A New Year: A Better Me.

As the last day or so of this year approaches, I sit and ponder over the past year's events. Man, another year has passed! What is so crazy about it is that I remember the last New Years like it was yesterday. I can remember exactly what I wore, what I ate, and what I wished I could have drank (pregnancy hindered me from that) that evening. This past year has been full of many ups and downs for my family, my friends, and my social media friends. We all have overcome many obstacles and still have yet to recover from them. Babies were born, relationships were put through the ringer, and there were deaths. Oh so many deaths. I was having coffee with a girlfriend of mine and a huge topic of conversation was all of the deaths and births of the year. It truly reminded us how we were just a blip in the circle of life.
Just a blip.

We are blips in this world, located in the solar system, which is in fact, a blip in the universe. What is even more amazing than that is most humans have a strong desire to be more than a tiny blip. We want to be a greater blip, making a bigger impression on this world, that can ultimately change the universe...make it greater. When the New Year rolls around, most people make resolutions. The most common of which is: joining a gym. I have personally been that person. Did that resolution fall through? Of course, just like many others I have set myself throughout the years. This year I chose to do something a little more meaningful. I want to better myself. If I am truly going to be just a blip in the universe, then I might as well be the best blip that I can be. I want to become the person that I was destined to be. I want to be a better mother, a better partner, a better sister, a better friend. That is a start. How can I be a better mother, partner, sister, and friend? That is simple. I have to be a better me! I must love myself, trust others, have more faith in people. I need to write more, draw more, sing, dance, and play. I want my soul to be happy. Therefore I can help others be happy.

Side note: If joining a gym is what can make you happy, then go for it! Don't do it based off of society's expectations. Do it because you know in your heart that it is what is absolutely necessary for self fulfillment.

With the fast paced society that consumes us, we often forget what truly matters in this life. We are all so caught up on bullshit that poisons our existence. It is always money, power, and greed. I often catch myself falling into that trap, but I sure try to pull myself out of it. I plan on fighting the good fight over the next year in hopes that my heart and soul will be a little more fulfilled.

With that rant being said, I hope you all have a wonderful New Years. Expect more blog posts to come.

B.

A Shout Out!

Hey guys! If you didn't already know, I am not the only person who writes based off of their experiences in the service industry. Every person in the industry have stories to tell, but only a few are willing to create some sort of art based off their experiences.

Finch Nissen and Kody Hamlin have created a new television show titled "86'ed". It is a show based off of the quirks and drama of those involved in the service industry. It takes the crazies to deal with the crazies, after all. I wouldn't expect anything but brilliant coming from the two of them! Check out their Facebook page, follow it, and stay tuned! Fun and awesome things are coming in the near future.

https://m.facebook.com/profile.php?id=244029845804641

Working In Wet Pants.

Pregnancy adds a whole knew realm of problems and obstacles when tending bar. I was absolutely determined to get past all obstacles with flying colors. When most women find out they are with child, they immediately quit bar tending and work elsewhere or just stay at home. I was not granted that luxury. Honestly, I was just too stubborn to back down. Quitting was not an option for me because I am money hungry. Also, I like my independence. The worst thing in the world is to rely on someone else to take care of me. It is nice, however, to have that fallback in case things did get to a point where I couldn't work anymore. My boyfriend was very supportive of whatever decision I decided to make. I value myself as a tough chick and nothing will ever keep me from doing what I want to do. With that being said, I was (and did) work until the moment I went in labor.

Just like all pregnant women, I was a little hypersensitive. I was easily stirred up and was not afraid to put people in their place. Most of my regulars have a bit of an entitlement issue, so I was quick to nip that in the bud if I deemed it necessary. I was never afraid to kick anyone out, and I definitely wasn't afraid of conflict. After all, conflict gave me something to write about! For majority of my pregnancy I didn't feel pregnant. I worked hard, never complained, and hid the pregnancy until I was almost eight months pregnant. Fortunately, I am a late bloomer. No one could tell I was pregnant until I hit the third trimester. That is when things started to get interesting.

Like I have mentioned before, pregnancy adds a bunch of problems and obstacles behind the bar. Judgement was a big issue for me. I do live in the middle of the bible belt. A lot of the older customers were not afraid to place judgement on me. I have been called "trashy", "slutty", and have been told that I don't care about my baby, blah, blah, blah. I have also had customers walk out saying that they refuse to be served by a pregnant bartender. At first, it did bother me. I was hurt and would storm home after my shift saying that I couldn't do it anymore. After shaking the bad vibes off, I was still determined to work at my favorite watering hole. Over time I began to ignore the judgmental folks and started to have smart-ass comebacks to get them off of my back. I felt that, if anything, people should respect me for growing a small human in my belly while busting ass behind the bar. I was working on my feet for ten hours straight with no breaks.

