Why I'm Proud to Be A 33 Year Old Bartender

One of my favorite things about bartending is telling people where I went to school. The reaction to my educational pedigree is always interesting. It ranges from, at the very least, intrigued to, at the very worst, reassuring. (Chin up! You’ll get a real job someday!)

It’s an interaction I’d not necessarily anticipated when I started serving but also not one I expected to have quite so often. Usually it begins with a seemingly innocent, “So what else do you do?” or “Are you an actress?” The implication is less innocent; even without knowledge of my education, most people want to know: Is that all there is?

Have you ever asked an accountant or a lawyer or your plumber what else they did? I didn’t think so.

            Once I explain that I’m not an actress or a singer, but a writer, people want to know where I went to school. After I drop the Notre Dame/Columbia bomb, curiosity turns to outright disbelief. How could someone so “smart” be doing something so…unambitious? (The quotations denote the fact that I’ve never equated my degrees or anyone else’s with intelligence. They are a reflection of privilege and access to education and while I’m extremely proud of mine, that’s because of how I spent my time there, not because they mean I’m “smart.”) Because the truth is, most people, whether they admit it or are cognizant of it or not, think that non-management hospitality work – serving, bartending, etc. – is underachieving, unambitious, second-tier work. There’s rarely an acknowledgement that people choose to live this life and enjoy the benefits it accords.

How insulting, implying that someone lacks control over one of the most important choices in their life, assuming they need a “what else?”

            The truth about bartending is that of all the industries I’ve worked in (education, non-profit, banking, retail, private consulting), this is the job I’m proudest of. I almost always feel appropriately compensated. Don’t misunderstand – most people don’t tip properly at all and certainly I don’t always get the tip I deserve. But overall, the harder I work, the better my money.

I’ve earned every dollar I’ve made.

In fielding unwanted advances, in checking every recipe of every sauce to make sure I don’t accidentally kill you with our food because of your obscure and/or possibly fictional allergy, in handling the crumpled and likely infected tissue you’ve left on the bar top, in carrying 15 cases of wine in one night without help, in fielding the blame you’re placing on me for the timeliness of a salad I’m not actually making, in ignoring the fact that when I said "Hello" and asked how you were, you answered with "Stella."

My relationship with my employer is simple and honest in terms of expectations and the fact that we are all there to execute an exchange of goods. There is no insincere “buy-in” or selling me on a “career” that ultimately grows the wealth of a handful of shareholders or executives. Everyone knows why I’m there and what my added value is – and I get to leave my job at work. It does not ask me to invest more than the present moment; I do not take my work home with me the way a teacher is asked to do. I did not go into debt to study my craft and then find myself unable to earn enough to repay that debt. It wants me for a few hours a night, pleasant and ready to work, and then it lets me leave with more than enough money to live comfortably.

            I have flexible hours and friends that work for a month straight so they can travel for the next three. If I need to make $1500 in a week, I can do that. (It’s not fun, but I can do it.) If I want to take Wednesday off to have dinner with friends, someone else can always cover for me. (Pretty sure doctors can’t doctor for each other when they want a random day off.) I work with my friends, I don’t spend money on clothes for work (my men’s tie and wool vest could be better, but it’s better than a closet of business casual), and it’s never boring.

            Hospitality in New York City is especially magical. Everyone I work with is from somewhere else and has different interests and pursuits both in and outside of the industry. I imagine working in a corporate law firm would afford me the opportunity to meet lots of different kinds of…well, lawyers.

It is also a secret passageway, an underground railroad of sorts, that lets you bypass the trust fund babies and investment bankers and general douchebaggery that pay their way into the best restaurants, bars and clubs in NYC. It is a free upgrade, an all-access pass, a secret show.

People often ask me how I afford New York City and the truth is that I can’t. People in my industry take care of each other – we pay for less, we get in more, and we repay these favors in kind whenever we can. We get better service from bartenders who don’t know us because we know how to order and they can tell we understand what they’ve been dealing with all night. It’s a secret language signifying the unique bond we all share.

            Are there downsides? Sure. But none that have ever made me second-guess my decision. If I hated it, I’d leave. Life’s too short to do anything you hate.

            Yet, if I’m being honest, bartending is an unambitious choice for me - not because the industry lacks ambition, but because I lack ambition for the industry. It’s not the choice to bartend or the lifestyle that’s preventing me from pursuing my true passions. In fact, if anything, bartending is just about the only job that gives you the time and financial freedom to pursue whatever you want. Rather, it’s my own choices, my lack of direction, my grad school debt, my love of being social and exploring the city that’s holding me back. So the idea that people would blame what they see as my lack of professional achievement on the industry I currently work in instead of on the individual working is misdirected…and frankly, to my industry people, insulting.

            I’ve never had anyone actually articulate why they find my choice to work in a restaurant problematic. They just sort of seem briefly bewildered before stopping themselves from explicitly insulting me. But the truth is that I don’t think most of them could articulate it even if they wanted to. I don’t think they’ve ever really thought about it. I think most people – and I interact with a lot of them, more in a day than a normal person probably does in a week – have done what they were told, bought what they were sold, and are simply living with the purchase. Trouble is, life doesn’t let you make returns. So I’m being a little more careful with what I end up buying.

            And having fun while I decide.