Eleanor Rigby at the Bar

"To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing."
~Anonymous

I have a problem with alcohol, and no, I do not have a drinking problem. As one who has been neck deep in an industry which thrives upon the vices of others, I have witnessed too much destruction. Destruction of families, of hope, and of self-love.

My problem with liquor: the ease with which it destroys lives.

This week, we lost a beloved staff member. There was no terrible accident, at least not literally. Metaphorically however, it is a wreck. She was let go due to behavior deemed inappropriate; a direct consequence of her drinking. Not one specific episode, but a menage of messy moments over the course of months.

Before you dismiss me as a public service announcement crusader, let me first tell you that I do enjoy drinking, and yes, I've suffered my fair share of mean hangovers. I do however respect myself, and my loved ones. I value life, and I value the notion of personal responsibility.

I am a soft-hearted girl, and I am saddened by familiar long faces every weekend. Faces exhausted by their loneliness; worn with the avoidance, of their wearers, to confront the source of their solitude.

It is tough to be alone, when you feel alone; it is tougher still to feel alone, when surrounded by others. Yet, I see it everywhere. Individuals who come into the bar looking for something to fill their time, their emptiness. It is the hours wasted getting drunk that is creating the same void, which they are trying to fill. I think that for the most part, those to whom I am referring are aware of the counterproductive effects of their nightly sojourns to the taps.

It is not an abundance of ignorance, but a lack of strength, which maintains an addiction.

I am an angry-hearted girl, and I am pissed off with the dismissal of ruddy faced children, contained within the bodies of men and women. Repudiating responsibility; self-absorbed, not self-aware.

Life is about choices.

I am glum, and I am indignant to watch so many choose so poorly.

Silly Solution

Have you been waiting, since last Saturday, in rapt anticipation of this post? Sorry for the delay, but although I've won the midterm battle, I am not yet victor of the semester war. My exams are written, but the assignments keep coming, and coming.

Next Tuesday I must confront a phobia, statistically, more prevalent than the fear of death. Public speaking. To one of my classes, I will be presenting a discussion of Vincent Lam's collection of short stories, Bloodletting & Miraculous Cures.

Although, like the majority of the population, I find speaking in front of a group to be a nerve-racking experience, I have found a way of lessening my anxiety. I make my living speaking in front of relative strangers, and have found that if I tell myself frequently enough that speaking in front of a group of academic peers is no different than approaching a table, public speaking becomes less daunting.

Every time I don my apron I evoke a particular persona, which exists within the larger whole of what constitutes me as an individual. I draw upon my sense of humour, my experiences, and my particular world view when I interact with customers. I simply present these aspects of myself appropriate to my work environment. Why should the environment of the classroom be any different?

Here's how I 'trick' myself:

Before I may take the order of my 'table' of thirty (i.e., my classmates), I must first tell them about our 'daily special' (i.e., Lam's stories). Sound silly? Most definitely. Regardless, a technique which has been effective for me in the past.

This strategy may be of use to any of you who share experiences similar to mine. However, you need not be a server in order to apply my method, simply embrace your silly; use it to your advantage.