Jeff Burkhart: Welcoming the new year, one misstep at a time
If you are reading this, then it has already happened. Ironically, as I am writing this, it hasn’t happened yet. Thirty years of bartending means 30 years of New Year’s Eves. And being what they are — busy — that means of those 30, I have probably worked at least 26 of them.
It’s called amateur night, but that is not quite correct because most of the people who work it are professionals. The holiday season starts with Thanksgiving, rounds into form around Christmas and goes off the rails on New Year’s Eve.
It’s always been the same, barring a pandemic year or two. Here is a little preview of what is still yet to come for me. Like recollections, we shall go at it backward, starting with early Sunday morning.
7:30 a.m. Jan. 1
The lawnmower (or leaf blower or chainsaw) will spit and sputter, as its airy gasoline mixture ignites into life. Mr. “I don’t give a damn” has decided to, regardless of the day or hour, exercise his right to begin making loud aggressive noises immediately upon the striking of the canonical hour. But don’t worry. True to form, he will only do it long enough for you to be irretrievably awake. Happy New Year, sleepy head!
3 a.m. Jan. 1
Bars in California close at 2 a.m. And do you know who knows that? The police. The logical presumption is that anyone on the road at this time is from one of four groups: the police, the people who work in bars, the people who go to bars and the taxi and ride-share drivers who bring the bar-goers home safely. An FYI, those aren’t going to be Christmas lights twinkling in your rear view mirror.
2 a.m. Jan. 1
“Can you call me a cab?” asks the man in the black paper top hat.
Never mind that he had already asked that same question at least twice before.
“Are you sure you called?” asks his redheaded companion, wearing her glitter-covered paper tiara.
Oh yes, I’m sure. There is nothing more in the world that a bartender wants at 2 a.m. on New Year’s Day than for your ride to get there already. And a cab? What is it, 2008?
12 a.m. New Year’s Eve
“Where’s my champagne?” asks someone who just walked into the restaurant but somehow feels entitled to a free glass of sparkling wine. And they can’t wait because, you know, it’s New Year’s Eve. Not to worry, because once they have to start paying, they’re going to leave. In the meantime, they’re going to make it all about themselves.
11 p.m. New Year’s Eve
“Have you seen my shoe?” asks the erstwhile Cinderella, who went into the dining room an hour ago. (It might also be a purse or a scarf.) She just noticed it’s missing and isn’t sure how long it’s been missing. A good place to start is the bar where she was sitting 60 minutes ago. She will root around the barstools, making everyone stand awkwardly while she looks. She will eventually find it in her other hand. Apologies will not be proffered, nor would they be accepted if they were.
10 p.m. New Year’s Eve
The man who ordered shots an hour ago has now relieved himself of them, as well as most of his $85 prix-fixe meal. Unfortunately, he has done so onto the floor of the men’s room. The busser isn’t happy about it and neither is his date. I guess his boast of “We’re gonna rage all night” actually only involved about 119 minutes. But that’s what happens when people drink shots. One drink an hour plus one glass of water per drink is the way to avoid a hangover. Once you start throwing up, you are probably also going to be hungover.
8 p.m. New Year’s Eve
“We’re gonna rage all night!” says the guy in the red velvet smoking jacket trotted out for just this occasion.
If the busser knew about his future now, he’d probably leave. But he doesn’t. Poor guy.
6 p.m. New Year’s Eve
“Have a good night!” says the last recognizable bar regular left in the building.
“You can’t leave me alone,” says the bartender, looking around at the semi-formal, semi-casual group milling around like a herd of cats not knowing where the litterbox is.
“We’re not leaving you alone. We are leaving you to them.”
He might have said “with them,” but hindsight makes it really feel like he said “to them.”
4 p.m. New Year’s Eve
The bartender’s shift starts. A double latte and two aspirin are taken. Two squirts of breath spray, and he thinks he’s ready. So does the busser. They are both wrong.
Happy New Year! And please, someone tell that guy with the leaf blower to knock it off.
Jeff Burkhart is the author of “Twenty Years Behind Bars: The Spirited Adventures of a Real Bartender, Vol. I and II,” the host of the Barfly Podcast on iTunes and an award-winning bartender at a local restaurant. Follow him at jeffburkhart.net and contact him at jeffbarflyIJ@outlook.com