well, that didn't take long...

Little did I know, that a mere eight hours after I wrote this post, Skylar left my bar after enjoying one Paulaner Thomasbrau and joined up with some friends at a different bar, where he proceeded to have four drinks.

The following night (which was last night), he sat up at my bar after his shift and I asked him if he'd like a Paulaner. He looks up and says, "Actually, I'm going to throw you for a loop."

"Oh really? What kind of a loop?" (and in my head I was willing him to ask for an Italian Soda).

"I'd like to have a Terminal Gravity IPA," Skylar tells me.

"You sure about that?" I venture, hating being in this position, "You know the peeps are going to razz you for this, right?"

"Oh, I know," he confirms.

"Okay, well, as long as you know what you're getting yourself into."

I feel like such a hypocrite engaging in this discourse. I'm a drinker. I don't want anyone trying to attempt to regulate my drinking and I feel like an ass questioning him without just serving him. He's an adult and can make his own decisions; if he makes bad decisions, that's not my problem, my fault or my business. My job is to make and serve drinks, not to question people about their drinking (unless it becomes excessive - in one sitting). But my questions come from a place of concern, not a place of judgment. Still, he deserves to be treated like anyone else who sits at my bar and wants a drink.

Not long after he's enjoying what I'm assuming is his first post-sobriety cerveza (I later learn that he'd imbibed the night before), our resident alcoholic, Janelle, bellies up alongside him and starts in on her first one of what will likely be around eleventy drinks before she calls it a night. They start in chatting and sharing "wasted" stories. My back is to them, as I'm on my computer running reports and getting ready to do my end-of-the-night books. I can overhear every word they're saying (one of the pluses - and minuses - about being a bartender). Skylar is feeding Janelle some hoo-ha about how some alcoholics can go back to drinking without losing control and some can't and that in AA they tell you that the only way to find out if you can learn to drink lightly or moderately is to "experiment" and see if you lose control or not.

Janelle giggles and offers up some of her stories of lost control. Skylar proceeds to tell her "his story." His realization that he was an alcoholic came after a multitude of drunken blackouts (an almost nightly occurrence for Janelle) and his realization that he drank just to get drunk, and not for any other reason. Which is why, he rationalized, he drank crappy beer then and why he is drinking "good beer" now. It was three and a half years ago that he climbed aboard the wagon and hadn't even fallen off.

Until now.

Now, he is conducting an "experiment."

Here I am, still wanting Calgon to take me away. I so don't want to be a part of any of this. Even though I've known my fair share of people who have fallen off the wagon, I don't think I've ever knowingly served them while they eased into this transition. I'm surprised at how uncomfortable I am in this role. Overhearing Skylar and Janelle's conversation, I find myself feeing really sad for them and about them.

It's so difficult to listen to Skylar rationalize his drinking, almost as though he is performing a rehearsed speech. After having two beers last night and two tonight (before seeking adventure elsewhere - as my barback, he knows how I feel about employees overindulging at my bar and staying long past their welcome), I'm certain that this will now become a nightly habit...not THAT big of a deal, I suppose, as it's a nightly habit for many (myself included), but I know that his track record of not getting sloppy is not so great and that he is currently nursing some serious pain - it's just not a very great combo for a break in over three years sobriety. I just have a feeling that this could get really ugly.

I hope I'm wrong.

The Wobbly Wagon

I've got a little dilemma on my hands at work.

There is this guy, Skylar, who started as a busser and now works as a barback and, occasionally, as a waiter. He started working there at the same time as his fiancee, Kat, shortly after the two of them moved to Portland from the bay area about six months ago. They both had a very solid work ethic, were dependable and took direction well. They both learned quickly and were able to move from bussing positions to working as lunch waiters in a matter of three months or so.

Kat was extremely likable - very friendly, warm and with a very mellow demeanor. Skylar, while very bright and hardworking, was intensely serious and a little bit cocky. You can't take yourself too seriously when you work in restaurants. You just can't.

