Tsiuri Dermott//D11//done

If I had a therapist, they would tell me that I need to quit my job. But who even has a therapist?

The interview

The first time I ever stepped foot into that alcohol infested hell hole, I was so full of hope and life. Two very odd things to have in district 11. A 16 year old who thought with a job behind the bar she would be able to contribute to her poverty stricken family and make everyone’s life a little better. I knew the place, most people knew the place. It was where you went when you had no where else to go. That described my situation in more ways than I can even fathom now.

I showed up to the interview with a smile plastered on my inverted triangular face with the grin reaching from one small ear to the other. My tight curls bouncing with every optimistic step as my skinny fingers intertwined with each other as the only sign of nerves. Instantly it was clear that I did not belong there, at least not in that moment of time. The naivety of my unfitting outlook on life stuck out like a sore thumb amongst all the patrons choosing to drink away their pain and emptiness.

The owner seemed like a nice man, it was hard to tell him apart from all the other regulars. He looked as if he was wasting away in life. Later I learned he was 30 and inherited the establishment from his deceased father only 3 years ago. 3 years later he was only a shell of what he was before. I wish that at the time I would have realized that this was just a premonition of what would happen to me.

I had absolutely no experience or any sort of qualifications to work there. I did not even really enjoy drinking. I hated the taste and the burn of alcohol as well as the lack of control it issued. The owner was not impressed at all with what I had to offer. The way he looked at me, the only way to describe it was like a baby puppy that was about to get slaughtered for no other reason than amusement. That did not stop him in the slightest sense from hiring me. To this day, I am not entirely sure why he did. Sometimes I think about what if he did not. What if he spared me the soul stealing experience of working in a place of dread and despair. What if he just said no, would I be able to recognize the alternate version of myself? Who would I be today?

As I got up from my seat at the bar, he gave me a piece of advice. “I let my girls wear what they want, but you should know, the less you wear, the more money these drunk bastards will tip you. It’s your choice though, do what you want with that information”. That sticks with me to this day. I did not want to believe it at the time, the people will love me and tip me because I’m a friendly person who is going to offer them a bright experience at a dark dive bar. Surly he could not be right…Right?

My first day

Just smile and interact with everyone there and you will be great. Just smile and interact with everyone there and you will be great. Just smile and interact with everyone there and you will be great. I must have gone over that sentence around thirty times in my head before trying to open the door to the bar. It was locked. Of course, it was locked, this was not what my nerves needed. Maybe this was the first sign that I should have not turn up to that first day on the job. I got ready around an hour too early and sat at the edge of my bed before embarking on the 10-minute journey to my new job. I wish I could warn myself that the anxiety of going in for a shift never got better, just occurred for different reasons.

After waiting for around 20 minutes outside in the cold that did not help my eczema prone skin at all, the owner opened the door and muttered some kind of apology that I was not able to understand. He gave me a run down of how everything worked. I retained absolutely no memory of what he said and struggled to apply any of it throughout the day. After my less then sufficient training, I stood myself behind the bar folded my arms in front of me and waited in absolute silence. I kept trying to think of something to say, anything that I could say to make the time pass. I was supposed to be good with people but everything about this situation made me want to retreat and crawl into a turtle shell. I never felt this out of place anywhere.

The first shift only was about 5 hours but there was hardly anyone there, only a few old men showed up to drink that day. I learned the further away from the last paycheck we were. The less people would show, the ones that did show were the ones racking up more debt than most people acquire for food. I could not comprehend why anyone would put themselves in so much debt over a silly little drink.

This should have been my first and last day there, I was not able to understand the patrons and their struggles, I was clumsy and kept knocking over drinks and glasses, I could not remember an order or much less pour a proper beer, and the worst of it all, I could not calculate the tab in my head fast enough to anyone’s satisfactions. At the end of the day after my boss and I finished cleaning and locking up, he sat me down. “You probably had the worst first day in the history of this place. However, the people liked you. They enjoyed that bubbly innocent personality that you put on. You gave this place a breath of fresh air, so I am going to give you a chance to learn how to do the job. We all start somewhere”. At least that is what I assumed he said, he mumbled to much for me to understand and I was to scared to say that I could never fully understand what he was saying to me.

The last part of my first day, was also the moment I knew I was going to change. “ You have to do a shot of this homemade liquor, anyone who works here, needs to take a shot as a sign they survived their fist day”. I was not a drinker, how was I going to explain that I would not take the drink. I did not explain that I wanted to quit and say that is where I drew my line. I would put up with the odd looks and the gross comments from men old enough to be my dad, but not with drinking. I wanted to refuse the shot and the job, but mama did not raise a quitter. Everything about this place made me want to cry but I needed to prove to myself that I could help my family and that I was not the doe eyed girl that was sheltered from harm by her loving family. I wanted to be tough, so I took the shot and immediately threw it up.

