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  • Paul Davidson

I Could Be Your Bartender

Don’t get me wrong — I couldn’t make a whiskey sour or a vodka tonic or a Jack and Coke to save my life. But listening, hoo boy — that’s my talent.

I could be the best non-drink making bartender in the World — with advice and helpful URLs to sling you upon hearing about your troubles with your girlfriend or that stalker you just can’t get rid of. I would be there, as long as the bar was open of course, to hear about how you feel guilty or sad or depressed or happy or “a bit off” due to some recent happenings. I could listen, I could process and I could advise.

Husband cheating on you? Take a card.

Got someone pregnant? Take a card.

Argument with your mother? Take a card.

Take a card take a card take a card take a card.

You see, as the coolest non-drink making, advice dispensing bartender around (as long as we’re open, of course, don’t come looking for me outside of our hours and be sure to remember we close at 2am because this is Los Angeles) I would spend time laminating a variety of little cards that I would hold in a sort-of Bat Utility belt. Each one would have helpful numbers or websites that upon finishing our conversation together you could visit or call for more information.

The first time you saw me pull back my black trench coat (again, I’m not making drinks so it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing) you’d gasp in amazement for why does this bartender have a belt filled with all these cards that come shooting out like one of those automatic change dispensing belts? Why would a drink-smith be wearing such a thing?

Again, I tell you — I do not make drinks.

Some people would have trouble getting over that fact. You know the types. They would saunter in, sidle up on a bar stool and say, “Gimmie a beer and let me tell you about my troubles, barkeep!”

That’s right, I don’t even open the beer bottles. (Insurance reasons.)

I would say to you, very seriously, but with a hint of sarcasm while throwing in a little bit of that Last Starfighter Robert Preston wit and I would say, “Don’t serve drinks. Don’t open beers. But I do help. Help is what I do. You talk to me, I listen to you, and I help you. Assistance is my drink of choice. Helping. Yes siree. Help is what I do.”

Longwinded, yes. Wordy, sure. Helpful? You better believe it.

I could be your friend, your buddy, your advice giver, your encourager, your one-night advochial-stand, your back scratcher (figuratively)…but not your bartender in the traditional sense of the word. Oh, I’ll be your bartender, but not in serving drinks.

Remember that — no drinkie my winkie.

But if you needed help and a laminated card from my advochial-utility belt (yes, people, I know advochial is not a word) then I would be there for you with open arms (figuratively, again) to help you through the tough times. There with a smile, and a wink — but not a drink.

Leave that to the unprofessionals.

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