It's Okay That We're Snowed In

Bartenders are friends with bartenders. In the service industry, we all stick together and help each other out, and it doesn’t hurt to know people with the same schedule to hang out with after closing the bar at 5AM. Bartenders will walk into another bar, have a drink, and run back to work on a slow shift. We also somehow find our ways into crazy party situations.



I started working at a bar the summer before senior year of college to pay bills and have something to fall back on. The culture didn’t really suck me in until half a year later between a major breakup, graduation and what some call a “quarter-life crisis,” after which I met some of the amazing and crazy people that shaped my life. Winter 2008-2009 was host to some of the more interesting experiences, like the night I got snowed in at DBA in Williamsburg.



Dropping the “bartender card” gets mixed reactions. If you do it subtly in conversation, it’s a nice revelation that leads to free drinks, but walking in and declaring it up front may not go over well. Still, we like to share in each other’s pain—I have bartenders who come to me on their off nights, just as I go to them. This one particular winter’s night, my friends and I wound up at DBA, a random spot we had never been to, for a quick round after a long day of researching beer bars (I needed a new job, and my friend was writing an article on different beer bars in the city). My two lady friends were getting tired and cranky, but my night was just beginning.



We ordered a round of drinks while I whipped out my laptop to compile some notes. We had a round of drinks, but the girls headed home when they realized I wasn’t going anywhere, leaving me alone with just a female bartender and her male bar back, who were bored in the otherwise empty space. The bartender seemed a bit mannish and definitely older, while her bar back was a cute, young, possibly Hispanic guy—obviously more my type, but he was a bit too quiet.



It wasn’t long before I decided to strike up a chat with the bartender, sneaking in the magic words in hopes of free drinks—that was a mistake. While some bartenders are chill and will toss a free drink or two in your direction, others push your limits. This woman was the latter, suggesting a nice, innocent game of “Pass the Pigs,” with a twist.



First of all, I had never heard of the game before, but when she whipped out two tiny rubber pig dice, I was confused enough. Apparently, you score points depending on how the pigs land. The twist? Loser does half a shot of Jameson. The rounds went fast, and I’m sure we went through an entire bottle of Jameson. Everyone’s a “winner” during drinking games, right? Not when you’re chugging whiskey—even a bartender’s tolerance won’t save you.



Needless to say, within an hour, I probably vomited twice. Meanwhile, though the streets were totally clear when we arrived, somehow it had snowed a foot outside since the game started—we definitely lost track of time. I lived in Gravesend near Coney Island at the time, so the travel options were limited. No cars were on the road and the two hour train ride would be hell at the state I was in. It was time for bad decisions!



Whenever the game actually ended, I have no idea. I do know that they closed the bar early. Still, I wasn’t home until well into daylight, when I realized I was a car with the bartender trying to direct our driver—it may have been the bar back?—down streets I had never been on. We got lost probably two or three times, but by 6AM, we finally made it to my apartment, where she passed out in a spare room and I found my bed. Sadly, I didn’t get the boy that night—not sure where he disappeared off to, but it was probably for the better.



I’ll never know when she left or if she made it home, but I did hear from her weeks later and ignored the text—I was scared of a repeat shot-fest. Still, this was my first big experience with partying like a bartender can do. Drinking games with shots of Jameson may not be the best idea, even if you think that you can handle your liquor like a pro, but what better reason to get wasted than a blizzard?



While those characters faded away, I was about to meet more awesome people at my bar who would join me in similar cold weather festivities.