Eater

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ chapter 1 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

"Tell me a little bit about yourself."

"Well, I'm 21. I'm in college, getting my master's in psychology back in California! But I'm here for the summer and would love to develop a bond with the locals and work doing something I'm passionate about!" I say, trying to come off as positive and sociable as possible.

My eyes flicker back and forth from the signage hanging on the walls to John's eyes. They're a sort of greyish blue that compliments his greying blonde hair. I'm sure he was very handsome in his day, but not so much now.

"How would your past coworkers describe you?"

"I think they would describe me as a hard worker, they'd say I know how to get the job done."

"That's good to hear. Are you licensed to serve alcohol?"

"Yep!" I don't care to mention that I only got it to work as a server, not a bartender.

"Awesome! Well, tell me a little about your bartending experience, what's your favorite cocktail to make?"

The exact kind of question I've been dreading. I started to wonder why I ever even came here. Do I be honest? I don't know a single cocktail recipe but I also don't know how I can tell him that and walk out of here with some sort of chance at employment.

"Probably a Cosmopolitan," I let the first cocktail that comes to my mind slip out.

"A classic!" He says, looking pleased with my answer. I'm hoping that's the end of this line of questioning but he begins to stand up. 

"Fill this out while I open up the bar so you can show me your style," he hands me an application and a pen.

He knows I'm faking. He knows I'm a liar. It's so obvious I know nothing. 

I begin to fill out the application. Name, number, birth date, and street address. I get to the blank social security box and I know this is my chance. I pull out my phone and start googling how to make a Cosmopolitan. I write my social security number down slowly while continuing to stare at my phone. I fill out my references, better known as McKenna, the close friend I made when I was serving and she was bartending in the same restaurant. Then I put down the pen and push the application to the center of the table.

"Jane? Are you ready?" John calls out to me, he's resting one hand on the bartop and has a glass in the other hand.

"Yes!"

1.5 ounces of vodka, 1 ounce of cranberry juice, half an ounce of Cointreau

I stand up and push my chair back in, then make my way behind the bar. John hands me the glass and walks around to the outside of the bar. I know he did this to try to make me less nervous and let me have my space, but his gaze is still so strong I can almost feel it burning me. I turn to the bottles and bottles of alcohol displayed on the case in the center of the bar and the choices overwhelm me.

1.5 ounces of vodka, 1 ounce of cranberry juice, half an ounce of Cointreau

"What vodka do you want me to use?" I looked to him for advice picking from the assortment, hoping this wasn't a stupid question to ask.

"The citron one," He says in a mildly disappointed tone and points to the yellow vodka on the shelf. I carefully remove the vodka and start scanning for a jigger.

One of the only lessons I had ever gotten from McKenna was on using a jigger after a customer told me that her drink wasn't strong enough. I brought the drink back to McKenna and she filled the small side and poured it into the woman's drink. As she mixed it around with a straw, she told me the big side holds an ounce and a half, and the little side holds less than an ounce. Then she pulled the straw out and licked it.

I found the jigger and filled the large side with the citron vodka, pouring it into the glass he provided.

"Where's the cranberry juice?" I asked him, feeling the like most annoying person in the world.

"There's a mini fridge behind you and to the left. Turn around and you should find it," He said in a comforting tone, knowing I probably already felt stupid enough.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you!" I quickly found the fridge, it was filled with fruit and olive garnishes and an assortment of juices. I pulled out the cranberry juice and brought it back to the workstation I had made for myself. I filled the jigger a little bit less and added it to the vodka.

I spotted the Cointreau easily and filled the small side until it was almost full and poured it into my drink, then poured the cup forward towards John.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" He asked. I scanned my brain for every single Cosmopolitan I'd seen in a movie or TV show and then it hit me. I moved back to the fridge and looked for the lime slices.

"My bad, I'm a little rusty," I said, adding the lime garnish to the side of my drink.

"Rusty? That was a disaster!" John chuckled. At least he got a kick out of this, because I did not. I felt my cheeks go hot, I had wasted my time even coming down here. 

"Listen, Jane, I can tell you're an amateur. I'm frankly offended you thought you could fool me," He said to me, lacing his fingers together on the bartop. I sighed and looked down into the drain on the floor. "But I admire your attitude and I think our customers would like you. There's nothing that can't be taught to you in a few days."

"Really?" The smile on my face is wide and I meet his eyes again.

"Yeah, plus we're a little desperate now," We both laugh a little. "You left your number on the application, correct?"

I nod and walk out from behind the bar.

"Okay, I'll give you a call on Monday," He approaches me and we shake on it.

I pick up my bag and make my way towards the exit, I'm pretty sure I just pulled off the steal of the century.

"Thank you!" I call out to him as I push the door open.