Both Kat and Skylar are clean and sober, Kat having been "a major stoner" (her words) and Skylar says that he had a serious alcohol problem and that his drug use couldn't exactly be described as dabbling.

Skylar attends the local community college and is pursuing a degree in substance abuse counseling and even volunteers a local substance abuse clinic. He is very adamant about this pursuit, with a fervor resembling that of a religious belief, and is frequently overheard spewing "facts about alcoholism" to other employees, solicited and otherwise.

Kat and Sylar had been a couple for nearly five years, found Buddhism together and went on the wagon together. While I've heard them tell some stories of their wild lives and their antics prior to life on the wagon, I don't recall them ever mentioning when exactly they hopped aboard the wagon or how difficult is was for either one of them to stay there. Often, at the end of their shifts, they would join other employees who were sitting up at my bar enjoying their "shift drink" (it's very common in restaurants for employees to get 1-3 free or reduced-price drinks at the end of a shift). Kat and Skylar would just drink water (and tons of it) while they conversed with others. Skylar has been known to initiate conversations about substance abuse while sitting at my bar alongside an employee who is happily enjoying a cold beer. I can see that this makes people uncomfortable despite their friendly smiles and nods.

Just less than a month ago, Kat broke up with Skylar and made the decision to move back to the bay area. Suffice to say, Skylar was devastated over this loss. A few nights later, Skylar decided to try an alcohol-free beer for the first time. He deemed it not so bad - we serve Paulaner Thomasbrau. By the following week, he was having two - instead of one - post-shift Paulaner. Some of the employees called him on this and he began to spew facts about alcohol-free beer and the crazy high number of them he'd need to consume in order to get legally drunk. A few days ago, Skylar was enjoying three Paulaners before calling it a day.

Skylar is very judgmental of those who drink, particularly of those who drink excessively. Although he is a very hard worker, I don't really enjoy having him work as a barback, as his judgmental energy permeates my bar and he is too serious to be working in the bar, where customers tend to be a little bit more laid back and appreciate a sense of humor or a quick wit. Alas, my favorite barback ever, Andy, is moving up in the restaurant world and getting more wait shifts. I miss Andy whenever Skylar is working - Andy sings while he is working and I never have to give him direction...he can practically read my mind - and that is an excellent quality in a barback.

Yesterday was the day that Kat left for San Francisco and Skylar showed up at work red-eyed and on the verge of slipping back into the sobs that had clearly consumed the earlier part of his day. When asked how he was doing, he replied, "not well." Prior to the start of his shift, he sat at my bar eating some soup and drinking a gallon of water. The piped in music played the song Baby Come Back by Player could be heard overhead. I wanted Calgon to take me away and, when it didn't, I found tasks I needed to complete that could be done away from the bar. I just really didn't want to get sucked into this sad, spiralling downward of yuck. Call me unsympathetic. Call me a bitch. I just don't have the space for it right now, particularly with regard to someone I barely feel lukewarm about.

Somehow, Skylar made it through his shift last night without a complete breakdown. Strong willed, that Skylar. All night, I was fearing his eventual plunk at one of my barstools and dreading that he'd up the ante and order a real beer instead of a near beer. Despite mentally willing him not to do this, I had to ponder in my head what I would do if this situation were to arise. Should I serve him the drink as I would anyone else? Should I refuse him? Or something in between? Or would that seem cowardly and wishywashy?

I eventually decided upon this: if he asks me for a drink, I will ask him if he's sure (but not in a judging way, more in a light-hearted way) and, if he says yes, I will serve him. After all, he is an adult; I am not his parent; I'm not really even a friend of his; if he's going to drink, he's going to drink and my denying him this right is not going to stop him altogether. It still made me feel uncomfortable.

