You've heard people say they were called by God to the ministry? Or called to do just about anything for that matter. Some would say you were called to be an actor. I'm not sure who called me . . . but they were calling from the bar. I was called to be a bartender, Tom!
Seriously. I'm changing lives one beer at a time. And in the process, my own life is being transformed. It's frighteningly beautiful.
Everything I ever wanted to be growing up: a wife, a mother, a good sister, an even better daughter and granddaughter, a shrink, a teacher, a singer, an actress, a DJ, a dancer, a pastor, a mistress, your friend . . . I can be all of those things at the bar! Every major I had in college and STILL did not graduate: psychology, sociology, education, special education, communications, linguistics, sign-language . . . I get to use them all at the bar!
Every person I have ever had a relationship with on any level: friends, family, lovers, enemies, people in suits, homeless people, religious fanatics, people of other cultures, the mentally ill, the elderly, kids, bikers, jocks, nerds, assholes . . . I can deal with each of them - on MY terms. Because I've already met and 'handled' them before. This time, they pay me to handle them. I love that.
Everything I have ever done and have ever experienced, everything I am doing and am experiencing: love, heartbreak, adoption, death, sex, moves, travels, Corporate America, food service, retail, parenting, loss, writing, story-telling, building a dream, music, humor . . . I have the opportunity to share it all. But I also soak it all in. I never get tired of observing people, of
I love every person I am currently working alongside. Except one. And I just love that one in a different kind of way. In a way that says 'your time is almost up, bitch' kind of way. I have two bosses I mostly adore and who mostly adore me back. Each of them in their own special ways. Sometimes their ways make me cry. But even when I get pissed off and feel beaten down, I turn to bare my other ass cheek and plead, "Please Sir, may I have another?". And I mean it. I beg for it.
Where else could I have so much fun working out? While getting paid to do it? While looking cute and acting inappropriately? And only have to show up twice a week? In the afternoon. And get to be home when my night is just beginning?
I thank the beer gods (and craigslist) every day for turning my bar into my pulpit. And? My dad hangs out there.
Edie B. Kuhl