Kyle’s lacrosse team holds an annual fundraiser to help pay for the team banquet, equipment costs, and other incidentals. This year’s event was held Saturday night at Harrington’s Irish Pub. As a member of the coaching staff, I not only had to attend, but also appear as a “celebrity bartender.”
The only time my name should ever be mentioned in the same sentence as the word “celebrity” is on my arrest report for stalking Karen Gillan, but I digress.
My three-hour celebrity bartender experience was a lot like the movie Cocktail, and I was Tom Cruise – save for the stunning good looks, charming personality, and impeccable hygiene.
Hollywood has always romanticized tending bar, and since I have never tried it, I bought into the stereotype. A packed bar with fabulous babes hitting on you all night isn’t really work; it’s a vacation, right?
Eh, not so much…
Tending bar is hard work. A lot of hard work, especially when the bar is crowded, like it was – thankfully – Saturday night. There were three coaches and two of the bar’s usual tenders present, and the only break I had was to run to the bathroom. (I wasn’t drinking on duty, except for Diet Cokes.) The rest of the night was spent scanning the patrons for raised hands or flailing dollar bills, running from freezer to freezer, chit-chatting with the lacrosse parents, and trying not to screw up the register or shortchange the customers.
An hour into the shift I was still suffering a panic attack from the large crowd and my normal antisocial behavior, my palm was torn up from opening dozens of beer bottles, and I am fairly certain I shortchanged people. (Math is not my strong suit.)
Actually serving beer is not too difficult, and I was able to make a few mixed drinks. My screwdrivers and rum and Cokes were simple – and loaded with liquor – but when the cute blonde asked for a Malibu Bay Breeze – is there hot sauce in that? – I politely deferred to the professionals.
Interestingly enough, a woman did hit on me. She asked my name, shook my hand, and ordered a drink with a smile. Unfortunately she was easily 55 years old, drunk off her ass, and asked me for a glass – a glass – of Absolut. No mixer, just the vodka. I mean, I still banged her on the bar, but it was not my finest score.
Despite that, the fundraiser was a resounding success. Our tips were plentiful – thanks to my tied t-shirt/thong combination – all the gift baskets sold, and the lacrosse program earned a few thousand dollars. It was a fun evening… which I will need a year from which to recover.