I strive to excel at everything I do… HAHA JUST KIDDING.


I spent about five years of my life perfecting the art of Being The Worst Bartender Ever.

That’s not one of those self-deprecating jokes that people make to get an easy laugh. It’s a fact. Though, luckily, it’s also kind of funny. I was literally the absolute worst at the longest job I’ve ever held down. I even did it while about six months pregnant with my daughter (Ever get served a beer by a hugely pregnant girl with blue hair? No? Congratulations on having a somewhat normal life!). I was eventually moved to working the door when I could no longer reach the bar rail. There, I’d get hit on by teenage boys who wouldn’t notice my belly until I stood up and then they would RUN AWAY AS FAST AS THEY COULD. Hilarious. But I digress…

I was The Worst Bartender. I capitalize those words because it’s a title I should officially hold and get an award for or something. I’m clumsy (I sprained my hand trying to open a bottle of champagne on NYE), the smell of liquor makes me want to vomit, germaphobia should be my middle name, and I am a huuuuuge bitch. And again, that’s not a self-deprecating joke. It’s a fact. My best friends’ parting gift to me at the end of high school was a keychain that said, “I may be cruel and nasty but at least I’m good at it”. Love you too, pals. I am an impatient twat who holds no tolerance for stupidity or ignorance and will crack out my mom-voice on the first drunk to grate my nerves. At one point I was a little strapped for cash so I brought up possibly being trained as a server to my then-boss. His response? “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Which when translated means: “You are way too mean to be able to interact with customers on a regular basis when they don’t have an escape route.”

I think the drinkers in my city breathed a sigh of relief when my husband convinced me to leave the glamorous world of slinging drinks and going deaf to be a stay at home mother (which is basically the same job – just 24/7 instead of 5hr shifts). Friends keep asking me when I want to go back to work and if I’ll be returning to the bar. To them I say “HA HA HA”. There’s probably a poster of me in every bar around the city with a giant “NOT WANTED” stamp across my face.

So, no, I will not be returning to my abominable bartending career. Why do you people think I want to be a writer? It’s not the great pay or reliable hours. It’s all about my lack of ability to interact with anyone outside of my carefully (and judgementally) selected friend group. Also, it’s less likely that I’ll end up screaming “I DON’T FUCKING HAVE THAT AT THIS BAR. GO TO THE OTHER SIDE OR I’M GOING TO THROW YOU DOWN THE STAIRS!” at anyone looking to buy one of my books. Well, actually…

*Photo by Michelle Cortese.

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