Ah, yes, you see the glories.  But have you thought about the flip side?

Have you considered that you will be on your feet non-stop from 9 PM until 4 AM or so, carrying case after case after case of beer, changing kegs (I don’t know if you’ve ever lifted a keg, but after the third of the night blows out, past and future hernias will start talking to you like only best friends and lovers do), and leaning over inside of coolers until your lower back is bigger than your wallet?

Granted, your wallet is pretty big.

Then there’s the people, constantly screaming out your name, snapping, waving, shouting their drink orders out (incorrectly, last night), and making snide comments just inside your peripheral hearing that you must be ignoring them (which, for the record, is the quick way to guarantee you’ll get ignored).  Sure, there are also plenty of really good people — people that tip you thirty percent on their tabs, which never fall below $100; people that include you in every round of shots they buy; gorgeous women; well-connected guys who make sure you get taken care of outside the bar.

Have you ever had to clean up a bar after a night like Saint Patrick’s Day, New Year’s Eve, or last night?  I’m trying, but there’s really no positive side to throw in next to this one.

Breaking up fights, maybe?  Of course, that’s a positive for a lot of people, especially in my bar.

I’m not complaining, mind you.  Even after working 40-50 hours at my day job, and another 10-20 on freelance work, band gigs, and whatnot, I wouldn’t trade my 20-25 hours on the weekends at Bailey’s for anything.  The money, of course, is phenomenal, even on a bad day.  The women are beautiful, the guys are good-humored. The best thing of all is the family that I work with — these guys are truly the best staff I’ve ever worked with, and we all form this secondary rag-tag post-nuclear family unit.  We’re all allowed to be who we are, which means that Marielle can flirt, Jason can tell the customers that that’s the wrong fucking way to get a drink, and Garth can moon the crowd.

I didn’t say we were for everyone.  But I can guarantee that we’re not boring.

Tyler last night made a crack about hating this place and wishing we could go back to Ruby Tuesdays (where we both used to work, many moons ago).  And I laughed, but cringed on the inside — who could ever work for a corporate hash factory after being cut loose in a place like this?

You know what?  You probably do want my job, actually, though I’m betting that the back pain I’ve got right now and will carry into work with me tonight never occured to you.   But even if you take that, the occasional stress-filled night ,the drama, the garbage and broken bottles and angry customers and the random full-moon fighting into account, and still decide you want my job:

Well, you can pry it from my cold, dead fingers.