Houston, we’ve got a problem. Man down… uhh… make that several men down. My barbacks of the last few months have seemingly developed a new fangled love affair for this funny tasting juice distilled from Mezcal and Agave cactus plants. I don’t know exactly what the deal is, but these bros love this stuff. They love it so much, that in the last 5 months, four of them have wound up exactly like our latest barback, above. His name was Francisco and as you can imagine, he just got shit-canned.
As I’ve alluded to in previous articles, this industry is rife, scratch that, completely overrun with excessive drinking and in many cases, outright alcoholism. Practically everyone up and down the entire chain of command loves their sauce. Moreover, on-the-job drinking is extremely common; it’s just about a job requirement.
During a shift, those controlling the flow of sauce (bartenders) are typically at the forefront of the drinking epidemic. Waiters, managers, runners, etc.are usually not as susceptible, not because they lack desire, but due simply to logistics.
There is an exception however. Every kind of bar on the planet, has supply rooms. The kind with the most interest to employees however, will always be the liquor room – an extremely high-value target in terms of both monetary value and fun-factor. As such, it’s under lock and key in 99% of establishments. Those entrusted with the keys to copious amounts of liquid joy are normally the managers and barbacks – and occasionally, the bartenders themselves.
Barbacks are responsible for keeping the bar adequately stocked during operations. That means our buddies hit the liquor room frequently – a solo mission presenting a temptation so large, it simply doesn’t jive with someone with an uncontrollable penchant for hitting the sauce.
Now, what’s been happening the last few months, my fine friends, is that our barbacks have been using the alone time in said room, fucking guzzling liquor in alarming quantities. Barback after barback has gotten so shit-faced lit, on the job, that they’ve become completely incapable of working, walking, talking or undertaking any other seemingly minor responsibility.
I guess you can’t keep a good alcoholic down, can you?