Over time I began to get a little more lethargic than usual. The typical weight gain and being "top heavy" started to slow me down a little bit. That wasn't going to stop me, though. Instead, I began to pick up shifts at another bar to help save money for when I go on maternity leave. I would get off of work at 4 am, and was up at 6:30 to take the kiddo to school and take care of business at the home front. I worked on empty fairly often and pushed myself very hard. It was definitely worth it!

Once I hit about nine months pregnant, I developed a master plan with my boyfriend, boss, and co workers. We had a plan for everything: from if I went in labor during a shift to who would cover my shifts for the weeks following that. I am quite fortunate to have amazing coworkers who have been very supportive every step of the way. My regular guests were very supportive as well. They really do treat me like family. The regulars predicted the baby's weight, when and how I would go in to labor, and how long the baby would be. Those old farts were pretty accurate for the most part!

One Saturday night I showed up to work on a mission. I knew that pretty soon I wouldn't be working much longer and that I needed to make as much money as possible. I was bound and determined to be busy and have to work hard. Unfortunately, it wasn't a very busy night. It always seems that the regulars I haven't seen in a while show up on the less busy nights. It is quite convenient because they give me someone to talk to and we can play catch up. One of  my favorites, Don, showed up. We discussed my pregnancy and caught up on each others live's while he sipped on his crown on the rocks. As I was talking to him, I began to feel a small trickle down my leg. I immediately went to the bathroom because I was worried that I was starting to become the pregnant chick who pees on herself. I then resumed my position behind the bar and continued to work. Then, I felt a pretty big gush. Shit. I knew then that my water was breaking. I then quickly ran to the back and called Ben, my boyfriend, to tell him the news. I continued to work while convincing myself that I still had time. Not a single bar patron knew what was going on.

A few minutes later, Ben walks in and sits at my bar. I continue to work, so he just assumes that I had a false alarm. I continued to serve drinks throughout last call, cleaned up behind the bar, and filled out my closing paperwork. My boss shows up to check on me because I sent him a text message informing him that I may need him to close down the bar. Suddenly my pants were soaking wet. I showed Ben my pants and we then raced to the hospital. Just a few hours later, the beautiful Kaydence Avett was born! 

Needless to say, working in wet pants makes for a pretty epic story. My regulars called it! They knew my water would break while I was behind the bar. You've got to love the old and wise.

The Fat Bartender Slipped Something In The Crackhead's Drink!

I have noticed that Wednesday nights are always the most eventful. Forget the weekends! Wednesday nights are when all of the crazies come out and play. I am pretty sure that every Wednesday for the past several months I have kicked someone out of my bar or something really random has occurred. It's hilarious!

Like most Wednesday's, I walk in to work curious of what strange event will occur that night. I am a little apprehensive and slightly paranoid. Typically, I run through random scenarios in my head. What will I do if someone walks in with a gun asking for money? What do I do if a person leans over the bar and attempts to hit me? Well, I most definitely feel sorry for them. This Wednesday I wasn't expecting to have four cop cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance outside of my bar.

Around eleven that night, a very peculiar woman walked through the threshold and checked her sanity at the door. She had jet black hair, olive skin, and scars all over her face. Let's call her "Bonnie". Like most people, Bonnie seemed to be escaping something. She just seemed like she had a long day like the rest of my bar patrons and needed a drink. Ms. Bonnie ended up ordering a seven and seven while staying alone and quiet at the end of my bar. I stayed clear of her end because it was obvious that she just wanted to be left alone. Of course that all changed when our lovely bar regular, Michael, decided to invite her into his group for conversation. Instinctively, I watched that group closely.

Michael is a middle aged father of two. He seems to be a wealthier individual, and very polite. However, I do believe he fights his demons every single day. There is still a twenty year old frat boy stuck in his small aging body. Because of those demons, he is in the middle of a very nasty divorce and sticks around the bar for extensive amounts of time. Joining his table, there is Guy and Sam.

Guy is the self proclaimed poet, a retired English teacher, and is as confused about life as a fourteen year old going through puberty. I have seen his work, and quite frankly, I am glad I never had him for English. Like Michael, he battles his demons. His wife and him still live in the same house together, in separate wings, of course. Hell, I doubt they have been in the same bed for at least fifteen years. He avoids home by pulling binges at his favorite neighborhood bar while arguing with me over what should be played on the juke box.

