The Weeds.

The Weeds.

It’s a server expression. A service expression. Meaning that someone is in a really tough spot and they can’t get out of it without help for the immediate future. When someone’s in the weeds, someone always jumps in to help. I’d never really truly been in the weeds before, not like this. 

Down a bartender. Flying solo. Had to come in early. The day bartender needed to be out by 5, and I was the 6. The 5 had called in sick. Well, dad-sick. I know he’s headed to the cottage Friday and Saturday. Got an early start. No grudges there. I’d do it too. 

Half-price cocktail night. 

Hot day. Like 30 degrees hot. With extra humidity. And the AC is broken. 

Because the AC is broken and it’s humid, all the taps are pouring foam. All 13 of them. 

And the chit machine won’t shut up. And you get a chit with four different cocktails, and the next four all want the beer that’s pouring especially shit. Literally coughing into your glasses. And you power through the cocktails, prep the pitchers for the beer (when the taps are pouring foam, you have to fill up pitchers, let them settle, and pour from them, and the beer is shit.) And all the while the chit machine keeps printing and printing and printing. Because there are six servers on. 

And it’s half-price cocktail night. And it’s hot out. So the bar is packed, the patio is packed, the dining room is packed. From 6-9. A hot Thursday night in the village. Who wouldn’t want to have drinks at the pub? It’s half-price cocktail night.

And you’re the only bartender. The other bartender’s off to a cottage. Sick. Every single thing those hundreds of people drank tonight came through you. And you only have two hands. And the chit machine won’t shut up.

And then a keg blows. You charge through to the keg fridge. No sense telling anyone, it’s more efficient this way. Another keg blows. 

And then there’s a beer rep from sidelaunch. And he needs pitchers of sidelaunch for the whole rush. Pitchers and pitchers of beer that won’t pour. 

And the chit machine won’t shut up. Because it’s a hot Thursday. And it's half-price cocktail night. 

And you still have a bar to serve — 15 theoretical tables. Normally plays out to six or seven parties during a rush. Gotta somehow try to prioritize them. Because that’s how you make your money. And sometimes you have to cash them out quickly because they’re headed to the patio, and you don’t want to lose out on the $2 tip you’re getting from the two pints you poured for them eventually, out of foam, after you made seven different cocktails. Because every $2 adds up. And at the end of it all there are 260 reasons it’s okay when you walk out the door. 

Weeds or not.