Bryan Brown in the middle of the 1980s was the
actor's version of the latest Replacements album; he made you
think there was still hope, that pap would not overshadow depth,
and that somebody would show Tom Cruise what 'charisma' truly
is. Check out "Breaker Morant" to see what I mean.
When I saw "Cocktail" in 1987, you knew
Brown was the only thing worth watching in the movie -- he had
the best lines, the best facial reactions, and the best possible
seat in the house: behind the bar, watching the circus build
up to its fever pitch. Even now, as you get the chance to view
it for the upteenth time on OCN, it's one of my favourite bad
movies of all time.
In retrospect, I realize that the 'bartender'
is one of the greatest character parts in the movies, or life.
He/she is borne of low-maintainance, stability, familiarity,
and (if you're lucky) ends up becoming a part-time oracle.
One night at Dong-Ha's new bar, it was getting
so busy as to be unbearable. I'm somewhat claustrophobic at
the best of times, and when you're not drinking, a thousand
elbows and 'people whose mouths will not close' quickly cease
to entertain. So I went behind the bar for a bit, if only to
get some breathing space. But I noticed that the staff was running
around frantically washing glasses, filling pitchers, mixing
cocktails, changing kegs, sweeping broken glass, so I decided
to give them a hand.
This isn't unheard of in Pusan. Marshall was behind
the bar at Soul Trane when I arrived here for the first time.
Much later it was JD, and although one breathed fire and the
other personified (to a lot of the female contingient, anyway)
it, I had no aspirations to become the third installment in
the pyro trilogy. I did express an interest to spin some tunes
every now and then at Crossroads, but nothing more.
Anyways, over breakfast that morning, the staff
decided to make me an honourary member. I was honoured, to say
the least. So every so often, I can be found over the counter
at one of bars just doing my best to keep up with the gals and
guys who supply the expats with liberally poured glasses of
hangover. I have to say that it's more fun than I thought it
would be, although it does have its heart-breaking moments.
From the vantage point of the bar, even though
you're mixing drinks and chit-chatting during the quiet moments,
there's not much you can miss throughout the course of any evening.
For starters, unlike the rest of the crowd, you're not drinking.
Clarity beckons from start to finish, and at times you wish
like you had sucked back a fifth.
Almost everybody is flirting; some of it casual,
some of it habit, most of it, whiskey-inspired. Lots of cursory
glances the minute somebody walks in the room. More than a few
frowns, a sly introduction (and even a little decorum), a lit
cigar. Dancing -- LOTS of it--name dropping, queues upon queues
for the sake of Mother Nature.
In Ken Dryden's excellent TV series "The
Home Game", there is a 30-second shot of a Claude Lemiueux's
skates as he glides around during one shift. At a bar, any bar,
people are doing both; floating from table to table, and fixating
on any singular person for great lengths of time. Every now-and-then
during the evening, you can sometimes get a great sense of this....
the regular bar staff see the same actions repeated ad nauseum,
and may therefore become somewhat jaded, but I couldn't help
but find it fascinating.
I'd been a Bartender before, back in Canada, but
only very briefly for charity events. What comes out of it is
a tremendous sympathy for the people who work in bars; insert
whatever country you like here -- bars are the same all over
the world. If you're lucky, you can stumble upon one that becomes
your "Cheers". If you're lucky with ice, you become
"Norm". When that happens, it's time to step back
and throw your glass in the sink.
The worse part of the job is the nasty drunks,
without question. Twice in two weeks the staff has had to deal
with guys who got completely blotto and harangued them at the
top of their lungs about either having lost their precious gems
or else demanding more alcohol in the wee hours of the morning.
Generally this all passes without much incident, and I agree;
it comes with the job. But I believe most inebriate expats would
think again about giving similar crap to their watering holes
back home, lest they got their heads busted open. Merry Christmas,
indeed.
Eventually people do filter out and go their separate
ways. Open up the door and watch the light flow in just in time
for Sunday Mass. Sweep up the debris, tally up what's loading
down the coffers, play a little wind-down ditty or two. The
wiped-out staff is wiping their eyes, their hands, the tables....
This week we'll make it "Sundown". Last week it was
"Sleepwalk", and next week?
Stay tuned, stay awake, stay free, and if you're
lucky, fate just might stay its hand.
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