This happened quite a few years ago. I grew up in a very touristy beach town, and I spent my summers making insane money in the service industry as a busgirl, server, bartender, and whatever. This was at a very nice restaurant right on the beach boardwalk — the type of place where everyone wore all black and you had to memorize and recite the specials before you were allowed out on the floor. It was also only my second bartending job, my first being a different bar run by the same people — a big dive bar in a restaurant a town away that didn’t do as well. They liked my work ethic and offered me a job at this place after the season was over.
I have to say, although I didn’t stay there for an awful long time, I LOVED working at this place. The atmosphere managed to be both high-scale and comfortable, and the owners, a lesbian couple who owned several places in the state, obviously cared deeply about the quality of what they were serving. Every last ingredient, down to the salt, was hand-picked by them, and they were both there nightly to taste-test and make sure everything was running smoothly. They were also very good to their employees.
However, I worked with this older guy behind the bar who obviously didn’t appreciate me being there and asking questions. He was a career bartender and he knew his stuff, and he had worked hard to be where he was, so I can understand him not wanting to deal with a young college student who barely knew her way around a Bloody Mary recipe.
On the day in question, we were working together during a Sunday brunch special. A group of regulars came in who were notoriously good tippers but were also loud and a little rowdy. My bartender buddy grabbed some empty bottles and high-tailed it to the back, so I wandered over to take their orders.
They all ordered your typical brunch cocktails: screwdrivers, Bloody Marys, and, of course, mimosas. Great, no problem. Keep in mind, this was the first time I’d worked a brunch, and while we were semi-famous for our homemade Bloody Mary recipe, which I also made at the other restaurant, mimosas were not on our regular menu. For a few minutes, as I gathered the drinks I knew how to make, I considered going after my grumpy sidekick to ask him what we use for mimosas, but the bar was filling up, and I didn’t want to bother him. So, when I could stall no longer, I shrugged, grabbed the only bottle of champagne we kept stocked at the bar (a $250 bottle of Dom Perignon), and popped the cork.
Cue instant regret. INSTANT. It was like I’d been in a trance, and all of a sudden I came to, cold and pale, holding my week’s paycheck in front of a lady who was eagerly surprised at the sudden upgrade. But what was done was done. As there really was no way to hide what I’d so obviously screwed up, I poured the drinks and took care of the rest of the customers.
As soon as my guy came back, I ducked out and ran to the back office where one of the owners was doing inventory. I fessed up immediately, apologized profusely, and told her I would pay for the mistake. She had this funny look on her face as she watched me go through my spiel. Then, she shrugged and just told me we’d figure it out at the end of the brunch, and she sent me back out.
I spent the remainder of my shift convinced I was going to be fired. I practiced how I would handle it. I wouldn’t cry or beg or apologize; I’d just thank them for the chance to learn from such a great group of people and tell them how much I respected their obvious devotion to their work. I’d made a huge mistake, and I was willing to deal with the consequences.
The end of brunch came. I was only scheduled to work the brunch shift, but my bartender buddy was scheduled to work the rest of the day, which happened to be a special event for a wedding party, and another few servers and bartenders started to trickle in.
The owner who’d been there called me to the back office, and I walked in to find both owners looking at me with amused expressions on their faces. I promptly forgot everything I had coached myself on and began frantically apologizing again. They stopped me and told me it was no big deal, I should use it as a learning experience, and that the rest of the staff would appreciate having a glass of Dom Perignon at the end of the night, as they planned on serving it to everyone who worked the wedding party. They assured me that I wouldn’t have to pay for it and sent me on my way.
I ended up enlisting in the Navy a few months later and put in my notice. When I told them I was leaving, they both told me I’d do great things wherever I went, that I had an excellent work ethic, and they’d be happy to hire me back if I ever ended up back in town. They’re still the best people I’ve ever worked for.
