Open a Bar
There comes a time in every city gent’s life where he says, ‘f*ck it’. ‘F*ck it,’ he says. ‘That’s it. I’ve had it!’ You know the feeling it’s the one when you want to say ‘f*ck it’. This is usually followed by, ‘if I have to attend another booze up at Balls Brothers I’ll kill myself’. Then, ‘I’ve got it! I’ll open my own bar!’ And finally, ‘Yes! That’s it! F*ck it!!’
We’d all like to open a bar, name it after ourselves and have a second family of the great and good descend every night. Warning: this is the least likely outcome. Opening a bar is like opening a can of worms, only more expensive. For starters you’re surrounded by alcohol. Don’t get me wrong, alcohol is nice. Very nice. Too nice on occasion. If you don’t believe me, check your own trail of destruction and distraction and get back to me.
Now consider this: if you’re working behind the bar, the ‘one for yourself’ rule is a slippery slope slippery because it’s mostly covered in sick. It is not nearly as lucrative as taking advantage of the ‘one for yourself’ rule that applies in jewellers and banking institutions and in the long term may lead to alcoholitis: before you know it you’ll have alcopips coming out of your ears and a nose like Sir Alex Ferguson. If that happens you’ll have to find your way out of this world you’ve created, most likely on your hands and knees.
I don’t want to put you off entirely: if you’re single, owning a bar is a great way to scout for a life partner. Proposals will come thick and fast on a Friday night, varying from the romantic, “will you marry me?” to the more immediate, “the seats on my Allegro go all the way back”. Still, almost indiscernibly, over time you’ll tire of these easy wins with sexy secretaries and hanker for something more substantial. You will. Honestly.
Still, don’t take my advice if you’re up for it I say f*ck it! Go for it! Mine’s a pint of créme de menthe. Your good health.