FIRED! In 45

 

Fired! In 45

Gibby's. Fort Lauderdale. FIRED! It was forever ago, but it is still funny to me. (It wasn't the least bit funny when it happened.)

Gibby's was a well-known, long-established restaurant in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I think it lasted something like 40 years or so before weather damage and interior weariness signaled The End.

But I was there in the beginning. Day One.

Never a drinker, I lived by the beach and was still a bar-going 21 year old. Partying and playing and searching for dates while shouting over disco music; these were typical twenties before payphones disappeared and everything electronic took over everything social.

I didn't drink because alcohol tastes terrible and it made me sick. Half a beer and I barf. Very lightweight date, me. A ginger ale and some interesting banter and we might ignite a small spark. Extra small, because I can't get drunk on ginger ale, even with two stemmed cherries.

But who doesn't like the bar atmosphere and I needed night work ( I was a bank teller by day), so I thought it would be fun to be in the bar ambiance where the excitement and laughter and noise made me feel comfortable, but not be obliged to drink. BARTENDER. That's the ticket. How hard could that be? Getting paid to party!

I read a bit about bartending and had certainly watched enough Tom Cruise wannabees behind a bar shaking up a cocktail. I could do it. Mostly, people tell you what they want. Rum and Coke. Gin and tonic. Vodka and orange. It would be easy. Fake it till I make it was my mentality. After a few weeks and having a chance to watch coworkers, I figured I'd learn on the job. After all, there's the trusty Mr. Boston's Bartender Guide hanging on a chain behind the bar. If somebody ordered something too fancy, I'd sneak a peek.

As the world's best interview, I always get the job. I make great first impressions. My last impressions are memorable too. It's the middle impressions that get me in trouble.

Gibby's was making a grand splash in papers and around town about opening. They interviewed new hires on TV and picked me! They had big interview events and getting a job there was pretty spectacular for loads of people. The restaurant defined luxury. During interviews, there were group tours, uniform and food samplings, all kinds of unusual excitement and corporate involvement that goes with these sorts of upcoming grand openings. I remember a super seminar we had with a wine company after I got hired and before we opened, where we sampled wines, learned all about them and how to recommend them and got gifts from the winery and a personal fancy corkscrew.

Anyway, The Interview. I applied to be a bartender. I'd had enough waitress jobs to last a lifetime and Bartender was my new goal. We didn't have resumes back then, we filled out applications. Remember those? I might have lied a little bit on mine. I had nearly been a career cocktail waitress and switched up a couple of those jobs to behind the bar experience. Employers didn't check back then. Especially if they liked you. I wouldn't be doing brain surgery … other than in liquid form, so hey, hire me! 

But I made my great first impression. We had a good interview and I knew that they would hire me and they did. I was going to work at Gibby's! I told all my friends. And I was going to BE A BARTENDER!

Oh to be 21 again and know everything there is to know. Considerably older now, I look back on that girl with warm affection and astonishment simultaneously.

Day One. Boy was I excited in my fancy Gibby's uniform with the black and white bartender's look and red bow tie. Very crisp and sharp. Oh yes, I felt that I'd made it. After a brief meeting with the whole staff and a scrumptious introductory meal on our bosses, we OPENED!

Customers poured in opening night. They were lined up waiting. The bar filled fast. The service bar cranked quickly too. Luckily, I wasn't on service bar, because those orders pop fast with no time to think and waitresses waiting impatiently.

A man ordered a Jack & 7. I knew what that was! See? Piece of cake. Somebody else ordered straight up bourbon, another asked for a house brand. A glass of wine. A shot. A beer. Nothing hard at all. This was fun! They were lining up. I got a TIP! Everyone was laughing and cutting up and I couldn't believe I would get paid to pour and party like this.

And. Then. It. Happened. A business man in a high thread count custom suit sat down and asked for a Brandy Alexander. 

A WHAT? Not even an hour on the job and somebody wants a drink I've never heard of. My heart raced. I was too embarrassed to ask him what was in it and I didn't want to get caught not knowing, so I sort of pivoted around a bit and bent down to sneak at look in my little book.

Mr. Boston's got me in trouble. My boss saw me look. Panic. I lost my fake it till you make it in my frantic search for an Alexander. Whew. I finally found it. Brandy, Creme de Cacao, and cream. I dropped the book, picked up a skipped heartbeat, and perspired in my new fancy uniform, but made the dang drink. It actually looked like the little picture from the book when I set it down. The man took a sip and nodded. 

But ... it was too late. My cover was broken. My “experience” listed on my application was a lie and my boss called me to his office and asked me what just happened at the bar and why did I not know how to make a basic drink?

Basic? How is it basic if I've never heard of it and I know I know everything? My mind was racing in an effort to bail me out of my brandy blunder.

Dejected and not yet savvy enough to spin his head with any fast stories, I mumbled something about having forgotten or just wanting to make sure. He wasn't buying it and he fired me. Just like that. 45 minutes on the job and I was well done. Fired.

Gibby's was there in that spot for 40 plus years, but I never went back. The only meal I ever ate there was that before opening employee meal. What happened there, completely my fault, nevertheless stung me hard. That I couldn't just fool my way into a skilled service job. 

Do you know what I did? Not taking kindly to not knowing everything about something I was interested in, I went to Bartender School and I became a Master Bartender. The International School of Bartending. International. That's right, Tom Cruise has nothing on me. Well, that's not exactly true... he has a lot on me. But can he curl napkins with a bar glass? Can Tom slice lemons and oranges into fancy curls? Bet he can't make a perfectly blended Long Island Iced Tea either.

Trading my bow tie for my famed Mai Tai, my favorite mixologist jobs were in comedy clubs, because nothing goes better with flavorful Spirits like funny comedians.

I never learned to like liquor myself and I never tasted a Brandy Alexander in my life just on purpose. I got fired in 45 minutes, but I learned a good lesson at Gibby's and humility is never served on ice. It is always served straight up.

I got to keep the personal fancy corkscrew.

Just Another Lori Story