Stay Angry, Make Money, Fuck It.

We have regulars we see walk in, and smile… and they have a drink waiting on them when they get to the bar. We have “incidentals” walk in, and our assholes pucker. We have owners who take advantage over us as employees… we have owners who we consider, and sometimes are our parents.

We don’t hate what we do, we love it. Like every job, there are things we don’t like about it… things we love about it… and things (and people) we outright hate.

We work doubles, clopens, volumes and everything in between. If you’ve never done it before, you don’t get it. If you haven’t done it long enough… you think you get it, and maybe you get some of it, but probably not all of it.

We aren’t here for you acceptance. We are here for those bad nights, so we can sit back and say, “At least it’s not just me.” The stories here come from New York, California, Florida, Arkansas, and every other state between… as well as some other countries.

We are far from uneducated. We’re thinkers, doers and creators. We are sons, daughters, sister, brothers, parents and most importantly people.

We are not scum. You can attempt to talk to us however you’d like, and at the end of the day, it’s not treating someone you feel “beneath” you like they are… it’s trying to find someone beneath you, because you are stepped on all day long.

Stay Angry. It’s not about being an asshole or having an attitude. Don’t mistake someone’s personality for an attitude. “It’s your job to be nice to me.” No, it’s everyone’s job to be nice to people. Whether it a bartender, doctor, teacher or cab driver… everyone is supposed to be nice to people. It’s our job to serve you your drinks and food. It’s not your right to treat us like shit, so we stay angry. Even if we’re smiling, we stay just a little angry. We don’t let our guard down… because you’ve got to be ready for something to go wrong… and it will. And that’s why we stay angry… and shake it off… and Make Money. I think that speaks for itself. We walk out of work. Maybe we go out for a drink (or four), maybe we go home to our families. We shrug it off, count our money and live to play another day. At the end of it all, we can come here and vent… and say Fuck It.

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