I’ll bet you a drink that you’ve never met anyone who’s ever said, “When I grow up, I want to be a bartender.” Am I right? I’ll have a glass of Pinot, please.
But why wouldn’t you want to be a bartender? They have all the power in the world. They make a lot more money than most people and they’re often the center of attention. They get to converse with new and exciting (and often entertaining) characters while each shift throws them an entirely different highball, er...curve ball. They pretty much get to call all the shots at work—literally and figuratively.
Of course, there are down sides to this seemingly glamorous profession. Servers get antsy when their beverages aren’t immediately poured. Frozen drinks are hell to make during a dinner rush. Some customers think they’re the only ones there; others take offense if they get cut off. To-go orders can be the bane of a bartender’s existence. They must juggle at least 400 different items in their heads at any given time—so what if a glass breaks in the ice bin or a keg suddenly kicks?—all while keeping upbeat attitudes and Colgate smiles pasted across their faces.
Phyllis makes it all look easy.
A petite, spitfire lady with wild blonde hair, icy blue eyes, and an infectious laugh-slash-cackle, Phyllis definitely intimidated me the first time we met four years ago. I was a single gal in a new town, taking on a second job as a waitress to help make ends meet; she was the wisdom-filled woman with an attitude whose way I did not want to get in front of.
“Where do I get creamers?” I asked a waitress one night at the end of my shift. “From the bar,” was the automatic reply.
Crap, I thought. She was that intimidating.
But at any job, people soon warm up to you after you learn the ropes and once they realize you’re not crazy (or gunning for their position). And sure enough Phyllis and I became friendly. I learned that she had come from Florida, that she lived in a tiny beach cottage with her husband and dog, and that she never had (nor wanted) children. I learned that she hadn’t graduated high school but that she was determined to get a college degree to prove to herself that she was perfectly capable of it, and that she loved sushi, celebrity gossip and impulse shopping—even if she hated what she bought two weeks later. (Eventually, that worked out in my favor.)
The thing that amazed me most about Phyllis though wasn’t the fact that she carried dental floss, a lighter, mascara, and breath mints in her bra; nor was it the fact that she would randomly study homemade flash cards for an upcoming exam between doling out Bloody Mary cocktails and Bud Light pitchers to a rowdy late-night crowd. It was the fact that she always seemed genuinely happy with what she was doing despite the chaos that visibly enveloped her. She was grounded, albeit by the sticky floor—and that’s what I wanted. I started paying closer attention to her.
One weekend, she invited me to the beach. Her cottage was just as quirky as she was, with its charming Buddha figurines set on shelves, beautiful glass creations hanging from fishing line on the ceiling, and dozens of slightly crooked framed photographs (that she mostly took herself). Bru, her huge, loveable beast of a dog, took up half the living room. Everything was perfectly... Phyllis. I loved it. She grabbed two water bottles from the refrigerator, threw them in her oversized bag, and we headed out to the shed to get the beach bikes.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had ridden a bike and I think she sensed that in my eyes (or in my wobbly attempt to hold mine up with a beach chair propped atop the handlebars), but she had faith in me that I could ride down the street on my own. I took a deep breath and simply started pedaling. She was right; it was easy to get the hang of once I just focused on looking straight ahead and stopped worrying about everything else.
That day at the beach was the first of many. It was there that we discussed our pasts, our presents, and what we hoped would happen in our futures. She shared her advice on men—I had recently started dating a new guy with lots of potential for the long haul—on fashion, and on life in general. It was during these brief but much needed rejuvenation sessions that I realized her secret to being happy: Tend to what matters most and truly indulge in those moments. It was simple as that. Our bike rides back to reality were calming; speed bumps along the way became increasingly easy to get over.
When my starry-eyed, passion-filled relationship with Mr. Right came to a screeching halt, I became terribly confused and consumed with sadness. I told Phyllis what happened—she has always been great at listening, really listening— and she invited me to the beach again. I figured that was exactly what I needed to regain my exhausted energy. Even though she had a lot going on in her own life—her mother-in-law was not doing well and things were quickly going downhill—she was 100 percent there for me. And her advice was the best I had received from anyone: Wait.
At work she didn’t ask me how I was doing. She knew I needed time to myself and that if I wanted to talk, I knew where to find her. During this time I never made any rash decisions and I didn’t drink away my sorrows. Because of my choice to wait and collect my thoughts, my relationship with Mr. Right was able to start anew. Today we are stronger than ever.
In fact, today I am stronger than ever. Why? Because I followed Phyllis’s formula for a good life—one part hope, one part heart, and one part the heck with it; shake vigorously and enjoy to the fullest. As a part-time waitress and a full-time human being who still has so much to learn, I can honestly say that’s the best tip I have ever received.
Kaleena Cote is a book editor and part-time waitress who lives on the Connecticut shoreline. Instead of taking long walks on the beach, she’d rather sit in her lounge chair and people-watch.