The Micros

The bar I work at requires two bartenders every night. Steve and I work the majority of the week together and years ago figured out to how maximize each others talents, creating a solid business partnership. He in infinitely better with people than I am. He is always in a great mood and genuinely enjoys charming anyone that sits at the bar. Steve is by far the best bartender I have ever worked with when it comes to schmoozing customers. My specialties: speed, dexterity, cocktail knowledge, and an almost anal passion for making drinks correctly. Steve takes care of the entire bar while I work on the service side pounding out cocktails for the eight waitresses and picking up the couple of stools next to my hell well. When one of us has a chance…we help each other…but for the most part we genuinely own our respective territories. At the end of the evening we split our tips evenly. If Steve gets a hundred-dollar tip for chatting up a high roller while I physically work my ass off in the well…I get half…and vice versa. Over time it all balances out and fabricates a fair and positive economic work environment based on trust and teamwork. With that being said…my main focus is the Micros that clicks out the beverage orders. I have worked with the same machine for the last five years and developed an incredible sense of hearing for the annoying noise it makes when it spits out a cocktail ticket. I can hear it beckoning for me over a loud band, back in the kitchen, in the bathroom…in my sleep at home. On a slow night, when the Micros grows quiet, I will caress it with gentle words and pet it…hopefully it will start talking. On a busy night, when it clicks away seamlessly for hours on end…I curse at it and abuse it…yes, I beat my Micros. So tonight…the fucking thing yapped away non-stop before abruptly breaking down at the worst possible moment. With the slammed cocktail waitresses staring anxiously at me and screaming out their drink orders that failed to print…I punched the Micros…and it came back to life. I told one of the girls I felt like going Office Space on the piece of shit. She gave me a puzzled look. I didn’t have time to explain. Die Mother Fucker…Die! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_hF_RhD-xE&feature=related