Having worked in restaurants for many years, I've known a lot of people - both on and off the wagon and some who made a habit of hopping back and forth - who struggle with their own alcohol consumption and it's hard to watch them fuck up and it's hard to watch them struggle. I've watched folks give up alcohol and replace it with a different addiction - usually coffee or cigarettes, sometimes something a little stronger. But it didn't take me long to conclude that, while I was there for them as a friend, I would neither urge them to drink or invite them to a drinking environment (if I knew that they had a hard time being in that environment...some don't), nor would I go to great lengths to talk them out of drinking if they chose to, nor would I rescue their ass every time their drinking got them into personal or financial trouble. And, sadly, I've lost some friendships over this. Generally, though, that meant that we may have had little in common besides alcohol consumption and it was just as well. Others (like LL, whose ass I'd rescued numerous times before I gave that shit up - rescuing asses, not alcohol consumption), I really miss.

Well, much to my delight, Skylar enjoyed one - and only one - Paulaner after his shift last night. However, my hunch that his days on the wagon are numbered still looms. I just don't want to be the bartender who serves him that first drink...I'm hoping he has the smarts to go elsewhere if he must.

Just wondering: Where did American citizens come from?

Yesterday, in Portland, the largest immigration raid on a workplace in all of Oregon history occurred in a food processing plant in North Portland. Over one quarter of the plant's employees, 167 workers, were taken away in buses and will be detained in Tacoma where they will be interrogated and investigated and, most likely, eventually deported. These are people - many of whom are trying to raise families and are living in poverty - who were working for minimum wage in a job that had virtually no means of advancing, either in position or wage. They pose no potential harm to anyone. They work in a job that many legal US citizens would not be willing to work.

This fuckin' pisses me off.

I don't even want to think about the money and effort being spent on attempts to seize illegal immigrants, many of whom work for minimum wage and often in more than one job. In the meantime, library services in schools are being edged out and school librarians are being cut out of budgets or, if they are lucky, being reduced to part-time. I read a recent article in The Oregonian about gang activity being on the rise in Portland and the graffiti indicating turf wars on many a fence/wall in my neighborhood suggest the same. And where is the money for the programs addressing the problems of gang activity/involvement?

And building a fence along the border of Texas???? Are you fucking kidding me? What a ridiculous waste of money and resources.

The thing that bothers me the most about this is that I know (and have known) several people directly impacted by this issue. Having worked in restaurants on and off for several years, I've worked alongside many an undocumented immigrant. I see them working their asses off (while the high school students from the nearby wealthy neighborhood, who mostly work as bussers, are often total slackers and wouldn't know a work ethic if it called 'em on their freakin' Blackberry), often working overtime. Most make a concerted effort to learn English and, often, are functionally bilingual in less than a year. These are people who have families they are trying to support and care for.

I've formed friendships with illegal immigrants who have spoken rather frankly, over a few beers, about the "coyotes" and the expense and dangers of crossing the border. I've heard some horror stories and the fears involved in embarking on this journey are not to be taken lightly - starvation, getting lost, death, violence. Some time ago, I worked alongside a woman, Rosa, who had recently arrived in Portland via coyote. She looked shell-shocked and the fear and sadness in her eyes were unmistakable. I can't help but wonder what she endured while making her way here. She worked as a dishwasher and she worked hard. She didn't speak much and knew little English. And these sacrifices are made in order to work physically exhausting jobs for minimum wage. Or, in the case of the Del Monte Food Processing plant here in Portland, under allegedly abhorrent and unsafe working conditions, as well as working extraordinarily long hours (up to 18 hour shifts) with no overtime pay.

And I really hate the pundits who cry, "but they don't pay taxes!" Well, you know what, pundit? They also don't reap the benefits of legal citizenship: voting, social services, unemployment benefits, Social Security benefits, income tax refunds (which many, who work for low wages and have children, would receive), financial aid for higher education. Just sayin'.

And, yet, there are folks who want them gone. Whenever I drive back to Portland from Seattle, I encounter a privately-owned billboard in a rural area of Washington, halfway through the trip that always has conservative/very right-leaning - and often anti-immigrant - messages. On a recent trip, the billboard sported the following quip: "Welcome to America! Now speak English."

Here's what I want to know: Mr./Ms. Billboard Owner, where did your ancestors come from? Did THEY speak English upon arrival in the United States? Yeah, I didn't think so.