Morning hits hard when you're unemployed, but not hard enough to knock me out of bed. Herzog, the teacher's college I attend, kicked off the semester yesterday, and with it I returned to my old ways of recuperating from the ten hour school day with hours of computer-sponsored brain-rot. Which meant that starting the big job hunt early was going to have to wait until after the later minyan (prayer service).
-Fix the guitar
-Supplies for school
-Pick up Horatio, my Sig-Sauer, from the range
-Blah
-Blah
-More important blah
Something about the "to do" list weighing down my backpack threw me off. Breakfast and in-house chores dragged on, while the seconds and minutes left the house, only to return as hours passed. The guitar had been sitting to long with a broken neck and strings and now needs a fret-board fix as well. Signs in restaurants declaring openings made me simultaneously hopeful and depressed.
But there was a success. After about 15 minutes of being snowballed and convinced that I was being given a deal (Ï'm sorry for the wait, but I was arguing with my supervisor about getting you a discount, which I was able to...."- Wow, just for me?!) and a little bit of schedule dancing, I began my first steps to the bar (The one you stand behind, not the test).
Bar-tending class cut my day short, but at least was an easy check for the list.
"Hey, you must be Yoni!,"Dor, the well-dressed instructor greeted me with a smile, Ï've been waiting for you to come."
What a change. Yesterday I was taking notes on a laptop in a yeshiva classroom, today-a notebook on the bar itself. A quick glance around the room:
Dos (religious guys) count: 2 others besides me ("What is a religious guy like you doing in a course like this?"- true quote from one of the girls)
Girl count: 3
Dosot (religious girls): Nope, too bad
"Let's talk about brandy and Cognac."
Yes, please do.
"Now let's taste them."
For the record, I held off because of the kashrut (dietary laws) issues with grapes. But school where you drink as part of the lesson- does it get any better than that?
After two hours on the production, difference between, and grading of the two, notebooks became shakers, we hopped over to the other side of the bar. There's an episode of "How I Met Your Mother" where Robin forces her way behind the bar for attention, and is dragged away while screaming "But I was somebody back there."It's like that. The timid persona that I adopt in a new environment quickly fell away once my shoe tread in that holy space.
"What'll it be?" I asked, smiling to the peers who would coach my mixology for two drinks.
Ice in the shaker!
Fill the jigger!
Other side!
Close with a bang!
And shake it here, shake it there, dance to the music bar-man!
The bar, it would seem, is a stage, or at least a dance floor. Alright, so I used an orange wedge to salt the margaritas, but man are the lights back there bright. Shine on please! I'll need it tomorrow when I try to kick things into gear.
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