This One's On Me

This bartender's perspective on all of us patrons is the first installment in a new recurring AJPT column, so of course Jane wants your feedback on it in the comments. Thanks in advance!

Grab a stool, order a round (I’ll have a Hamm’s), and get ready for our brand new column. Jesse has been working in bars for over 21 years — which means his career is old enough to drink — and he’s seen it all. In this column, he’s going to be giving us a peek at how the world looks from behind the bar as he shares the stories that make him laugh, cry, and pour himself a glass of Maker’s neat. Enjoy. - Charlie

By Jesse James Madre

Three guys walk towards a bar, two say “Owww!”, the other one ducks under it and opens the door. It’s dimly lit, and even though smoking inside has been outlawed for a generation and change here in Jersey, that smoky haze still hangs around the backlit bottles behind the bar. Before he chooses a stool he has to be honest with himself about what he’s here for. Is he here to make a friend? Find a lover? Maybe a fight or a fuck or the answer we are all looking for, one place or another... Today he’s here just to drink. He picks his stool accordingly as to be with himself and his beer. He’s a great customer. Doesn’t need much. I just make sure his glass gets filled as quick as it gets empty. He pays cash and tips.

Two girls walk in laughing about two idiots outside who keep walking into a bar. They have their own mental checklist. They are there to catch up and laugh. But they have to be worried about who else is there and what they are there for. A quick scan for obvious creeps and they choose two seats in the middle of the bar. They ask about the happy hour deals and stop me when they hear $6 glasses of rosé. They’re old friends and they argue over whose turn it is to put down a card and open up a tab. I offer a solution, the only tried and true way to settle disagreements — Rock, paper, scissors. They laugh and take their marks, fist over hand for three beats and shoot! Paper beats Rock. I grab Paper’s card and signal to the next guest that I’ll be right with them.

What’s between these walls is something different for everybody. At different times it becomes something different. Especially if you are different when you walk in. Like our own magical, adult room of requirement. You can be alone at a full bar or with a friend at an empty one. But whatever your order, wherever you sit, we’re all here because between those four walls it’s holy. We confess and forgive. We celebrate new life as two regulars become parents. We leave a full pint at the stool of another guest who left this world (and a $15 tab) behind. We rejoice and we mourn between these walls.

I’ve been pacing furrows behind bars for over 20 years. Half my life exactly, if I’m honest with myself. It starts the way all addictions do. A weekend thing. A little supplemental income. Leave your main gig after 40 hours and work the bar Friday night for a chance at a couple hundred bucks. It’s a gamble. Humans are infinite variables — you can’t ever do the math. We’re like the ‘49ers hoping to strike gold, hoping that service with a smile and a haste to leave no one thirsty will be rewarded. When the 9 to 5 clock out on Friday, we clock in. Your weekend is our Monday. It’s our hustle. We are here to serve but are not your servants. We are not beneath you. Some of us are here for life. Some of us are just passing through on the way to degrees. Whatever brought us here or keeps us here is unique. But there’s a commonality in us, no matter what side of the bar we are on. If you are thirsty, we are hungry. We, the patrons that order and the staff that fulfills, need each other. And that is true beyond these walls.

It’s 7 pm and happy hour is over. The business crowd heads back to whatever awaits them at home. I’ll see them again tomorrow. A couple walks in but only a couple in the sense that they are two. I’ve been here long enough to know a first date when I see one. I don’t recognize them and can tell it’s their first time in so I give them the full monty. Make it easy and welcoming. They order politely and I oblige. They are shy and nervous, as strangers can be. I suggest the corner table in the back on the right. It’s a fine table to get to know someone. The back left one is for breakups. The stools down by the service end of the bar are for regulars. But if there’s no one in those stools and no beer on the bar, those seats are anyone’s. Anyone can be a regular. All are welcome between these walls.

The door swings open and I turn to greet the newest member of our congregation.