I am getting ready to go to work. In my basement office, I’m listening to the Fugazi, looking through magazines and a new copy of The Walking Dead that came in the mail. On the surface, things are good. The heat is keeping outside at bay, the dogs are sleeping on their beds just outside of my room and I am polishing off my coffee. Erin is off getting her nails done but I was able to say good-bye to her. The two ships at seas during the night ran into each other when she came home from work and it was nice to see her for a moment.
It’s the calm before the storm. These quiet moments while I suit up and get ready to pour drinks for the evening are what keep me balanced. It is the reminder of what waits for me back at home and while I am forced to leave the house. You never get a sense of home until you realize what is at stake. It’s a warning and a reminder. At its best, it’s the reward for a hard day’s work.
Because I don’t come home covered in coal dust working in a mine or slathered in sweat from working a roadside construction crew, it is often confused what I do behind the bar isn’t work. People think the fun the crowd has is the same I am having while slinging drinks. Back in Nevada, I would have a drink with the customers but never in Utah. Never had and never will.
Well, that isn’t true. I once did a shot with David Koechner when he came by a bar I was working in SLC. He ordered two shots of Maker’s Mark and pushed one towards me. My instinct said, rather, screamed “No!” but I did it anyway. I figure if I get busted drinking with Champ Kind, I’d pay the price. Still, it was a poor decision.
Making the right decisions is a never-ending series of challenges and it is exhausting. I think we all look back towards our youth because we could defer to our parents to make the decisions for us. As adults, we are in charge of our future and missteps can have long reaching consequences. Example: was opening The Woodshed a good idea? No. For me, this has been the litmus test all other decisions are judged against.
I use it for almost any decision I make. I’ll give another example: is drinking this milkshake and wolfing down this box of chili dogs a good idea? No but in comparision to opening The Woodshed it pales in bad decision making. Therefore, bring on the chow. Second example: is muleing this truck filled with narcotics across a state line a good idea? Well the payoff is good but the downside is ending up in a federal prison. So, in the grand scheme of things, it is a couple of degrees worse than opening The Woodshed. So, no thank you, Pablo Escobar. Rather, no gracias.
In getting ready to go to work at Keys On Main, I try to keep The Woodshed Litmus test readily at hand. Instead of the stick or the carrot, I prefer the space-saver tired filled with cocaine versus the chili dog example. I guess I am mixing up my metaphors about leadership and personal decision making but I really wanted to write the words “space-saver tired filled with cocaine” and chili dog in a sentence. Hell, it’s my blog and you can quit reading whenever you’d like.
[Take a deep breath.]
Thanks for not flipping to online porn. Trust me, redsock.org will be there when we’re done.
Anyway, in getting ready for work, it occurred to me that lesser minds are worried about the Mayans being right about some sort of global catastrophe tomorrow. I can speak for the rest of the rational planet but if it happens, I am going to God damned shocked. Shocked like Darth Vader is Luke’s dad and finding out chili dogs are actually high in sodium. If the mountains crumble or the sea rises and overtakes the planet or John Cusack ends up in a cockpit of a Cessna, I am going to owe every Mayan I run into a Coke.
I’m pretty sure I am going to wake up tomorrow and be reminded of what I have. I hope my family and my home are intact and that there isn’t a shortage of bourbon and Big Cottonwood Ale. I hope I can still watch redsock.org, follow the Utah Jazz (hey, they looked good in Brooklyn and like themselves in Indiana), take the pups for a walk, spend time with Erin and go back to pouring drinks at Keys.
I have become a fan of The Walking Dead not because I secretly want the world to end and have to fight zombies. I like it because it is a well-crafted, unique story that reminds me that I love indoor plumbing, grocery stores and serving drink to douche-bags. Let’s hope the Mayans don’t know jack about apocalypses.
And if they do, well at least I took a chance opening up The Woodshed.