October, 2013
"Washington DC was rocked with another protest by Emergent Rights protesters outnumbered by counter-protesters sponsored by the American Anti-Witchcraft League. Capitol Police were forced to intervene with tear gas. Both sides are blaming the other for starting the violence..."
Brian clicked off the TV behind the bar to something else. Sports was a safe topic in Haye, even these days. John, his brother, was never a big fan, but Brian knew the demographic a little better -- Sports was a cultural calm in the middle of a storm, something all the locals could agree on.
The Water of Life was a bar that tried to be trendy in a blue collar town, a place with furniture that Johnny and friends assembled or otherwise acquired at markets where the going rate was relatively cheap for the quality. It had a fine bar made of refurbished antique brass fittings and an armchair area, mostly useful for the daytime crowd, that allowed people to sit and even read. It had an espresso bar, which neatly converted the place into a coffee house and breakfast place in the morning. It displayed local art, which ran from the pretentious to the postmodern and occasionally to the interesting (though it'd taken a morbid and occult-fascinated turn lately) and generally served as a gathering place for the segment of Haye's population that liked a latte.
But the place had pool tables, TV's and lots of beer. It had a menu of simple things, but occasionally specials that took a stab at the trendy, but the place still produced wings by the basketfull come the happy hour.
Brian was just coming in for the afternoon and evening shift, relieving a harried-looking Jordan, the barista-bartender that covered the morning shift -- he got the shit end of the stick as far as Brian was concerned, because he was dealing with frazzled people buying their coffee drinks, deprived until they finally got it and tapping their toes impatiently until they got it. Brian might have to argue with drunks, but he was good at it. John was there to manage the kitchen, but he calmly handed over more and more authority in the front of the house to his older (middle) brother that knew how to run the front; the service got more consistent, John got to focus on the food and managing inventory and Brian got tips because he worked the bar at night.
Once in a while, the Sheriff even came in, asking surreptitiously for a cappucino on the sly -- Luntz didn't want to get caught drinking the stuff, it wasn't considered proper for a blue collar, steel town sheriff to indulge in it, but it was Brian that got him hooked on espresso -- double shot for the long nights.
Wearing his henley sweater, long-sleeves always and no hair on his head, he preferred a kitchen-style striped apron for slinging the drinks, which got Brian a few jokes from the locals that remembered him from his football days as a Haye Roughneck.
Once he was done counting Jordan out against the receipts in the system, he gave the other bartender a salute, releasing the man from his shift, and then settled in to do the work. One or two customers, no big deal. It'd been a slow spell around the area after a particularly nasty series of unusual lights and sounds at night, and the overwhelming sense that it was getting worse around here -- the Emergence, the attitudes of the locals, you name it. There'd been violence around town, which was why Sheriff Luntz was working later shifts. It was why one of the waitresses quit -- she wanted daytime hours, they all wanted daytime hours, and the only thing the place had was nighttimes. It was a change from the old days when people wanted the most lucrative shift and when the most lucrative shift was nights.
It was hard on Brian's wallet in terms of tips, but he didn't mind it so much. He had a lot to chew on these days. And if there weren't people in the place, he could always wipe down the bar, adjust the bottles, check the glasses and otherwise eat up his time with the minutae of boredom. Others were already doing that, even at 2pm; they were checking their smartphones and relaxing. Johnny expected people to work when there were customers, but once no customers meant a slow shift, where people did whatever they could to make the time pass.
Hockey, at least, gave them something to watch and argue about, safe ground from the local politics. Sheriff Luntz wasn't going to be in office much longer, and it looked like things would heat up -- the new guy was bound to be fervently anti-Emergent, jumping on the most minute things the way the local populace wanted.
It was something to not think about.
@AmazinglyVivid
"Washington DC was rocked with another protest by Emergent Rights protesters outnumbered by counter-protesters sponsored by the American Anti-Witchcraft League. Capitol Police were forced to intervene with tear gas. Both sides are blaming the other for starting the violence..."
Brian clicked off the TV behind the bar to something else. Sports was a safe topic in Haye, even these days. John, his brother, was never a big fan, but Brian knew the demographic a little better -- Sports was a cultural calm in the middle of a storm, something all the locals could agree on.
The Water of Life was a bar that tried to be trendy in a blue collar town, a place with furniture that Johnny and friends assembled or otherwise acquired at markets where the going rate was relatively cheap for the quality. It had a fine bar made of refurbished antique brass fittings and an armchair area, mostly useful for the daytime crowd, that allowed people to sit and even read. It had an espresso bar, which neatly converted the place into a coffee house and breakfast place in the morning. It displayed local art, which ran from the pretentious to the postmodern and occasionally to the interesting (though it'd taken a morbid and occult-fascinated turn lately) and generally served as a gathering place for the segment of Haye's population that liked a latte.
But the place had pool tables, TV's and lots of beer. It had a menu of simple things, but occasionally specials that took a stab at the trendy, but the place still produced wings by the basketfull come the happy hour.
Brian was just coming in for the afternoon and evening shift, relieving a harried-looking Jordan, the barista-bartender that covered the morning shift -- he got the shit end of the stick as far as Brian was concerned, because he was dealing with frazzled people buying their coffee drinks, deprived until they finally got it and tapping their toes impatiently until they got it. Brian might have to argue with drunks, but he was good at it. John was there to manage the kitchen, but he calmly handed over more and more authority in the front of the house to his older (middle) brother that knew how to run the front; the service got more consistent, John got to focus on the food and managing inventory and Brian got tips because he worked the bar at night.
Once in a while, the Sheriff even came in, asking surreptitiously for a cappucino on the sly -- Luntz didn't want to get caught drinking the stuff, it wasn't considered proper for a blue collar, steel town sheriff to indulge in it, but it was Brian that got him hooked on espresso -- double shot for the long nights.
Wearing his henley sweater, long-sleeves always and no hair on his head, he preferred a kitchen-style striped apron for slinging the drinks, which got Brian a few jokes from the locals that remembered him from his football days as a Haye Roughneck.
Once he was done counting Jordan out against the receipts in the system, he gave the other bartender a salute, releasing the man from his shift, and then settled in to do the work. One or two customers, no big deal. It'd been a slow spell around the area after a particularly nasty series of unusual lights and sounds at night, and the overwhelming sense that it was getting worse around here -- the Emergence, the attitudes of the locals, you name it. There'd been violence around town, which was why Sheriff Luntz was working later shifts. It was why one of the waitresses quit -- she wanted daytime hours, they all wanted daytime hours, and the only thing the place had was nighttimes. It was a change from the old days when people wanted the most lucrative shift and when the most lucrative shift was nights.
It was hard on Brian's wallet in terms of tips, but he didn't mind it so much. He had a lot to chew on these days. And if there weren't people in the place, he could always wipe down the bar, adjust the bottles, check the glasses and otherwise eat up his time with the minutae of boredom. Others were already doing that, even at 2pm; they were checking their smartphones and relaxing. Johnny expected people to work when there were customers, but once no customers meant a slow shift, where people did whatever they could to make the time pass.
Hockey, at least, gave them something to watch and argue about, safe ground from the local politics. Sheriff Luntz wasn't going to be in office much longer, and it looked like things would heat up -- the new guy was bound to be fervently anti-Emergent, jumping on the most minute things the way the local populace wanted.
It was something to not think about.
@AmazinglyVivid
