We'd just worked an 8 hour night, us three. We'd served a stupid amount of people. I'd had a particularly horrible time. I'm not a very good bartender. I'm really really not. I spilt two Tequila + Cola's over the till (twice) till it was sticky and not quite working right. I spilt half a bottle of Midori over the bar, and watched dumbfounded as two drunk boys 'table sucked' it straight from the bar. I dropped beer in the ice sink. I didn't realise that the tip on the Tequila was free pour, until it wouldn't stop and a boy told me I was 'the best bartender ever!' I gave people the wrong type of beer. I gave people coke when they asked for diet, and diet when they asked for coke. Fail. And lets not even get into the dyslexic part where four dollars from every alcoholic non-shot drink had to go on the tab, which meant calculating how much went where in your head before you rang it up on the till. Epic fail. I'm pretty sure my till didn't add up to any kind of understandable state.
Still, while I was no good to the bar, I had a good time. I made friends with the crowd, and people brought me shots. They gave me tips. They said that I was better than 'that other guy'. I laughed at them, silly drunk people.
I also managed calls to Dubai when it was quiet (despite Frenchies head shakes and 'you should be working' looks), and dealt with drama the best I could. I helped clean the bar, when it was all said and done. Well, kind of. I collected balloons, and wiped tables down, and swept. And then I sat on my behind, much to Frenchies disgust. But I was exhausted, and over it, and very much not used to 8 hour jobs on my feet. Whats more, I was was covered in beer (having not perfected how to open a corona without it spraying all over me) and midori (from too many quickfucks) and butterscotch (because I dropped the bottle when I was pouring out Cocksucking Cowboys, and caught it upside down, butterscotch pouring down my arms). The insides of my elbows were sticky, and my dress dirty and I didn't even want to look at the state of my shoes.
So it was very much a delight to have everything finished. Everything clean and shiny, with all the punters gone. It was very nice to sit down with the other two at the end of the night and just sit. Until the boys discovered a few left over helium balloons.
I laughed myself stupid listening to the boys inhale the helium and say phrase like 'donut puncher' and laugh themselves into a giggle fit. We spent a good fourty minutes sitting, and laughing. Capturing more and more missed balloons from the ceilings. Inhaling more and more helium. Laughing ourselves stupid.
When you're sitting with two people who can't stop belly laughing, suddenly the 8 hour night doesn't seem to bad. Being covered in alcohol and goodness knows what else doesn't really matter. The sore legs and aching muscles and the desperate need for bed just kind of fades.
It was a brilliant, brilliant end to the night. Working with two really brilliant guys, who reassured that while I was quite a bad bartender, I wasn't THAT bad. Sometimes all it takes to turn a night around is a few good people, and some helium balloons.
Best giggle fit at the 1.42 mark. *grin*. Oh the things that are funny at 4 in the morning ...