June 17th, 2018

Sunday night, my bread and butter.  At least until the schedule gets put into the Yahtzee cup and shaken around again.

In all seriousness, though, I do love my Sunday nights. The liquor sales are largely down to me and whoever’s cocktailing, I have the bar to myself, and I can often make just as much (if not more) in tips as a Friday or Saturday night, for a lot less concerted effort.

I was a little irked perhaps to see Morgan behind the bar when I walked through to get my cash, but I figured she was just covering things while I was out, and in truth, that’s exactly what’s was what.  Once I was installed she promptly buggered off and went back to being a cocktail in a zebra suit. Fine by me, really.

My irritation of the other night had largely passed at this point. I don’t stay angry for all that long, generally, and it’s not like she really did that much to annoy me anyway.

Around dinner time, Morgan gave me my break instead of Jerry the Older as per usual, but that worked out all right, as they just closed down the service bar a bit earlier, and so the bar sales were all left to me after that.  Happy Hellrazor.

I had a lot of regular native drinkers at the bar, which was fine. They’re finally (after nearly 10 years) warming up to me in many cases.

Anyway though – apart from the continuing summer drama of the beer lines gathering ice in the walk-in cooler, it was a calm and pleasant evening, and we didn’t have a barback on duty either, so I kept even more of my tips than normal.  I left about 15 minutes late, but wanted to make sure that Rickie had a hand with gathering up the trash and some of the heavier lifting. The woman’s gonna pop in a couple weeks. I like to lend a hand if I can.

Closing observations :

• Sunday nights are still awesome.
• This means of course that eventually someone will try to take them from me.
• It’s possible that my natural optimism is being cynically coloured after 9+ years working this bar.

Next up : Thursday