I Don’t Have To Go Home But I Can’t Stay Here

Well hell, I guess I am now completely, if not so suddenly, unemployed. And for those who know bits and pieces of the story, or for those who don’t know any of it yet but can maybe identify, buckle up because this has been quite the roller coaster, and I am still absolutely incredulous at how it all went down.

That’s me, second from the left at the tender age of 26 or so, which is coincidentally, or perhaps fittingly, the age I still tell everybody I am ;) Look at me back then, still so full of hopes and dreams, even as I was just starting to come out of my gothy phase :) There is one notable absence from this pre digital slice of history, because there is one woman missing who has been working there even longer than I, who is still tending to that bar to this very day. And there is another notable absence in the world, since one of these sweethearts has since lost the battle against their demons :( And there are a few people in that photo that are some of my BFFs for life, even if I don’t see them nearly as often as I wish I did. And there are a couple that I’ve lost track of, but I really hope they are doing well. And then there’s the one that hired me, mostly because I complimented him on his David Lynch t-shirt, I’m pretty sure ;)

And it is with a heavy heart that I walk away from this place that I share so much history with, and has been like my second home for half of my life. And to all of my respectful and considerate patrons who I have been privileged enough to get to know and serve over the years, I just want you all to know that I tried my best. I have endured six in-person meetings, two of which I basically stormed out of, two phone call meetings, one of which I basically hung up on, and seemingly endless hours of emails and texting and writing and talking with so many people. And the day I finally snapped and quit, my family just happened to be visiting, and I hate that seeing me angry cry might be one of my nieces’ and nephews’ earliest memories of auntie Amber. Although, I guess I am glad that they saw me standing up for what I believe in. And even after that, I have been kept in limbo for months, while trying very hard to be very patient, and while working around other people’s schedules, vacations, miscommunications and indecisiveness, only to feel so very let down in the end.

And even though I haven’t been tending the physical bar during these last couple months since I’ve been off the schedule, these conversations have been dominating my life and affecting my sleep since early spring. Not to mention what I have endured over the years that prompted me to finally draw my line in the sand. But, as both management and many of my patrons, who have become like a second family to me have told me, even after 24 years of excellent service, in a place I have always loved and defended despite its many flaws, I still have no control over the conditions I am made to work in or the situations that my patrons are subjected to. They told me, in fact, that they have never fought so hard to keep an employee. And it seemed that they were willing to do anything to keep me, other than allow me to feel comfortable in my working environment and paying me what I’m worth, of course.

Because I always took my responsibility and duty as a bartender seriously, not only to attempt to provide friendly service, but also to attempt to keep my customers and coworkers safe, comfortable, and hopefully even happy. And I always loved the camaraderie I found there, with so many of my coworkers and our friendly regulars. A constantly changing cast. And once we put in the kitchen and expanded our space, including a popular patio, I couldn’t even tell you how many people work there now. 30? 40?

And I loved that we felt like a melting pot of sorts, even more so as the years went on and we became less of a punk rock bar. And I loved the good food that now came out of the kitchen that used to be our broom closet, and were some of the only hot meals I got since I’m not much of a cook. And it sez “GOOD FOOD” right on our menu, and on the backs of some of the t-shirts that some of us old timers were still lucky enough to have, because others always seemed to want them.‍ And I also loved the live music that flowed through that place, and still does, thanks to the love for these shows and respect for the performers, and the gargantuan, often under appreciated efforts put in by another woman in that photo. And last but not least, I loved the flexibility that bartending allowed for me to pursue my own passions, as they have evolved and changed.

And I am sad to leave it all behind. Even sadder that it was not by choice, but because those who I thought were supposed to help protect us, instead told me to “Maintain my professionalism.” And reminded me that “It’s not YOUR bar.” Oh believe me, I know that. Because if it were, it would be run very differently, I told them. Oh also, did you know that there are “jerks” everywhere?? Cuz this was news to me! :P But despite that, I still believe strongly, that nobody else should have the right to tell us what is intolerable, or too distracting to us in our working environment, when we are working a job that can easily turn weird or dangerous at any moment. And I especially don’t want to be told what I should be able to tolerate by people who are rarely there.

Because being a good bartender is more than just pouring drinks. It’s also about being a trustworthy and compassionate ear, and diffusing tense situations, and watching for warning signs. It’s being the adult in the room and also the first line of defense. And while a good bartender is doing all of that, and making drinks, and carrying food, and checking out the rest of the scene and the perimeter every once in awhile, you are also doing your best to create a space where people can relax, connect, and leave their worries at the door.

But how can one do that, when your most serious worries can also just follow you right on in? Cuz everybody is welcome here! So, I guess y’all can just keep duking it out amongst yourselves within those walls. I told them that bartenders hear all the gossip sooner or later, much of it from the horse’s mouths or involved parties themselves, since we hear and see way more than intoxicated people seem to think we do. And intuition is also a big part of the job, but you have to actually be serving these people, for that to kick in. And for instance, while I may be trying to calmly and politely figure out if that person who just walked in is already really drunk, or on drugs, or is maybe having a health emergency, or some other kind of emergency, or maybe has a mental or physical disability, or may be neurodivergent… all things that happen on a regular basis mind you… it’s important to me to be surrounded by people I can trust. Or at least not people that I already know from experience that I canNOT trust.