My second week

Two weeks in and I have worked almost every evening. I am and always have been a hard worker, I wanted to show everyone that I could do it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it because everyone else seemed to think I just was not cut out for the job. Everyday I went in and I masked my nerves with a smile that showed off my quirky dental situation. A few crooked teeth and a chipped tooth from biting a really hard peace of candy when I was 8. That did not stop me from pretending that I was happy to be there and strike up conversations with everyone who wanted to talk to me and listen to very mediocre life this far. Two parents who did everything they could to provide for me and my two younger sisters. Not much to tell, I was nothing special, just another girl from 11 that was trying her best to find her place in society.

At least that is always how I perceived my life. Talking to all the patrons there made me realize that while I never had enough, I had more than a lot of people and that maybe average was not a bad place to be in. It was only two weeks, but I felt myself gain in confidence. I was no longer crying thinking about having to go in the next day and be judged at being awful at this job. I still was not good and I knew that was not going to change overnight, but people were warming up to me and innocent bliss. I stopped wearing baggy clothes that covered every aspect of my body. I stopped trying to hide my curves but instead started to wear tight clothing. The boss man was right and the money did start to become more and the people started to like me more.

Two weeks in and everything felt as if they were starting to pick up and get better for me. I was not happy, but I was not miserable, and it was the progress that I thought would continue until my shift on Friday evening changed my perspective on the whole deal. It was a quiet night, with only one regular sat at the bar. The owner felt comfortable to leave the two of us alone so he could step outside for a smoke. We were chatting and the patron started to give me compliments. I hated the objectification, but I smiled and thanked him. What other choice did I have, I wanted his money and money is what I got. With every compliment I received he slipped me more and more cash. This was the most I ever made in a night.

When the owner came back in and saw all the money in my little tip bowl, a worried look crossed his face. It instantly sent a wave of panic through my spine. I could tell that in that second, this was not what he meant when he said that I would be making more money with more revealing clothes. The look on the patron’s face became one of a predator and I was once again an animal waiting for slaughter. The patron beckoned me to come sit on his lap. I shook my head not getting a single word out. That is when he reached over the bar and grabbed my arm “I did not pay all this extra money not get any special treatment honey”. I am not sure what happened but this man attempted pull me over the bar. I am tall girl, I tower over most people, but my height does not mean anything about my strength or ability to physically take care of myself.

The whole encounter left me scared and the adrenaline kicked in and I could not control my body. I was paralyzed with fear. My boss stepped in and punched the patron away from me yelling at him to get out and never come back. Once the man disappeared, I still could not breath. I was not safe here, this was not a job for a girl like me, I could not fend for myself when I needed to most. ” You alright? I would say you definitely earned that cash he left you”, that was the first time the owners voice was clear and I understood every word he said. I nodded as I felt a giant bruise form on my scrawny right thigh.

The next day I returned to work a different person, the air of innocence that followed me around was no where to be seen.

My scond year

I swear if I have to hear another 60 year old man tell me he wants to commit suicide because his cat ran away, I am going to kill myself.

I have worked at this lovely establishment for a year now, and so much has changed. I cannot recognize the person that started working here a year ago. I drink now, I drink so that I can keep that smile on my face and upbeat tempo in my walk. Everyone thought it was an act when I started here, it was anything except that but now that is all it was. I did not realize how fast this job would rob me of everything that I was and turn me into someone my parents did not recognize.

My second year here is now in full swing and I am a 17 year old that experienced 30 years all in one. I knew everyone’s struggles and problems. They had no one else to talk to, but who was going to rid me of my demons when I was to busy burring everyone else’s. This was not the burden a 17 year old should have to carry. My brown eyes that once sparkled with hope had their light stolen. I was empty but I could never let anyone else know that. My 31-year-old boss became my best friend because he understood what it was like to care for everyone else and never care for yourself. That was the job, to make sure everyone else was ok or at least ok in that moment and sell your soul to ensure it.

After a year of being a miserable bar tender, I was finally good at it and now I know that I am in too deep and probably will never be able to leave. I just need to get by one day at a time and put that charming smile on and do what I now do best. I need to keep telling myself that this is a good job and that the people need me, it is the only way I come back. I wonder if they can tell that I have changed or if they are oblivious. Can they see that I am all grown up now?