When I was 21 I knew how to do four things:
1. Drink beer
2. Throw and catch a little white ball
3. Be stupid
4. Drink beer
Since half of my skill set was drinking beer, when a lacrosse buddy offered me a bartending job at the restaurant he managed, I jumped on the offer as if he had just offered me a free . . . um, beer.
The interview with the owner was a little awkward. I had been drinking at the bar for the past two years, and my ID said I turned 21 three months ago. But despite the faulty math and the fact that my drunken teenage presence at the bar would have been enough to take down his restaurant faster than I could shotgun a beer, the owner must have been impressed by my dashing good looks and the faint smell of Red Hook on my breath.
He offered me the Monday night bartending gig.
Not much of a student, straddling the 2.0 GPA line like a gymnast who had smashed his nuts after his feet missed the balance beam, I decided that now was the time to start studying. For the first time in over three years of college I made flash cards and instantly mastered many complex concoctions.
Front side of the card: Drink – “Gin and Tonic”
Back side of the card: Ingredients – gin, tonic
Within a couple weeks I was a regular entertainer, flipping bottles like a circus juggler and bouncing whole pieces of fruit off my shoulders like a Brazilian soccer star. The seven regular Monday night denizens were impressed.
To pass the time, I polished wine glasses, sliced limes and drank heavily from the Newcastle keg out of a coffee mug. Colleagues and guests alike were amazed that every Monday between the hours of 5:00 and 10:00 I could drink 37 cups of “black coffee” and still function.
One night, out of sheer boredom, I decided to fill my coffee mug with jug burgundy wine instead of Newcastle. You know, to spice things up. At six o’clock, after about four mugs of coffee wine, and a grand total of one customer served, the career-waitress-defaulted-slowest-night-of-the-week-manager said to me:
“How’s your wine?”
“Wine? I’m drinking coffee.”
“No you’re not. Your teeth are grey.”
Damn. I didn’t know that happened. I was caught red-handed and grey-toothed. And, I was drinking cheap-ass burgundy that gave me a raging headache.
Despite my infinite stupidity, I mustered enough intelligence to return to drinking Newcastle the following Monday.
Moral of the story: When you’re not that bright, stick to what you’re good at.
About Jared Karol
