“Addiction is a disease of the skin, the bar industry is a disease of the heart.” -the Author
There are certain people who shouldn’t work in the hospitality industry. This includes people who can’t multitask, those who are painfully shy, and individuals who are thin-skinned and impatient. But more than anything else you shouldn’t work at bars if you have an addictive personality. The combination of stress, quick tips, and temptation can quickly lead to widespread alcoholism, drug use, and gambling. Or at least to an obsession with coffee, Red Bull, and casual sex. Rather than spending four years bartending while you go to university you may get addicted to vices and partying, drop out, and lose a decade of your life.
***
It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday at the last bar I ever worked at. I was likely exhausted, hungover, and beyond tired of the industry. The place was fine and the managers were great, but I made few tips and the waitresses were very lazy. On the plus side, the kitchen staff were gold and served great food. One of their highlights were brunches and I’d polished off classic breakfasts before the lunch rush to help sober up.
Usually, I worked with a waitress who served the lounge while I made the drinks and looked after the bartop. I’m not sure who worked that day but it was likely the 29 year old, high pitched single mom who hated men and by association ME! It became slightly busy but not so much I couldn’t chat with customers. In fact, this place had among the best clientele I’ve served: Middle to middle upper class, professional, polite, and mostly non-confrontational. Don’t get me wrong, we had our share of loud drunks and a guy who believed in so many conspiracy theories he emblazoned them on a shirt, but that’s for another story.
A man sat at my bar, probably in his early 30s. He was red haired, dressed like a D.J, and had many tattoos and piercings. His demeanour was calm, friendly, and polite, and we quickly developed a rapport. I’ll call him Harry.
Harry was fun, easygoing, but had no lack of strong opinions. He was an addictions counsellor and clearly believed in his job and helping people. “How cute,” I mused to myself at the time. Given my industry promotes alcoholism, gluttony, gambling, and lust, I’ve often debated what good my career contributed to society. I’d always justified my employment based on making people happy, providing excellent customer service, and amassing tips. But deep down I knew these priorities were usually in reverse.
***
Unsurprisingly, Harry came down on the more liberal and progressive side of things, regarding life, society, government, etc. Generally, I lean the same but with notable exceptions, based on harsh realities I’ve learned from history and experience. None of that matters though, I tend not to judge people based on their politics and beliefs, but let their words and actions to speak for themselves.
I only mention such things because Harry and I were similar in many ways, regarding age, politics, and surrounded by people who struggled with substance abuse.
I don’t remember everything we talked about but we covered a lot of ground since he was there for much of the afternoon. Harry told me about his work, especially the countless people who fall through the cracks. I could relate given so many of my friends either did drugs (or sold them) and thanks to the properties my mom rented out.
In fact, two of her places were in questionable areas of the city and a disproportionate number of her tenants either did drugs or sold them as well. One of them was booted for failing to pay rent and overdosed on fentanyl a few months later. Another one was a miserable drunk, who got kicked out for stalking the tenant downstairs, and he threw a stinking piece of raw meat behind the oven before leaving. Then there was the trashy couple who always got stoned, never cleaned, and left the place full of dirty diapers when they moved out. And these were some of the more mild cases my mom dealt with!
Coming back to politics, Harry said that government and society didn’t care about addicts and mental health, and told me exactly how we could solve such things. I can’t remember many of the details but they made sense in an ideal society. For my part, I pointed out many of his solutions were at the mercy of political will, taxes, and modern apathy. But he smiled and laughed, as it was a friendly discussion, and I told him I hoped things got better.
***
Perhaps wanting to change the subject Harry turned to science fiction. This was definitely welcome as I’m obsessed with Star Trek, Babylon 5, and Battlestar Galactica (the re-imagined series). We completely nerded out, talking about the best characters, episodes, moments, and how science fiction can provide a forum for modern politics and controversial topics. Unlike our previously serious conversation we were now laughing and commiserating.
But suddenly Harry’s demeanour shifted… if only subtly. He leaned in and whispered if I liked weed. I was taken aback… the man was a fucking addictions counsellor after all. “Sure…” I said tentatively, “why do you ask?” He took a tiny bag of weed from his jacket and put it on the bartop. “Would you like some?,” he said quietly. In an attempt to end the awkward exchange I snatched the bag off the bar immediately and hid it from everyone else’s view.
I said thanks then tried steering the conversation back to Sci-Fi. But this worked only for a moment as he leaned in again and offered me some more… “merchandize.” I can’t remember what the product was because I shut down anymore discussion of sampling his goods, in the most polite way of course. “No, man, no thank you… booze and weed are enough for me.”
“Of course, I understand,” he replied without trying to push a sale. Instead, he gave me his work card and said to contact him if I changed my time. I smiled, took it, and told him I’d think about it. Of course I threw it out after he was gone, which was soon. Being a solid customer (besides trying to sell me drugs of course) I thanked him for coming in and shook his hand before he left.
I quickly remembered the small bag he gave me was in my pocket, so I went outside in the back and hid it in what I thought was a secure location. After all, I had accepted it and it would’ve been rude to throw it away. But when I returned for it later it was gone. Someone had seen me leave it, or the guy had anticipated me leaving it just outside of the bar.
Either way, my heart went on as I had decent weed at home and the man could’ve laced his sample with something unpleasant. So I shrugged, walked away, and contemplated the day’s events.
***
Believe it or not that was the only time during my career someone tried selling me drugs at work. Though to be fair I was drunk at least 20% of the time, so it’s possible I just forgot about other moments. But it’s ironic the pitch was made by an addictions counsellor. The guy never came back btw, most likely realizing I wasn’t a viable customer.
In some ways that hurt. “You mean you talked to me about science fiction for nothing,” I remember thinking,“you only wanted to sell me drugs?” Because it was rare to find someone with such apparent passion for something I loved, and he’d only entertained it for self-serving means.
I’ve always said that in the bar industry “it’s all acting and it’s all bullshit.” What I failed to realize was often it’s customers who put on the best acts.