Sanchez hated strangers coming into his bar.
This is the very first line of The Book With No Name.
I also hate strangers coming into the tent. And not only because Sanchez is my hero and I hope someday he'll show up in my life to teach me the deepest darkest secrets of bartending, but because strangers coming into a bar which has its own set of unwritten rules, very well known by the regulars, are a real pain in the ass.
There's several categories of "strangers" in the tent, equally despicable.
1. The disoriented pretty little girls. They usually come up in groups of 4-6. I see them walk in and I can bet at least three of them will be drinking beer with raspberry syrup. As they are probably used to places that have central heating and walls, they are inadequately dressed. Hence one beer is more than enough. They overdose on perfume, which mixes with the smell of burnt wood, beer and cigarettes, making my liver happy for the night. They want beer without alcohol, wine, I do expect them to ask for a Mojito sooner or later. As they never sit at the bar, I have no idea what they talk about. Not that I'd really want to know, as they pretty much manage to piss me off by simply opening their mouths to order beer.
2. The self-sufficient ones. They try to act cool. Unlike the pretty little girls, they'd like to pass as regulars. Except that they don't. The pattern: they show up, take a tour of the bar, find a seat, usually at the bar, wait until they establish eye contact, and the damage is done. What kind of draft beer do you have? What about bottled beers? (Darlings, why should I force myself to pay attention to what kinds of bottled beer we have left in the fridge that's in the opposite part of the bar, and which our regular customers just open and help themselves??) Do you have votca? (How about some champagne and caviar, on the house, 'cause you're so awesome?). Eventually they decide, but can't move their asses to the fridge, so go-fetch beer-take money-give the change-answer two more utterly idiotic questions. By the way, ashtrays are to be found on the bar, if you get your Tyskie beer in a glass with the Zubr logo it's because we're out of Tyskie glasses and it's either this or plastic cups so no need to be sarcastic about it, I can't - or rather don't want to - change the music or turn down the volume, and by no means do I want to make friends with you after you're half drunk and think you can just hit on the bartender.
3. The tormented souls. They come to the pub because life is hard. They have to end world hunger, bring peace to the Middle East, save the planet, and make it back home for supper. Being so overwhelmed, they skip the hello / thank you part, and sometimes don't even say what kind of beer they want. Good thing I'm such a cool bartender and guess.
Fortunately, these people are less than 10% of the customers in the tent.
The rest of 90-something% say hello when they show up, engage themselves in light conversations while waiting for their beer, smile, bring their glass back for a refill, bring the empty bottles back to the bar, hang around, smile some more, they're a source of positive energy, and some of them are by now more than mere acquaintances.
It's no surprise the atmosphere is so familiar and cozy when Jacek is behind the bar - he's been there for quite some time, he knows everybody, many of the people in the tent are his friends, so that's how it should be. But it was one of the nicest surprises in this city to see myself somewhat "adopted" in the tent, and feeling the same coziness no matter on what side of the bar I'm standing.
This is the very first line of The Book With No Name.
I also hate strangers coming into the tent. And not only because Sanchez is my hero and I hope someday he'll show up in my life to teach me the deepest darkest secrets of bartending, but because strangers coming into a bar which has its own set of unwritten rules, very well known by the regulars, are a real pain in the ass.
There's several categories of "strangers" in the tent, equally despicable.
1. The disoriented pretty little girls. They usually come up in groups of 4-6. I see them walk in and I can bet at least three of them will be drinking beer with raspberry syrup. As they are probably used to places that have central heating and walls, they are inadequately dressed. Hence one beer is more than enough. They overdose on perfume, which mixes with the smell of burnt wood, beer and cigarettes, making my liver happy for the night. They want beer without alcohol, wine, I do expect them to ask for a Mojito sooner or later. As they never sit at the bar, I have no idea what they talk about. Not that I'd really want to know, as they pretty much manage to piss me off by simply opening their mouths to order beer.
2. The self-sufficient ones. They try to act cool. Unlike the pretty little girls, they'd like to pass as regulars. Except that they don't. The pattern: they show up, take a tour of the bar, find a seat, usually at the bar, wait until they establish eye contact, and the damage is done. What kind of draft beer do you have? What about bottled beers? (Darlings, why should I force myself to pay attention to what kinds of bottled beer we have left in the fridge that's in the opposite part of the bar, and which our regular customers just open and help themselves??) Do you have votca? (How about some champagne and caviar, on the house, 'cause you're so awesome?). Eventually they decide, but can't move their asses to the fridge, so go-fetch beer-take money-give the change-answer two more utterly idiotic questions. By the way, ashtrays are to be found on the bar, if you get your Tyskie beer in a glass with the Zubr logo it's because we're out of Tyskie glasses and it's either this or plastic cups so no need to be sarcastic about it, I can't - or rather don't want to - change the music or turn down the volume, and by no means do I want to make friends with you after you're half drunk and think you can just hit on the bartender.
3. The tormented souls. They come to the pub because life is hard. They have to end world hunger, bring peace to the Middle East, save the planet, and make it back home for supper. Being so overwhelmed, they skip the hello / thank you part, and sometimes don't even say what kind of beer they want. Good thing I'm such a cool bartender and guess.
Fortunately, these people are less than 10% of the customers in the tent.
The rest of 90-something% say hello when they show up, engage themselves in light conversations while waiting for their beer, smile, bring their glass back for a refill, bring the empty bottles back to the bar, hang around, smile some more, they're a source of positive energy, and some of them are by now more than mere acquaintances.
It's no surprise the atmosphere is so familiar and cozy when Jacek is behind the bar - he's been there for quite some time, he knows everybody, many of the people in the tent are his friends, so that's how it should be. But it was one of the nicest surprises in this city to see myself somewhat "adopted" in the tent, and feeling the same coziness no matter on what side of the bar I'm standing.
1 comment:
lovely.
"the piano man" came to my mind. i like the song, don't like the clip. :))
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