff is required to have upon one’s person.  Basically it’s a referee’s shirt. Black and white vertical stripes. It breathes well, but that’s the extent of the praise I’ll give to it.  Between asking what game I am/have been/will be referring, and/or being mistaken for a convict or a Foot Locker employee, this garment has brought forth more shit onto my head than anything I ever wore to high school.  Quite possibly more than all the things I wore to high school combined.

To summarize : I loathe my zebra suit, which made it all the more odd to be glad to have it back on again because if nothing else, I could at least come work and earn some money.

It was nice to be have been missed, though.  My co-workers were all pleased to see me, and more than a few guests inquired after me as well and were glad to have me back.   Our day barkeep that day (whom I’ll refer to by the name ‘Roofus’, let’s say, as he also owns a roofing company) was sure to tell me how everyone thought I’d been just screwed over on the whole thing and so forth.

So it was a good ego trip night certainly, and while not hectic, the tips rained up on me rapidly and with intensity. It was nice to be back.  Our new cocktail girl from class was in attendance, which was all right too, as she’d chosen to rock out with the skorts.

Nothing particularly noteworthy happened, but it was a good first night back.  Brisk-ish business, outstanding tips, and the knowledge that my Veteran Bartender ass was missed did me good.

Closing observations :

• Amazingly, during my absence, absolutely zero new stupid rules were birthed.  So unfair that can’t happen when I’m present.
• It’s good to be missed. What can I say? They were nice about expressing that monetarily tooo.

Next up : Friday night