Call Me Isaac

It's sort of funny what you find yourself doing in the interest of helping friends. A good friend is soon to leave the country for a while, and so there was a farewell party in her honor recently. I was drafted to play bartender for the evening. I expressed some concern that I didn't know how to make many (or any) drinks, but was told that it would only be asked of me to pour wine and soft drinks. I was somewhat mollified, although even opening wine bottles is a little outside my range.

I began the evening a little shaky. The weekend to that point had worn me down, and I confess to having been rather tired and frazzled. I would just as soon have been a mere guest of no responsibility, free to eat, drink and chatter or not. It was not in the cards, and I think I must blame my way of saying yes to such requests. It has become known that I will do so, although whether I have developed a reputation of doing things well is less certain.

I soon enough settled down and found my stride. There is, of course, really nothing to pouring wine and soda into cups. This is even more true when it's all a lot of friends of friends, you're not charging and you're not being paid. It all adds up to an awareness that I did nothing which suggests an aptitude for being a real bartender on any sort of professional basis. Happily, I have found another vocation already.

Through the night, though, comments were made about how there ought to be a tip jar, and some of them did not seem to be in a joking manner. I faintly wondered whether I was passing up really money by failing to opportunistically set up a jar. Of course I could not and would not have made any attempt to extract money under the circumstances, but it nonetheless buoyed my confidence. The activity and the night therefore worked out to be fairly pleasant.