Stand Tall

July 20, 2010

Dearest Stephanie,

Now that’s a tall drink of water:

And so very pretty!

This is also a tall drink of water (less pretty though):

Here is pretty and tall:

Caro, 6'9"





Already over it

July 19, 2010

My dearest Stephanie,

You’ve perhaps noticed that though I’ve been bartending again for the past few months, I’ve yet to write about my experiences. It might be that I’m shell-shocked. It might be that during my first few weeks there, the regulars told me (many times more than once), “It’s like Cheers here. Someone should write a book about us!” Guffaw, guffaw.

So maybe I don’t want to satisfy them by committing them to paper even though I would have liked to reply, “Oh don’t worry. ‘Someone’ will. But you probably won’t like it.”

I’m sitting here at this pretty little café wanting to write about my experience.

I even woke up super early this morning with that precise intention. In two hours, I’ll be in the middle of stocking the bar—extra bottles of Absolut and Absolut Citron because I can easily go through two of those in the space of one “happy” (quotes to indicate irony) hour.

I am so not in the mood—not in the mood to go spend today in a bar (I hate working lunch-happy hour instead of happy hour-close by the way). Even though it looks like rain today.

So at least I won’t have to stand on tiptoe to look out the dining room window at the beautiful day I’m missing. I won’t have to think about how I could be sitting at some nice outdoor space somewhere writing, or I could be sitting by the pool working on my tan while reading something that nourishes my soul.

Actually, I think I understand what the problem is, the impediment to writing about these people and this job. It’s that the regulars’ behavior is so offensive that I can’t even find the humor in it, and when I can’t find the humor in something, that’s disturbing.

Sometimes when I drive to work, I listen to Limp Bizkit’s “Break Stuff” (“You know I pack a chain saw; I’ll skim your ass raw) and entertain violent fantasies like where I put a bunch of the regulars on a deserted island…and then blow up that island. Um, that’s pretty fucking sick.

I can occasionally find a grim kind of humor in my response to these people in an “I’m pleased with myself” kind of way.” E.g.: When I first started, the idiot regulars referred to me as being “on probation.” By the way, this just fills me with righteous indignation because everyone in the whole wide fucking world is on fucking probation with me, okay? These people are not so special and serving them not such a treat that anyone need feel as if any sort of acceptance from them is desirable. In fact, they are so grotesque that to be accepted by them would actually be the exact opposite of desirable, which is to say undesirable.

Where was I again? Oh, right. So last week, this freak says to me, “So Stella, is the ‘probationary period’ over with?” (chuckle chuckle).

“Oh, haha. Good one,” I replied with an aggressively fake smile plastered on my lips. Then I turned my back to him to adjust the bottles pointlessly. When I turned back a moment later, he said, “I just meant are we still on probation with you.”

“Mmm,” I grunted.

This is the same man who challenged me to some idiotic bar trick that he knew was impossible and told me to “bet your honor.”

“Um, I never bet my honor, but I’ll try your little game,” I said condescendingly.

After I tried and failed and he explained the futility of accomplishing the thing he’d asked me to do, I asked him, “So you told me to bet my honor knowing that I would fail to accomplish this thing?”

He thought this was hilarious. I thought he was a sociopath. Then he tried to convince me to enter into betting situations with other customers whereby we would both profit, and I walked away (as far as I could in such a tiny space). At which time he threatened to “break your knee caps” if I revealed the “secret” behind the game.

I’m embarrassed for these people, embarrassed that they are clichés of what their town is know for, and they either don’t know or don’t care. I’m embarrassed that I continue to work there even though I communicate in overt, explicit ways that their sexist, racist, homophobic, anti-Semitic discourse is unacceptable to me and must immediately cease because as soon as I leave, they go on about their business. So I’ve accomplished exactly nothing other than that I and my convictions and my faith in myself as a good person are all getting exponentially stronger.

Well, actually that’s kind of significant.

But, shit. I gotta get outta there.



‘Nuff Said

July 18, 2010

My dearest Stephanie,

Mmm hmmm…