In my stay-at-home-dad years - '98 to '02 - I kept one bartending shift: Truckstop Tuesdays at the Beauty Bar on 14th between 2nd and 3rd. DJ'ed by WFMU's much beloved, much missed Michael Poole, AKA The Professor. (R.I.P.)
We had fun. The Professor specialized in trucking songs, greasy country, obscure 45s and deep cuts, lots of recitations over pedal steel, some cornpone, some gleefully offensive, unclassifiable redneck funk, a bit of swamp pop, and backwoods hollers. Some of the greatest music I ever heard.
Occasionally a NYU student or some such like would ask, "What IS this?"
"Country."
"No it's not. Can the DJ play something else?"
"No."
They sometimes offered $ to get The Professor to play "something else." He never once did.
I worked 9 PM til 3 AM. Friends hung out. Kind of like a grungy 90s "Cheers." Some very dear, much-mourned companions, and some patrons who were not exactly friends, but who nevertheless enriched that chapter of my life. I am stunned to think of how many are gone.
I was generous with my pours and buy-backs. I rarely drank. I would usually smoke one of Michael's Marlboros. I generally walked home with about $150 in cash, crawled into bed reeking of cigarettes, and caught a few hours of shut-eye with my infant/toddler son and sleeping wife. Wednesdays I would drink an entire pot of coffee with sugar and half and half. I shared a lot of excellent, fatty delivery with my boy. I let myself go. 220 pounds. It was great.
Even when we lost our St Mark's apartment in a legal battle and headed for a Catskills cabin, I held on to this shift. For about a month, I would take the bus down, work my shift, sleep at a friend's, and take the bus back upstate. That was the last time I got the flu. A sign to let go. The virus speaks.
I listened. I finally quit the Beauty Bar and gave myself over to whatever was to come next. Which was quite a lot.
I do not miss bartending. But I miss Truckstop Tuesdays, I miss those folks, and I'm grateful for that time, the last chapter of my NYC life.