Sam is an interesting character. I honestly don't know too much about him. He is quite comical, drinks Miller Lite, and has poor taste in music. I enjoy his company, though. Sam always makes me laugh because he makes fun of his friends just as much as I do, if not more. He always approaches the bar with a new pickup line. My job is to rate the line. For example, "Do you have a keg in your pants? Because I want to tap that ass!" Hilarious.

As the guys continue to talk to Bonnie, I notice her get a little abrasive with them. I do know for a fact that they can be a little too pushy and personal, and she was probably a little uncomfortable. I let it slide. I then notice Bonnie get up to go to the bathroom. In the mean time, the guys approach me and continue to tell me how crazy this woman is. No shit! That's why I have been watching all of you guys like a hawk.

 Bonnie then exits the bathroom as a whole different person. She staggers from the bathroom with her hair in her face and her big black scrunchy around her left wrist. Bonnie looked like the weird chick from "The Ring". She sits next to Guy and starts to hit him. Guy then politely asked her to stop hitting him, but she is persistent. Bonnie then decides to hit him even harder and Guy raised his voice. "I am not a gentleman! I will hit your ass back." I then step in.

Like all bartenders, I give Bonnie the "look". I am pretty sure that everyone has received the "look" at least once from a bartender. It is the "I mean business", "Don't mess with me", "I will snatch your ass so quick" look. With the "look", I tell her she needs to go. Of course she wanted to give me a hard time. I wouldn't expect it any other way. After all, what is the fun in that? Bonnie tries to insult me by saying "You are fat and ugly!". Ouch, that hurt. I really do wish people had more clever insults. I walk her to the end of the bar and see her out. Naturally, I do it with such class! I cuss her out every step of the way (I blame my dad for my potty mouth).

Once she is out the door, I continue my business. I pour a beer here, and I make a shot there. In rolls in two kids from the gym down the parking lot. They tell me there is a woman screaming for 911 while in the fetal position in the middle of my parking lot! As a bartender, you are stuck with two options: 1) Ignore it. She's out the bar and is no longer your problem. OR 2) Call 911. She may be overdosing. Thanks to my wonderful morals, I call 911. The police, ambulance, and fire trucks all arrive and she could hardly get a full sentence out. Initially, they wanted to pin me for over serving her. I informed the officials that she had one drink while sitting in my bar. I then described the bathroom transformation which clearly indicates drug use. According to Bonnie,
"the fat bitch behind the bar" gave her a roofie. Case solved! The fat bartender slipped something in the crackheads drink! That would be a very interesting headliner. Hell, I will title this blog post just that.

Once the cops leave with Bonnie in tow, I then check the bathroom. Sure enough, there were blood drippings by the sink. Ms. Bonnie shot something up. I win!

Dan The Music Man

While thinking of the subject of this entry, I couldn't help but realize that there are a lot of awesome regulars at my bar. I keep wanting to say "one of my favorites" when referring to them. Its pretty nice, really. I am incredibly spoiled. Not only do I make a lot of money, but I also have funny and amazing stories to tell. Thank you, regular bar patrons, for giving me a roof over my head and a hobby to work on while sipping my morning roast.

Dan the Music Man is another of my favorite bar patrons. He has this aura about him that makes anyone feel at ease. Dan's perspective on most things in life is so open and real. I am sure what he was able to accomplish in his prime had a lot of affect on his personal theory on life.This guy is definitely someone that I would want to smoke a joint with. Currently, Dan is an electrician by day and a Miller Lite drinker by night. I believe he lives in a cabin off of one of the lovely lakes that surround this fabulous city of ours. That's where he probably smokes a lot of pot and plays the guitar underneath the stars.

Dan has such an incredible story. I had no idea of his past until other bar patrons told me the wonderful history of him.When Dan was eighteen, he was the best local guitar tech. He worked shows at the Municipal Auditorium, The Strand Theatre, and the Hursh Colosseum. If a band came to Shreveport, Dan was the go to guy. One day while sitting with his parents for dinner, Dan received the phone call that changed his life forever. It was someone in Los Angeles asking him to hop on a flight that departed in two hours and come to California to tour with one of the biggest rock and roll bands in the world. They wouldn't tell him who over the phone. Without hesitation, Dan packed up his bags and was on the next flight to Los Angeles, California. Once arriving there, he discovered that he was going to be a roadie for LED ZEPPELIN. I bet he didn't regret hopping on that plane!

