Well, by now, dear readers, it’s probably clear that Boozey and I have made it to the other side of the bar and back again, many times over.
We became bartenders in the way that many rogue drinkers do: establishing swagger at our local bars, challenging the right people to pool games, spending enough time drinking socially that we implied we needed employment.
Just kidding. But not really.
That was just our way of getting there. Most bartenders have similarly circuitous histories that landed them what is simultaneously the worst and best job around. Not to mention a slew of reasons for drinking in (hah!) this particularly intoxicating profession, perfect for the artist, the musician, and the intellectual alike.
We have ordered drinks from a great number of them. There’s the angry punk rocker manning the local tavern. A PBR, sir, and we’re gone. There’s the Belizean charmer who stumbled into bartending through catering gigs. We can’t get enough of buying each other rounds. There’s the former professional soccer player from Bosnia, who we have to fight to convince that we ladies would like a beer more than a Cosmo, really. He’s still not fully convinced.
We alternately befriend, alienate, and high five these people. We could say we always have, but now, it’s in part because we’re two of them.
There’s something about us, a jumbled pool of individuals, about as normal as we are strange. If you’re really a bartender, may the larger forces at work have some mercy on you: at some point you’ve realized this isn’t just a small stop on a glorious career path to novel-writing or grad school. That novel becomes a blog, at least for now. Ahem.
We’ll be writing about some of our favorite bartenders here, as well as some tips from behind the bar—Boozey, for one, makes some of the most coveted birthday shots this side of the Mississippi. There are some good stories, and good drinks, in our collective internet-sodden future, friends.
So you might find us behind your next sticky bar. We’ll be pouring your drink heavy, rolling our eyes at your Jagerbomb order, telling the ones we want to keep chatting up that this one’s on us.
And it never fails. Some young buck or filly will be talking about their job prospects, their ambitions, and ultimately, their safety net.
“I’ll just bartend for a while.”
Good luck, tiger. We’ll catch you on the flip side.