I suppose you are all familiar with the old Westcountry saying: "Nobody goes to a bartender's funeral." I figure that it can be read in one of three ways.
- Bartenders are immortal. Much as we may want this to be true, it is not. If it were true - I imagine a lot more people would consider bartending as a career.
- Bartenders are unloved. Demonstrably false (or people are very good liars).
- Bartending is a job generally filled by younger persons who in most cases move on before they die.
I quit my bar job. This may seem like an odd thing for a philosopher poet bartender to do. There are some things I'll miss, I suppose:
- Never having to start work before midday.
- The comradery of tackling a particularly tricky cryptic crossword.
- Having a cheeky pint towards the end of a shift.
- Ringing a bell and shouting (only bartenders, town criers and lepers get to do this).
- Reading the newspaper at work.
- Chatting to randoms who are in town only briefly but are your best friend after five pints.
- Getting Tommy to watch the bar while I go for a smoke.
- Stealing the ham and Tuna sandwiches on pool night.
Other things, I'll be glad to see the back of:
- 2am finishes.
- Finding someone has already done the crossword before my shift starts.
- The smell of the glasswasher.
- People who say "How much?" and pretend that they are not going to pay when you tell them the price of their pint. This happens at least twice an hour and these people make the same joke every time they order a drink! And their friends always think it is the funniest joke they've ever heard.
- Sport - I am the Chinese Room of sports conversation. I just repeat things I don't understand that other people have said. If you accidentally find yourself watching the Six Nations on Saturday, try saying: "England have got nothing after the third phase."
- Making the ham and tuna sandwiches on pool night.
Finnginn - philosopher poet bartender. I developed this blog as an outlet for these three facets of my personality. I suppose the question is: does Finnginn still serve a purpose now that he no longer serves a pint?
I'm not much of a one for existential crises. I think we'll just keep the Finnginn nom-de-plume going on the flimsy premise that I can still think like a bartender even if I'm not actually being paid minimum wage to act like one anymore.