I was a bartender at a tavern in a small town in Connecticut. It was a "locals" type of place that buttered it's bread with it's regulars, the happy hour folk that were there everyday. The mahogany wood work gave it that dark yet warm and inviting feel that the chain pubs so desperately tried to replicate. This was a true original, a hundred years old and well kept.
I knew the owner for years. He was the son of an old f****y friend. He hired me because he could trust me, and I accepted because I was trying to pay for college. I had never tended bar before, but I quickly gained... Continue»