You just never know what you are going to get in the ladies’ restroom.  This past weekend I walked in to see a neatly laid line of crisp white powder gleaming on the edge of the sink.  Thinking that the 80s were back and someone was clearly not vigilant, I licked my finger and tasted what I thought was going to numb my tongue and sharpen my senses. Instead I was struck with the sweet and gritty flavor of Similac baby formula.

Although I’ve spent hours in the ladies’ restroom, I am still amazed by the excitement that takes place in there.  Anyone who thinks that the restroom is only for peeing and washing one’s hands hasn’t been in after 10 p.m.  Late into the night the bathroom becomes its own entity where hair-styling tips are exchanged, Facebook friends are made, and secrets are spilled.  It is where girls go to share the excitement of kissing the boy they’ve lusted after for weeks and it’s also where girls go to cry when the they see their ex out with someone else for the first time.

There used to be a bartender in Denver who wore a button that said, “Ask me about water, no ice.” Only the truly daring would venture the question because the answer was a whirlwind of hate and distaste she had for those who didn’t just take their water from the tap with some ice cubes in it. I don’t share this hatred, but I am always amazed by all of the creative ways people have found to enjoy one of life’s simplest pleasures.

A lot can be learned from the person who places a water order.

No ice? You think a lot about hydration and you don’t sip your water you inhale it. You will drink at least three full glasses of water in long gulps and the only reason you stop devouring it is because you don’t know what’s going on in conversation as you’ve spent most of the evening making trips to the restroom.

This is the week the bar manager doesn’t sleep, the lead up to what is the biggest night of the year when bar records get broken. Every angle must have an exit strategy, as it is an evening where anything can happen and the impossible will. It’s the only night that it wouldn’t be a surprise for the electricity to go out, the sprinkler system to spray water everywhere, the refrigerators to all stop working, and to have some crazy a-hole drive his car through the front door right as the balloons drop.

The preparation for such a night is fervent with panicked last minute runs to Cash and Carry, passionate apologies because we can’t accommodate anyone else, and crazed ruckus as we try to find space for triple the usual amount of ingredients. For fourteen hours we will run at full tilt under unbearably stressful conditions to make the magic of New Year’s come alive.

I am often asked if you can tell a person by what they drink, and of course I can.

 

Rum and Coke? You’re laid back and uncreative. You aren’t worried about drinking caffeine and sugar until 2 a.m. and you don’t care much for ambiance. You usually hang out with one other friend and you’d rather chill at the bar than shake your booty.

Tic Tac?(orange rum dropped into orange juice and red bull) You were born after 1986. You spend a considerable amount of time primping yourself before you leave the house and you always have an entourage. You never drink alone and you have one intention at the bar – to hook up.

There are few ways that you can attempt not to pay for your drinks.  While the bartender has your attention, you can break your neighbor’s highball so that she has to clean up ice cubes, slivers of glass, and spilled whiskey and seven.  And while her head is turned, you can play Houdini and disappear.  Or you can give her a bunk credit card to open a tab.  Or you can wad up your money up so tight that it takes so much time to unfold it that when she is aware she has been shorted, you have gone awol.  But if that she is me, I will find you and make you pay, Nothing makes me madder than someone trying to pull the wool over my eyes.  I have pursued unpaid bar tabs to other bars, I have filed charges against people with stolen or fraudulent credit cards, and I have even hunted down two grown men to find them huddled blocks away in their tiny barren apartment to make them pay me for two Irish Car Bombs.