Dan the Music Man was on tour for twenty years. He had the privilege to be the guitar tech for Zeppelin and several other big name bands. Dan was surrounded by fame, music, girls, and lots and lots of drugs. For a young buck from Shreveport, Louisiana, that is quite the accomplishment. Hell, it makes for an awesome story. After having an amazing life on the road, he then decided to come back home. Dan trained to be an electrician, got married, and started to finally live a low key life. When I was told that story, my jaw hit the floor. The really timid, sweet Dan was a roadie?! Hell yea.

My mission was to get Dan the Music Man to open his mouth and tell me his story. After accomplishing that, I made myself a new buddy. He is a great person to discuss life theories, music, and fashion. Now, I can't get the dude to shut up! Its awesome. Currently, he is a single man desperate for love. Unfortunately he has been down on his luck when it comes to love. Women keep breaking his heart. Dan is definitely the type of man I would date if I were twenty years older. He is very attractive, well spoken, polite, and was a roadie! Also, he is STD free, which seems to be rare from people in his generation. I try to keep him in good spirits, and it seems to be working. That man deserves the best of everything. He has such a wonderful, pure soul. I'd date him if I was in the age bracket!

The Seventy Year Itch

As you all can guess, I get all kinds of people from different walks of life. Each of them have amazing stories and histories, while others can be a little unusual. I work at a small sports bar in Shreveport-Bossier, Louisiana that is surrounded by neighborhoods and an Air Force Base filled with interesting characters. Most of those characters are a bit odd. Not all of their neurons are linked properly.

Wednesday nights tend to be quite interesting. Typically when I enter the bar, the bar is full of my older customers. The funny thing about it is that the elderly bar patrons are the wildest. One of my favorites is Mr. George. Mr. George is a eighty something year old WWII veteran who wears an old Nazi cap. The story behind that hat is he took it off of a dead Nazi soldier after killing the German soldier in the war. That cap is his trophy, and his wife made replicas for him. Also, Mr. George carries his sword cane in his left hand and holds his Jameson on the rocks in his right. That man can drink! I have never seen someone kill a fifth of Jameson in a four hour period and can still walk straight. Well, relatively straight. Mr. George is one of the most respected individuals in the bar for several reasons. He is quite the gentleman and asks females permission before "courting" them. However, Mr. George does have a rather active personal life. He keeps his "sword" in full swing, if you know what I mean.

Mr. George has two women he keeps rather close. Elenoir, his main girlfriend, is the typical elderly lady. She shakes quite a bit and always talks about her son, Matt, while barely slipping on her glass of Merlot. She is an old school southern woman who turns the cheek to reality and walks a few paces behind her man. The other woman, Betty, is probably from another planet. She is a pianist with a few loose keys. Betty loves to drink watered down crown and cokes while chain smoking her cheap cigarettes. A class act, she definitely is not. An interesting individual, she most definitely is. I know that she has a wonderful soul and means well. However, she can definitely drive someone to drink...a lot. Elenoir has no idea who Betty is and vice versa, which leads to an interesting turn of events.

On one "Geriatric Wednesday", I walk into the bar in full on Tabitha Mode. Like always, I slam my backpack on the chair and greet everyone sitting at the thirty foot bar. Mr. George is sitting with his main lady, Elenoir, at the very end of the bar. Sitting next to Elenoir is Ms. Scarlet, the most regal woman I have ever met. She has a very strong southern accent and never goes a day without her bright red lipstick. In her prime, she was a famous singer and traveled the world surrounded by sequins and vodka. Scarlet is the woman who says "Bless her heart" after talking poorly of someone. After greeting the three of them, I turn to face the front door, and in walks Betty.

Betty storms through the bar like a terrible hurricane, misjudged from size but leaving a huge path of destruction behind her. Her hair is a mess and her jet black sunglasses are covering her heavily bagged eyes. I am pretty sure that at least ten bar patrons gasped at the same time. The next dramatic episode of "The Old and The Restless" was about to begin! Immediately, Betty approaches George and tries to mark her territory by kissing him on the cheek. He avoided the kiss of endearment and greeted her with a simple, "Hello". Betty began her inquisition. Before she could get out her first question, "Who is tha", Scarlet interjected. Scarlet told Betty that she could "sit her ass at the other end of the bar where she belonged". Betty did as she was told. Its pretty impossible to say no to Scarlet. She can be quite domineering at times.

