The last month or so have been filled with fear, loathing and an endless current of booze. Sounds awesome, I know.
After I lost my office job of four years, I sat back and thought on what I really want to do. What do I love? What can I do every day without hating it? Anyone who knows me will say it’s writing. They’re not wrong, they just don’t know me that well. I didn’t even know it, how could they? I would love to write full-time but I would also hate to have to write full-time. I write because I love it but I have found myself incapable of writing every day. Yes, it is for lack of trying. I can’t get on my computer for more than five minutes without opening the Internet and Tumblr’ing or watching something(s) on YouTube, Netflix or Amazon. (That is, when I’m not looking for work. It’s really forty-sixty at this point.)
Staring out of my window at the Sears Tower and chain-smoking one September afternoon, I thought of everything I ever did and loved doing and how many of those things had the potential to get me bitches to ride with, bling to blind them and cash-money to bind them. (Most of my contemplation is set to a crunk ass beat blaring from the back of my skull.) Bitches won’t ride with you just because you kick ass with web layout. You can’t write jokes and afford Soulja Boy-worthy bling. No one ever got any cash-money for making art out of a Hello-Kitty coloring book and 15 Crayola coloring pencils.
As I ashed out my millionth cigarette, I figured it was time to introduce alcohol to the brainstorm. Since living in the West Town neighborhood, I’ve made Cleo’s on Chicago Avenue my think-and-drink spot. It’s rarely empty and in these last several weeks, my interest in strangers has grown to be an insatiable need. I want to know more about how people are spending their time on this planet. It sounds voyeuristic (it is – minus the sexual connotation) but sometimes it seems as if though we are all killing time in front of one screen or another and I want to know what gets said and done in the interim.
I’m weird, fuck it.
It was while I waited for my fish-and-chips and stared at the long necks of quarter-full vodka bottles that I realized what I wanted to do. It was in front of me the entire time, throughout my entire life, and I’d ignored it somehow.
I can bartend. Simple. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
I grew up in bars. My dad was (and still is) an alcoholic. There was never a weekend without me fetching a beer or seven for him. During the week, I’d spend at least four days a week sitting at a stool in a bar with my dad or waiting in the car with my younger brother waiting for him to come out and take us home. He taught me two things: one, fiscally irresponsible alcohol abuse can tear a family apart and two, this does not stop most people (if any).
Another thing he taught me was loyalty to your bar but that’s a subject for another project of mine that I’ve been working on kind of but not really.
Oddly enough, writing that is shedding some light on why I chose it.
*side-stepping obvious daddy issues*
Anywho, I signed up for Professional Bartenders School in Chicago. I loved it. I’m proud to say I graduated this past Monday but I still don’t know enough about booze. I’ll be taking a break from the Internet parts I waste time on (like Tumblr, Amazon and Netfix) and only utilize the web to learn more about beers and booze. Also, job hunting. I’ve been filling out applications, sending out resumes and pulling on the doors of closed-for-the-day businesses because if being the daughter of an alcoholic has taught me anything, it’s that bars get busy after four and I want the person in charge focusing on me.
Problem is, a lot of bars are closing their patios for the winter. That means tables are being lost and business is expected to lessen, what with most customers spending money on Christmas gifts and whatever. However, some places are hiring seasonal and my school’s job placement program has a great reputation so hopefully I’ll be working within the next few weeks.
(twenty minutes after a bathroom break)
Sorry, my friend has a Tumblr that is hilarious. Go check for yourself, it’s so damn funny: Back Row Heckling.
Anyway, I’m losing my writing fervor and kind of just want to read my friend’s story for a little while before I log back on to search Chicago micro-breweries.
Until next time, when I tell you more about things you will realize you didn’t care to know about me. Cheers.