There Are No Cherries in this Bomb

For a very long time, I did not feel inspired to write. And today... I felt I should. I feel angry, sad, grateful, and more than anything: human. 

The man I used to work for sent me a thumbs-up after I told him my mother passed away and thanked him for the opportunity to work without payment at an event I had thrown myself for nothing but a kick in the butt and an apparent ban from getting shifts at what used to be my favorite bar due to my
"inadequate skills"--better phrased as a lack of experience in the field. I was so angry I thought about throwing eggs at the place last night... but then I didn't, because the people cleaning up the mess would be my friends. 

What a childish irony... and a potential waste of eggs.

I hate when people forget what it means to be below, below but with real heart and initiative. I really loved that bar; it was a special place for me here. Even after the last man I loved dumped me right there, in that very same spot. And it was at another table there that another man swore I was the one, then ghosted me for a year... (I guess I should stop bringing my dates here?) But this place is also where I would go for a beer with my best friend after watching films for about 10 bucks on Mondays, where I found my cherished cocktail in this country, and where I realized that being on the other side of the counter is not only a job, but a place where I could make friends and be there for people who also sometimes need a break. 

I never thought I would be that excited to be a bartender, being a little Mexican woman who never had the need to work in hospitality before. I had always gotten jobs in my field, and not any kind of jobs--manager jobs. But the departure of my mother fucked up many things... including how I used to see the institution that brought me here, and I just had to find something else. And this was it. 

It did not last long enough. 

And just as my school kind of turned its back on me when I really needed support, this place gave up on me after I tried to show initiative nobody had asked for. The people on top barely know who the ones at the bottom are, and they do not care about our hearts, our dreams, or even about the fact that we actually give a fuck about the place we work for. I cared about my students and about my customers. And both remember me with kindness and a smile on their faces. And regarding all the people I shared shifts with, I hope they know I feel absolutely privileged to have learned from them and shared espresso martinis at 7 pm. I promise that if I ever decide to be at the top again, I will strive not to forget that those who are actually at the bottom are the ones who keep things going, for better or worse. 

And despite everything, I feel grateful. Grateful that a senior bartender, my sensei, took a chance on me and let me taste a life I never thought of. And that I could make friends with people outside my little closed academic world. 

And now I know there is much more behind a cocktail or a clean bathroom. And now I know that some cherry bombs explode in your face without warning. Mine came with a thumbs-up. 

Maybe one day I will finally get to make a cherry bomb. Ironically, I never learned to make my favorite cocktail. But maybe it isn't ironic at all. Maybe there will be a time when I will be back to learn?

I don't know if one day I will have the courage to tell this man that I wish he had not judged me that quickly and with what felt like little compassion or care. But that day is not today. Today I will work on the reason why I am here in the first place: my thesis. With or without a dime, I am still here, and I am creating something greater than myself, and I owe it to the people who believed in me to finish it. 

So this is for my supervisors, for my participants, for my family, for my mother... but more than anything: for Laura.