Soon after, Betty pulls out a rather large mirror and begins to apply false eyelashes while sitting at my bar. As she was doing that, she continued to yell towards George's end of the bar. The poor young Air Force Airmen that were sitting next to her had to close their tabs because they were disgusted by her inappropriate behavior. She asked me if she ran off my customers and of course I replied with a "Of course you did. That is what vanities and bathroom mirrors are for. My bar is not a vanity". After a brief apology, I was told something that could never be unheard. Betty decides to tell me that she needs to give Scarlet her business card because Mr. George's "other woman" needs to know something very important. In her words, "I have genital herpes and has had it for at least forty years. George refused to use condoms, so he most likely has it too. She needs to know because that can be deadly for a woman her age. She's practically on her death bed already". My ears then bled. All I could say was, "Well, that is very vital information". I then quickly walked to the kitchen and hid for five minutes. I was speechless.

What is one to do when something so extreme and personal has been told to them? I am sure most of my readers would say to talk it out with that person. No, not me. I ignored that woman for the rest of the night. I smiled at her, but I pretended like I was too busy with work to chat anymore. Finally Betty left with a much younger, more desperate, man too seek revenge on George. As she was walking towards the door, she punched Mr. George in the arm. His reaction was simply taking a sip of Jameson and continuing conversation with Scarlet and Elenoir.

I claim Mr. George to be the "Player of the Year". He has a few women not only fighting over him, but they fight for him. All he does is sit there and drink his Jameson. I hope to one day be the female version of him. Well, minus the possibility of having herpes.

And So It Begins.

When I pull into the parking lot of my beloved bar, I always feel a little anxiety. My heart starts to race, I become short of breath, and sometimes break a sweat. It is not because I am uncomfortable, but because I haven't a clue of whats to come in the next ten hours. The windows to the car are usually down while I am blaring my favorite The Black Keys song, "Psychotic Girl". I shake off the anxiety by singing and taking long deep breaths. Finally, I get out of the car and head to the front door while shaking my head and getting into the "mode". 

I have noticed that those who tend bar usually have multiple personalities or personas. I know for a fact that I do. There's the everyday Brittany who typically is calm, cool, and collected. She is the single mother of one and has her priorities in line. Boring, she is not. She can be witty, wild, and weird when she deems it appropriate. The other side of Brittany, the bartender, is a bit unusual. She is witty, sarcastic, abrasive, dark, and mysterious. I usually refer to that side of me as "Tabitha". Tabitha is the name one of my favorite bar regulars, Bob, gave to me to refer to that dark side. Tabitha is the mode I have to be in while walking through the heavily tinted front door.

As I cross the threshold, I feel the neurons in my brain rewire and my walking pace gets a bit faster. I slam my backpack on the chair behind the bar, and greet every person waiting on my arrival. Its funny to watch people's facial expressions because I typically say something inappropriate to every single one of them. For example, "Hey Tommy, its good to see you. Have you gotten your dick wet yet?". It throws them off because they see me as a southern belle. My hair is usually done, makeup on, and I look like an innocent young lady. Little do they know that Tabitha is indeed the most disgusting, perverted, chick on this side of the Mississippi.

 I consider myself as a "veteran" bartender in this area because I have been tending bar for about seven years. I started my bartending career at the age of seventeen at one of the biggest night clubs in Shreveport. The owner was a bit shady and allowed young girls to work for him. Anyways, I tended bar at night clubs for a good bit. I barely had any customer interaction except for "What can I get ya?" and "Get the fuck out of my club". All I did, really, was sling drinks for twelve hours and was drunk the entire time. Oh! I made a lot of money. I definitely can't forget the money part. I was then programmed to be a fast-paced bartender who slung drinks faster than you could order them.

Going from night clubs to a smaller sports bar is quite a transition. I chose to downsize because the club scene was getting old and I was ready to have a change of pace.The bar I work at is a little unusual for me. I had a difficult time for the first six months of working there because I have never been a very personal person. I prefer to keep my distance, and just keep glasses on the bar full. Little did I know that these people would grow on me. Most of the bar regulars hated me in the beginning. I was quiet, short, and avoided conversation at all costs. I always believed that the bar was between the bartender and customer for a reason. The two could never intermingle and it keeps a safe distance from one another. The bar should never be breached. I wanted the customers to not know a single thing about me. Almost two years later, I have befriended a few of them and continue to develop a relationship with several regular guests. And so the drama begins.