I didn't want to work. I really, really did NOT want to. It was going to be a huge gig - two rooms, nine djs, something ridiculous like 600 tickets sold. It was going to be mad. Huge. Outrageous. And I don't work mad, huge or outrageous gigs. I'm not coordinated enough to work behind the bar on such nights. I'm too slow, and don't have the skillset to handle that kind of gig, the press of people, working the till that they changed special for the night or the outrageous drinks (oh, I'm sorry, you wanted something other than a Corona? Sorry, we can't do that. We only sell Corona now because its easy and I can do that).
Knowing this, I didn't want to work because I'd be doing the jobs I didn't really want to do. And then a few days before they got desperate. People kept dropping out and then they got real desperate. Not for someone to work behind the bar, but for people to work the floor. So, with a great show of reluctance, I said that if they were desperate, and if they needed me, I would work. They did, so I said I would.
And then I proceeded to bitch about it not wanting to do it. Because I did. Not. Want. To. Work. And I made it clear that this was the case. Being a glassie bitch is hard work. Really, really hard work, with almost no end result, no visible satisfaction. I worked it once before, and it was an absolute rubbish night. Its a painful, painful cycle of fetching peoples dirty glasses and cleaning them. I tried to find people to replace me, but the bar didn't want strangers. In the end I convinced my friend Lyth (the amazing, wonderful, brilliant, best friend ever) to come work with me, so at least I wasn't working alone.
And I bitched right up until I walked into the bar. I took a red bull shot, and then I bit my tongue, and did what I was asked to. And at first it as just moving tables, and many people trying to do a million things. Two hours in and there was nothing for me to do, so I danced on the tables in the VIP section, and then again in a big empty room filled with balloons. Both which made me feel exponentially better.
And then the night got started, people (an outlandish mix of the respectable and the manx) started showing up. I broke my first glass and was able to laugh about it. I polished wine glasses. And then before I knew it the bar had filled up. And the DJs were pumping out fucking awesome sets. And then I had a group of friends arrive. And another crew. And then I decided that fuck it. I could work AND dance. So I did. I'd do a round, clear whatever I saw whenever I saw it. Check that bathrooms, put a tray in the sterilizer, and then I'd head to the nearest group of friends and DANCE! There was so much dancing. Working meant that I had a reason to excuse myself (do another quick round) and then go dance with another crew. And it was BRILLIANT.
The music got under my skin, and into my blood stream. It was pumping, and put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. The quicker I did a round, the quicker I could get back to dancing on the floor. I was downing energy drinks, and I rode a sugar high all night. I was dancing while I polished glasses, and collected empties. I danced through the crowd, arms filled with stuff. I danced with the bar tenders. I danced outside, where you could feel the beat through the concrete. I danced with strangers, and with friends and staff and it. Was. Brilliant.
I may have bitched right up until I walked in the door, but once I was there I was good. Amazing. Brilliant. I may have broke a few more glasses than anyone else. I may have sliced my fingers to ribbons, and have bruises in odd places and burns across my knuckles. I may have got smashed in the face by an idiot brandishing a cane. And been intimidated and threatened by drunkards in the garage. I may have worked a 15 hour day while hungover, but when I finally got home?
I was still dancing the shower.
I'm glad that the night turned out well, that despite my bitching, while not unfounded, the work did not eventuate in the way I expected. I met a fair few new people, and had a brilliant time with friends who had come down especially to see me. I was asked for my number, and then to dinner and was told that I was ravishing. I'm glad that I got to dance in rooms filled with balloons, and that the dj's sets were so brilliant that I had to stop whatever it was I was doing and go dance.
It was a good night, a REALLY good night. I'm so glad that it was. Sometimes I think I get in a mindset and let it get me down. I'm glad that I was proved wrong. I'm so, so glad it was brilliant.