Barback

Ever since Blondie opened the wine bar, whenever people ask me what I do for a living I like to say “barback”. Not only does this answer get a much better response than “accountant” [in that people don’t turn around and start talking to other people], but it allows me to include shameless wine bar promotion from the very start of the conversation.

Of course...the suggestion of my employment at the shop elicits nervous laughter [and a barely discernible tic] from the proprietor.  I think her worst hospitality nightmare involves me saying ANYTHING other than “hello and welcome” [Such as this purely hypothetical customer/McC exchange….

“You say cabernet franc, I say cabernet frank....but hey...~tomato~, ~tamahto~, eh?.....Speaking of maters – you should try the tomato….I mean margarita….pizza….I mean flatbread.” 

Seriously, if Blondie had to choose between the sink backing up or me working the floor, I think she would choose the sink backing up.  [Perhaps because I mention things like the sink backing up for absolutely no good reason.]

How desperate would things have to get before I am pressed into service?  Well, quite frankly, I.  Don’t.  Know.   – as that level of desperation has yet to be seen.  Which is saying a lot – given a few of those early days.  Honestly, her contingency staffing plans go something like this:

• The neighbor who got fired from TGI Fridays
• Self-serve wine night
• me

I’ve actually gotten the call twice.  And both times, Blondie ultimately decided not only did she not need me to work the floor, but upon further consideration, she didn’t need me to handle the cash and the glasses were clean enough.  That’s right....Blondie said wineglasses were clean enough. 

 So I guess the truth is, I aspire to be a barback