I was concerned. The restaurant was
packed, the lounge was filled to capacity and the bar was like a war zone. The
underside of being a popular joint on New Year's Eve, I thought to myself as I
slowly made my way to the service station at the bar.
Lori
was deep in the weeds. "No one ever told me there'd be days like this!" And
with that she grabbed two drinks and bolted toward the hot end of the bar. That
was 25 years ago, but it's still clear as a bell. I was about to learn a
valuable lesson about managing a bar.
Lori
was a superb, seasoned bartender, the implacable type and here she was melting
down before my eyes. I glanced at the other four bartenders working and they
too were sweating, looking frenetic and anything but hospitable. The two bar
backs seemed close to tears.
Out
of the corner of my eye I saw Lori steaming back, and from out of nowhere I
told her to slow down. Her eyes shot open, "What?!" She looked stunned as if I
had just demanded she drop and give me fifty. "No, no, I'm serious, slow down.
It's your New Year's Eve too. Enjoy it and slow down. I mean it!"
I
repeated the directive to each of the bartenders until they blinked in
recognition. Excruciating slowly they shifted from panic mode into cool, calm
and collected. As they returned to working within their capabilities, their
wide-eyed, "caught in the headlights" look disappeared. It turned out to be a
great night. What's interesting is that none of the guests pressing against the
bar seemed to notice that the bartenders had slowed down.
What
I learned that night about managing a bar has served me well. Bartenders can't
make superior cocktails while sprinting on treadmills and a sweaty, stressed
out countenance does little to engender fuzzy feelings in your guests.
Regardless of the din and madness, my steadfast rules of engagement are slow
down and craft each cocktail as if it was for your childhood idol.
As
they say, speed kills. --RP
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