So I needed cash real bad last month after my car decided to cough its last breath right outside the cheapest gas station in town. Saw that hiring ad for bartender gigs nearby, part-time with flexible shifts. Sounded like a lifesaver, right? Figured I’d share how it went down, mistakes and all.
The First Moves: Jumping In Headfirst
Grabbed my phone, sat on my lumpy couch, and started searching “bartender jobs near me part time” like everybody else. Tons of sites popped up. Felt overwhelming. Just started smashing the “Apply Now” button on anything that mentioned “flexible shifts” or “no experience needed.” Felt productive. Sent out like 20 applications in one afternoon, feeling smug.
Fast forward 48 hours: Radio. Silence. Zip. Nada. Not even a lousy “we got your resume” email. Panic started setting in.
Actually Talking to Humans (Shocking, I Know)
Changed tactics next weekend. Printed out 10 copies of my resume – yeah, actual paper – put on the least wrinkled shirt I owned, and just drove around town. Walked straight into bars and cafes during their dead hours, 2 pm-ish. Asked every bored-looking person behind the counter: “You guys hiring part-timers? Flexible schedule?”
- First three places: Instant “No.” Manager wasn’t in, hiring closed last week, blah blah.
- Place four: Guy snorted. “You ever even poured a beer, kid?” Walked right out.
- Place five: Older lady actually took my crumpled paper. “Flexible shifts, huh? We need Thursday nights and Sunday brunches. That work?” My heart did a little jump.
She told me to come back Tuesday at 4 pm sharp to talk to the owner. Marked that in my phone calendar with, like, five reminders.
Botching the “Interview”
Tuesday rolls around. Show up at 3:58 pm, sweating a bit. Owner’s this guy with tired eyes named Mark. Doesn’t even sit down. Just starts firing questions while wiping glasses:
- “Can you handle a rush?” (“Uh, probably?”)
- “Know how to cut off a drunk guy without starting a fight?” (“I… can be persuasive?”)
- “Ever make an Old Fashioned?” (“I’ve seen videos…?”)
It was brutal. I was honest, mostly stammering. Told him my last job was scooping frozen yogurt. He actually smirked. Said, “Alright, look. Be honest. You free Friday night? Pay is cash, nightly. Covering for Jimmy who’s got the flu.” No official job offer. Just a trial by fire, basically.
Trial Night: Chaos and Victory
Showed up Friday, terrified. Place was busier than I imagined. Mark just nodded at the bar. “Stick to pouring taps and basic highballs for now. Maria will help.” Maria was an angel, showed me how the ancient register worked and where the clean towels were hidden.
First order: Three Bud Lights. Easy, right? Pulled the first tap handle… foam exploded everywhere. Maria laughed, grabbed it, showed me the trick: glass tilted at 45 degrees, pour down the side. Felt like an idiot.
Night went like that. Screwed up a gin and tonic (too much tonic, guest complained), dropped a pint glass (crash!), forgot how to open the damn napkin holder. But somehow, poured fifty-something beers, took cash, didn’t set anything on fire. Hands were sticky, feet ached like hell.
End of shift, Mark slid two crisp bills my way. “Same time next week? Jimmy’s out for a while. Don’t break any more glasses.”
That was it. Got the gig. It ain’t glamorous. Pay’s okay for cash. Shifts are indeed flexible because Jimmy’s schedule is a mess, and Maria’s kid gets sick a lot. Learned way more in one messy night than clicking “Apply Now” a hundred times. Point is, sometimes you gotta just walk in the door looking stupid to get anywhere.
