If Practice Makes Perfection! I'm All In.

I must step up; it’s my last chance…Issue #95

ifOnlyi…had known that I was not able to handle my drinking of alcohol at a young age, as I was heading on a fast track to becoming a full-blown alcoholic. I used it to gain confidence, and when I was told I could drink at work behind the bar, it only fueled my illness.

Karen allowed me to use her VW Bug when she went on trips, so I used the car to drive to my job bartending at Rogues at night. I will never forget the feeling of driving over the Sydney Bridge for the first time; it was breathtaking.

I arrived at the club after my disastrous first night. I took my spot and jumped in, doing everything I had done two nights prior: prepping the front bar, polishing, filling the ice bucket, and getting ready to open.

Now that I'd read and studied enough of my cocktail book, I turned each bottle on the racks in front of me to pour as a left-hander. I left the ones on the glass shelves behind me as they were.

There were two sections in total for three bartenders. In essence, I hogged the left side for myself. The look on the other two barman's faces was utterly baffled. “What are you doing, Ollie?” one barman yips out. “Getting ready, boys, I am left-handed and have to set these up to make drinks without watching you both as if I’m a lost soul. You both can have the other half to share.”

They were shocked. Who is this new asshole? It wasn’t looking good for me, and remember, I am “NOT” a professional bartender; at this point, I am more of a skilled liar. I watched the two of them perform and understood the techniques I had to implement into my presentation and how I needed and wanted to perform in front of the customers.

I was going to do it come hell or high water. Fired or not, I was in it to win it, this night. It was my one chance to show and tell.

I did notice that there were no tips. Lee was 100% right; “don’t expect any Ollie,” were his words to me during the interview. The barman would take the cash and put the customers' change on the bar top, but I had another idea. That was to take a small saucer and add a doily on top for the change. So when a customer had $ 7.95 change coming to them, I would put their coins on top of the doily and the bills on top.

Presentation was important to me!

There were different-sized glasses to contend with; they sat in the plastic dishwasher tray as they came out. One tray was empty, and the other was full of clean glasses. My right hand was to grab the glasses, load them with ice, and with my left hand, grab the bottle and pour freestyle. Things started to flow slowly but ramped up beautifully. I watched my counterparts like a hawk, learning every step and trick of the trade.

I noticed some customers left me their change on the doily, and I made a few cents. I felt I was onto something as I practiced making drinks repeatedly. I also practiced throwing up slices of lemons or limes and catching them in the glass. I needed a bit of showmanship as I had to look like I knew what to do.

All I was doing was copying what the bartenders in America did all the time. Thank goodness I spent a lot of time in clubs and pubs. I worked constantly, cleaning up the bar top. Every glass was put in the dishwasher this time, and it was not the mess I had left on Friday night before.

The cocktail waitresses spoke slightly slower so that I could understand them clearly. It’s new for me; I have new words to remember, talk fast, and abbreviate their names for the drinks. I had to be on every toe, not just on my feet tonight. This was the time to shine.

I offered to help my fellow barmen at any moment when they were under pressure with their customers' needs. That went over well. They started to help and offer me advice on different techniques. I loved the learning. I wanted to be on my game, look the best, and, more importantly, be the best. That takes work.

One lady customer came to me and asked if I would make her a margarita, and I thought I would have some added fun. I asked her if she would like that topless. It stunned her as the Aussies had never heard of that terminology before. ( This means topless is without salt on the rim of the glass.)

There were many laughs, and it soon became a thing where customers would come to me asking for a topless margarita. My tips were starting to rise, using my doily concept was going well, and I became somewhat of a novelty working there. I was very tan from the California summer sun, and it was winter here.

My area was building up with people wanting to be served by meeeeeee. The laughs, the questions answered as to why I moved to Aussie land, and my life in California, were some of the regular questions I had nightly. There came a time when Lee, the owner, asked me if I would work alone behind one of the two bars in the Disco room. He felt that I was capable of going it alone. WOW, what an honor!

Yes, I was all in. I was allowed to smoke AND drink behind the bar. YES, I agree, but it was accepted practice. I also danced behind the bar, a magical experience. I was making an extraordinary living, and my tips came in between $50- $100 a night, giving me a better life, added to my wages.

I lived off the salad sandwiches the staff had at the end of the night for food. I ate five or six every night I worked.

Customers lined up at the disco for me to serve them, and the other barman noticed that their cash tills were dropping while mine were increasing because of how I started entertaining them.

If events were happening, I created drinks for that night. So let’s say they had a big Horse race day, and everyone would bet or go to the races, and I came up with a drink just for that event. People liked something no one else offered and would ask for drinks to be created for their birthday or anniversary before their special night. I provided that, therefore, my tips went up and up. I had to excel.

Work would stop at 3 am, and then I would clean up, balance the till, etc. I always wanted to go out afterward, and the only place open was Kings Cross. This section is world-famous in Sydney, Australia. If you know my meaning, it has always been known as a place of illicit activity, like the well-known Red Light district in Amsterdam.

One time, I saw a large brown paper food bag underneath a car, and this bag made me curious, so I grabbed it to see what was inside. Well, the bag was full to the top with heroin and fresh needles. Oh, Shit, I am going to get shot, so my inner mind said put it back right now and leave. That is what I did. Kings Cross was famous for heroin users, and you would find needles in the bathrooms all the time. You had to watch where you stepped.

I did not go to those places. I would go to after-hours nightclubs or get a hot meal. Most of the time, I went with someone I had met while working at Rogue’s club.

When I didn't go to Kings Cross, I almost always took a cab to the beach. I would go swimming at night and sleep on the beach. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bond with Mother Nature and be grateful for the life I was experiencing while working and living in Australia.

I would have a cab pick me up at 7 am to go back home and sleep well until it was time to prep for work. By now, I had collected over 10 leather bow ties, which became my trademark. I even had some with holes in the leather, custom holes. Imagine me working wearing only a leather bow tie, now that would have caused a stir, but it was only in my imagination.

It was fun. I loved my work and quickly became a pro. I looked forward to showing off my skills, which added to the look I created for myself.

For me to wake up on time, there was a phone service that you dialled and asked for a call at a time of your choosing. A live person would slowly wake you with her words, but I had two calls booked, so I would not fall asleep again. It only costs 50 cents per call. Not bad. It was like a hotel wake-up call.

I felt special, and I would act in the same way. I always had a cab show up at a given time, so everything was first-class in preparation for work, giving me time to be my very best.

I could tell that I was treading on thin ice at Karen’s. Her roommate, Rory, was never happy with me coming home at all hours and waking him up. I knew he wanted me gone so he could have his peaceful life back.

Rory and I both loved the famous Australian band The Little River Band. He offered to take me to see them, and I was overly excited, as they were one of my favorites. It happens that Rory was a full-time concert promoter in Sydney and went to every event he promoted, including LRB.

This was not a good night for me. Cars and trucks were everywhere, and people were standing. It was all outdoors on an empty field without seats.

I perched myself on the back of a pickup truck right in front of the stage. While the band played, I got carried away with overdrinking and passed out cold. It was tough for Rory to wake me up and get me back to Karen's. That was the last straw for him and the end of my time staying at Karen’s.

I had to go, and I had no place to go.

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...ifOnlyi…short stories follow my true-life journey. If you've just found me, you can check out my publication and choose a story of interest or start from # 1.

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