Being a bartender in Jackson definitely has its perks — cash, skiing to work (literally) and, if you play your cards right, maybe even a lady or two. Let’s be serious: Jackson is a sellers’ market.
Sometimes being a waiter makes me feel like a used car salesman: just a greasy, greasy, used car salesman. And that is besides the fact that I haven’t showered in a few days. At my little establishment, there are blatantly a few wines on our list that are beyond my pay grade. And some are even above the price range of conning your parents into getting when they come to visit. So how am I, or any of my colleagues, supposed to sell something we never tried? Wine is obviously in a league of its own. Sure you can sneak your iphone in the server station and try to Google some fancy adjectives to push it, but lets be honest — you can’t bullshit a bullshitter. And whoever is possibly buying that wine that you never had, is probably a good bull-shitter.
I guess my BS skills are getting better.
Saturdays are my “double” days. Instead of skiing bell to bell, I am working open to close, making inspiring cocktails and feeding tourists and locals more than food. But a recent Saturday was different. Sure it was incredible financially, but it was better then the cash in hand. It reinstated my faith in our tourist friends of this great mountain community.
Two gentlemen who had obviously just been “ripping” Casper lift all morning sat down to a few cocktails. After the first round, they asked for the wine list, which I promptly dropped and assumed nothing of it. My experience working days leads to the stereotype that nobody is ordering big bottles of wine before 5 p.m. Wrong. As I glanced through my peripherals, I notice that one gentleman’s finger was strolling down our list. Our wines are listed top to bottom, least expensive to most expensive. I was getting thoroughly excited.
Not sure why, but I am definitely not going to question the $150-plus bottle these gentlemen decided to get with their lunch. After a few generic questions, I pried a bit and discovered they were lawyers from New York City. Great! I found my “in.” I let them know I used to work for a rival firm, but ignored telling them I was a paralegal locked away in the sub-levels of our building where the wall used to shake from the subway.
As our conversation evolved, the first bottle went down fast, and the second one was opened up before they had a chance to reconsider. The mountain trail map was involved, and I gave them a quick tutorial on the stuff I just learned in an avalanche course. They were digging the advice I was giving, and to be honest, I enjoyed giving it.
I had never tried this wine. Not only can I not afford it, there wasn’t enough peer pressure in the world to convince our wine director to open one up and let our staff try it. Regardless, I let these gentlemen know that it was one of my favorites. They insisted I pour myself a glass and save it in the back. I didn’t. Not because I didn’t want to, but for the simple reason that these guys were having a little bromance about skiing, and I didn’t want to interrupt it. NEVER underestimate the power of man love.
The check was signed and the wine was finished. As we expressed “safe travels” and “good lucks” they asked if I ever poured myself a glass. I told them no and not to worry about it.
Gentleman: Let us buy you a bottle.
Me: What?
Gentleman: Please, you gave us some really good insight about Jackson.
Me: You sure?
Gentleman: Yes.
Well here I am, with a bottle of wine that might sit in my closet for a few years, and a reaffirmed belief that there are good people (lawyers) in the world. To the two gentlemen, thank you. This wine might actually find me a date.
