[Continued from "Alcohol (Part 7)."]

When I was 19 I began working at a bar/restaurant/pool hall, Q’s.  In California, the only thing an employee between the ages of 18 and 21 can’t do in a bar is tend bar.  I could pour beer and wine, and I could serve liquor.

However, I wasn’t hired to pour or serve.  I worked as a hostess.  I took people to their pool tables and racked their balls, and for a short time when I first started that meant I worked the very old school cash register.  A cash register that had individual buttons for each of the price points.  That meant for each ticket turned over by a waitress, I had to ring up each item of food, button by button, and every drink, button by button.  A drink, such as a vodka and cranberry, would be two buttons, one for the vodka, and one for the juice.  That meant I had to know the ingredients of named drinks – such as a salty dog (vodka and juice) – but also which brands of liquor were well, call, and premium.

Needless to say, I was very glad when we instituted a computer-based system.  Once that was in place, my job was decidedly less hectic, but then my boss found other ways to keep me busy.

One of the ways I kept busy was to drink.  After all, I worked at a bar.  There was plenty of booze to go around.  I never hid my age from anyone, and except for one bartender, I was always served.  I didn’t know alcohol all that well – I was 19 after all – so I would sidle up to the bar and ask for a shot of whatever the bartender felt like making.  I had a lot of sweet girly shots over the four years I worked at Q’s.

One bartender, Jimmy, refused to serve me.  It was silly, really, because when he wouldn’t serve me, I simply stepped a couple of steps to the left or right and got a drink from another bartender.  I’d ask Jimmy for a drink, he’d ask me how old I was, I’d tell him that truth, and he would turn me down.  It was a great day soon after I turned 21 when Jimmy asked me my age and I was able to demand he serve me.

Between 1992 and 1996 I learned to work in various states of drink.  There were a few occasions I was unable to finish my work for the night, but for the most part I was able to count down cash drawers, keep track of waitress’s tabs, and inspect the waitress’s stations, all whilst somewhat inebriated.

I didn’t drink nightly, but I could have.  I didn’t drink at all when I was in charge, which happened toward the end of my tenure – I was the manager on Monday nights.

I managed Monday nights, a notoriously slow night at any bar, mostly because no one else wanted to work that night.  To get customers in, we offered free pool to people who worked in the area and half price pitchers of beer to everyone.  The man who would become the Ex was one of the customers who came on Monday nights to play free pool (he worked at a local pet store) and drink cheap beer.

Working in a bar in Pasadena meant a few things.  It meant I always had to work on New Year’s Eve.  Q’s always had a big event that required all hands on deck.  The bar was on Colorado Boulevard, which is on the Rose Parade route.  People begin lining the street on December 31 for the January 1 parade.  It’s an all night street party several miles long where drinking, smoking, and general carousing is encouraged.  It wasn’t until just before I moved away from Pasadena that I went to the parade, but I had walked along Colorado Boulevard on several December 31sts.

Working at Q’s also meant participating in the Doo Dah Parade, a Rose Parade spoof.  Our boss thought it would be good publicity to march in the parade.  “March” isn’t really the right term.  Our boss carried a huge pool cue and we, his faithful employees, wore pool ball costumes.  We walked in the typical triangle racked ball formation until the boss his the cue ball with his huge pool cue.  The cue ball would “roll” into the racked balls and scatter us about the street.  If this seems absolutely ridiculous to you, you would be right.  It was so ridiculous that those of us who participated had to be inebriated.

As with most parades, the Doo Dah Parade took place in the morning.  Before the parade, we’d meet at Q’s, get sauced up – pink lemonade shots are a good breakfast drink – and don our silly ball costumes.  Then, with liquid courage in our bellies, we’d make fools of ourselves whilst people watched.

It was tough having to buy my own booze after I quit Q’s when I moved to northern California for college.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued.]

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