And I think most people do realize that most service industry workers don’t get paid vacation, or paid sick days, or personal days, or regular raises, or insurance, or a party and a gold watch upon retirement, let alone a pension. Which is unfortunate, since so many people do actually attempt to make a career out of it. But one thing I thought being a bartender had going for it, was a little bit of control over who we had to share our supposed safe spot with. And as I told them, I personally can deal with a lot of crap. But when you start messing with my friends and regulars? Forgive me if I get a little protective.

Now those in charge have made it explicit to me (and therefore also to the people who have been disrespecting me, upsetting my coworkers and I, or hurting and even traumatizing my friends and regulars) that while the owners and our HR person DO have the authority to make rules, tell people to take some time away, or set boundaries, WE do not. Which was a surprise to me honestly, because I have always thought that I had the right to refuse service to anybody for any reason, as long as it’s wasn’t discrimination based on bigotry. I think we even still have a plaque that says that sort of thing behind the bar. As most bars do.

So thinking that this authority was still mine, an authority which seems to me to be an inherent and necessary part of the job, for the first time in over two decades, after all other very strong hints and then much more direct attempts at diplomacy had failed, I attempted to set a temporary boundary, that would’ve made me not dread going to work for the first time in a long time. But those in charge did not have my back. Apparently they take a very narrow view of our authority to deny service. They say that while I personally don’t have to serve them, these people who have been having a seriously detrimental effect on my mental health for years, and also that of many of my kind-hearted regulars there, apparently can continue to stroll in and out of that place whenever they want. And they say, well, we can’t trust every employee to be as levelheaded as you. So I guess I am being held to the lowest common denominator, despite my experience and the countless difficult, scary, and heartbreaking situations I have handled there over the years to the best of my ability. And I also told them, if you don’t trust your bartenders to be making these sort of hard decisions, then you shouldn’t be trusting them behind the bar. But that didn’t get through to them either.

And so, they have stripped us of the one fundamental right I always thought I could rely on as a bartender if I really needed it. And in an era when we need it the most. I was however, initially kindly told, as a friend, that maybe I should check in with my healthcare provider because I seemed a little manic. And then was offered an unpaid two week mental health vacation. And then I could come on back if I wanted! they said. And I said, why would I come back, when it’s that place that is driving me crazy?!?

And I am not saying anything here that I have not already said to them, pretty much word for word. I even told them that I could probably write a book about my experiences in that place, or a song at the very least. But they would have to help me figure out the next bit. Well, it seems the next bit is, because I refuse to keep quiet about these serious concerns any longer, I’ve been pushed out. Hell, the book could be half written already with all the preparation I’ve done for these meetings. And while yes, they did only use only the most professional and complimentary sounding language throughout this whole ordeal, I told them early on that I’m going to need more than pretty words and workarounds this time.

And if this is what constitutes HR there, considering how loud I eventually got and yet still walked away feeling unheard? I cringe to think how a rookie would ever be heard by them if they had concerns. And I really don’t envy what service industry workers in this town, and this country, will continue to put up with for the foreseeable future. And if even here, in Madison, Wisconsin, with the relationships I thought I had forged over the years, if this is the outcome of my fight or flight? Then this is no longer a safe industry for me. Times are changing, I told them. And I sincerely hope you can change with them. But it doesn’t seem like they are willing to do that yet, so maybe this is all really a blessing in disguise. ☯️

And as I expressed to them, the “higher-ups”, that because of the additional stresses and situations I was attempting to navigate there, on top of the normal stress of the job, which has only been escalating in this “post” Covid, political nightmare, I have not been working nearly as many hours as I was in the before times. This has unfortunately put me in a financial position which really just made it a terrible time to find myself unexpectedly unemployed. My car is also on its last leg, and I’m gonna have to do something about that before I can be confident diving into my new pet sitting gig. I’ve got some other things in the works too, but it’s gonna take a little bit of time to get back on track. And I am not lying when I say this has been one of the most stressful, frustrating and bewildering times of my life. And all I really wanna do is play my bass, which I’ve barely had the time or energy to do because of all of this drama. :(

So, my friends and barflies, I guess the last thing I will do before I go, to try to protect you all, is to leave you with this word of warning. In even some of your favorite, most welcoming establishments, even though the bartenders may know that there are stalkers, bullies and sexual predators walking amongst you, we have been rendered powerless to do anything about it. Unless we catch them in the act, apparently. So just be careful out there everybody, and watch out for each other, cuz times are getting tough. And I don’t have to go home, but I can’t stay there, so yer all on your own. And I really will miss jokin’ around with y’all across that bar. But hopefully I’ll see you in some other fine drinking establishment someday…

And perhaps, If I’ve ever mixed you a good drink, or made you laugh, or helped you feel seen or a little bit safer, and you’re in a position to help—I would deeply appreciate it. After all, this might be your last chance to tip me. And if you tip generously enough, when I become a rockstar, I will put you on the list. ☺️

I also do still have a bunch of art to sell, leftover from shows I had in the before times, back when I was still wasting my time on the *visual* arts :P I think I might even still have a few large-ish prints from a photo series of that place where I used to work. Do you have any sad walls? Help me reclaim some space in my apartment for my guitars. Or buy something that may be worthy of a Viking’s funeral ;)

And I tried to be silly with my fundraising goal, and I thought it would have been fitting because oftentimes, when my patrons would ask me what their bill was, I would say “One meeeeeeeellion dollars.” But this platform doesn’t allow for silliness apparently. So I guess I will ask for a more reasonable goal :)

Anyway enough babble. Keep up the good fight everybody, and may our paths cross again, in happier days!