the bartending nanny

i am currently dealing with my lack of capitalization. blame e.e. cummings or derek webb, if you want, but whatever the reason, i’ve been writing nearly caps-free for quite sometime. i thought using caps in this new blog endeavor might color me more professional, but i don’t really care about that. if it’s a problem, shoot me an email or comment/suggestion of some sort. (can you enable comments on tumblr?) at any rate, i’ll be cap-free to begin this venture; like a team without names on the back of their jerseys…or something. if the capitalization of letters or the lack thereof turn into “the situation”, i’ll let you know and most likely mention said “situation” 12-15 times an episode.

also, i will be using profanity here. that’s a dealbreaker for me and the main reason i stopped posting “notes” on my facebook page. i find nothing wrong with these words and only find error in my motives and intent when using them. i believe i can use the word “jerk” with evil intent and the word “shit” with honesty. in that instance, i’d rather say the latter and know my heart is pure. i’ll digress, but i wanted to warn/excite readers by disclosing that philosophy. be aware.

with lettering and language covered, i press on: welcome to the bartending nanny weblog. i thought it would be best to give a bit of background as to what has prompted this site and the professions that render it poignant. how did a baptist-raised southerner start slinging booze? who in their right mind would let me watch their children? keep reading even though it’s less interesting than you’d think.

let’s tackle these one at a time, shall we? my first bartending gig happened at an applebee’s in jacksonville, florida. i had been waiting tables for about a month when we lost a bartender. a manager asked me if i was interested in the position, and i accepted. (see? i warned you this was a bit boring.) at this point in my life, i was a fairly roll with the punches kind of guy, so i probably would have accepted a hostess position that required me to dress in drag and show off my midriff if the pay was even slightly better. anyway, i’ve been making margaritas, frustrating martini drinkers, failing at guinness clover attempts and discovering the world behind the bar ever since.

my second bar job was at a miller’s ale house in lakeland, florida. again, even with experience this time, i started there as a waiter, but i became a corporate trainer within four months or so. this training position sent me to both atlanta and the aforementioned lakeland to open new stores and train new peons, i mean, employees. after the lakeland store opened, i was standing next to the store’s bar manager (who happened to have done his management training at my home store in orlando) when i joked that the new store was so busy that i should transfer. he seemed to be excited about the opportunity to have an ale house veteran at his store. i had been kidding, but upon quick calculation brokered a deal with him. i’d transfer (meaning a move to lakeland) if he would train me on the bar and make me his weekday lunch shift bartender. he agreed, and i was officially trained, transferred and tending again within a week.

i worked at two other bars in lakeland, bartending at a pretty rough billiard hall and hosting karaoke two nights a week at a dive bar that i enjoyed going to until i started working for the owners. i’ve seen stabbings, broken up race-related fisticuffs and even been called an “asshole” due to a friend’s frustration over his karaoke song not being played soon enough in the rotation for him. no, the friend isn’t wes from “the ruins”.

here is your first parent-like warning: don’t drink too much. i have, but the more i bartend the more careful i grow in regards to imbibing. that’s all i’ll say about that at this time.

at this point, i am ever so slowly becoming the brian flanagan of brooklyn, new york. i work at keg and lantern for young owners and an entirely female staff other than me. i enjoy work, and better than ever, i am caring for and reaching out to my coworkers and guests. i’m deeper than i appear, i know. please, don’t tell anyone. i have a reputation to uphold here.

i remember loving children at an early age. the first times i felt what i feel about young lives was when i used to watch my little brother sleep in his crib. we’re two and a half years apart, so i couldn’t have been much older than 4 or 5. i used to hold his hand as he slept and be flabbergasted at how tiny his fingers were compared to mine. (there i go getting deep again.)

i’ve babysat and played with kids my whole life (both of my parents are child educators/ministers, so i saw quite a bit of it growing up.), and a rundown of those experiences would take too long and hurt my brain. instead, let’s skip ahead to the present. i nanny for a 23-month old boy who happens to be my nephew. i call him the saint, even though he’s never starred opposite elisabeth shue in a major motion picture. we have a blast. he’ll be 2 at this month’s end, and he makes me smile and laugh every day.

these ones and zeroes will show you how i bartend in a borough that takes me an hour to get to and an hour to get home from and often get home at 6 am or later AND balance that with stumbling from my bedroom into my living room in my jammie pants at 8 am to start my day with the saint. in this situation, with the sincerest of apologies to doug coughlin, beer is not for breakfast.

thanks for reading. now go have a red eye on me. i’ll paypal you the moolah.