Work is Coming to an End.

For the past eight years, since I was 15 I have had a job. This coming Tuesday, Nov. 26 will be the first time in eight years that I will be officially unemployed and I can’t express how happy I am surprisingly to say, YES, I am unemployed and proud of it!


(My best friend and fellow co-worker at the Golden Frog. I am going to miss working with my best friends.)

I can only proudly say I am happy to be unemployed because I know that my Four years of education have paid off and its now time to put that hard work to good use and find a career.

I am however, very thankful for all the work experience that I have gained throughout my collegiate career ranging from customer service experience, including answering many phone calls, emails and the occasional incorporation of pending legal matters.

Working in a wide array of jobs has helped with my overall composition as an individual. From first starting out as a hostess, to working as a bartender and office secretary for a local rental company, as well as my short spout at Allstate Insurance have all given me a different sense of work ethic and I couldn’t be more happy to be blessed with the choices I’ve made.


Good Cop v. Bad Cop

Working at any job there are certain aspects to the profession one does or does not like. There may also be co-workers and customers/clients that one deals with that you either love like an adorable grandfather or despise more than the evil wicked witch of the west.

In most scenarios that play out at the bar I absolutely love and adore my co-workers. One of which has become one of my very best friends, and then there’s those who you can’t stand even for an eighth of a second.

But, lets not dwell on the negativity of the witch.

Some of my favorite customers are a group of police officers from Milwaukee, WI and trust me they know how to hang with the best of them. My very first encounter with them was over an ease dropping conversation. I overheard one of them laughing and joking about how all police officers were assholes and that they’re a bunch of pigs, and crooked cops.

Now this situation is prior to my knowledge of them all being police officers so I immediately had to chime in.

Let me be clear, there are defiantly times when my mouth gets me into a lot more trouble than it should. I speak my mind quit frequently, so I didn’t assume anything ill should come of me agreeing that police officers are a bunch of assholes, and they always seem to want to kick a man when he’s down.

Little did I know what I was getting myself into…

Of course, they all undoubtedly starred at me like I was this evil little girl. I stood there for what felt like an eternity waiting for a response, and when I received no reply back I replied, “I’m just waiting for one of you to say you’re a cop”.

They all immediately started laughing and then horrifically notified me that they’re all police offices. They then started drilling me on why I don’t like cops; meanwhile, I tried to avoid the subject by talking about firemen. Please don’t ask me why I thought that was the best route.

That obviously made the conversation more awkward. Now every time they come to visit me at work, which is about every other weekend, they remind me of how much I hate cops and how sexy I think Firemen are!

A unique friendship grew out of an awkward moment, but those awkward moments are what continue to make my job new and exciting.

Daddy’s Little Party Animal

The best explanation I can give you is simply by showing you one of my favorite photos of my father and I, especially since a photo can say a thousand words.


I’m not trying to sound cliché’ by any means but my Dad is nothing like yours. Monday-Thursday he is by societies means a professional, but when Thursday night rolls around much like in Winona there are simply “no fucks given”  and everything goes right out the window, along with most of our pride. On a good note – He is the most wonderful father, provides for his family, and is still able to have a great time! And, when I say great time I mean he would be on WSU passouts each weekend much like I once was.


(Chicago can do that to a young woman) Now why is this relevant?

Part of this party animal mentality that has been passed down to me not only by my father but also through generations before me have led me to the bartending profession.  I am not by any means condoning that an individual should be an alcoholic, but to teach their own. The main point I am trying to get at, is that bartending if you can handle idiots for a 10+ hr shift is a great way to pay your way through college.

Since this blog is about the “The Working Girl” i.e. Me! I will share with you some of the wonderful pluses that can be attributed to bartending and some of the gut wrenching worst parts associated with the profession. For me by far the best part is the tips you get to go home with every night.Having cash flow at the end of the night is amazing!

Having dispensable funds at the end of each shift have made me able to be financially independent from my parents aside from Healthcare coverage (because let’s be real I don’t want to pay for that). To me being financially independent and living on my own means a lot. It makes me feel like I have accomplished more than just good grades, that I have been able to successfully take care of myself and that I am actually being an independent adult, slowly but surely of course.

Now to begin on the dawning worse parts of bartending – Where to begin… You have to deal with assholes all the time and still have a smile on your face. You work long hours and extremely late shifts. Some nights I don’t make it home till 2:30 or 3:00 A.M. and somehow still have to make it to class the following morning and then the process repeats itself.

You have to know when to cut drunks off. You risk potential jail time for serving an underage consumer or even worse you risk the lives of others when they choose to drive after you have served them.

For me the absolute worst thing that has happened is that you can get hurt. For example, I was working on a Friday night this past summer and we were relatively busy. I didn’t know the back was being mopped and I ran into the back to bring some dirty dishes back and slipped and fell on the floor slicing my right wrist open. I cut through all the fatty tissue down to part of my muscle. As you can see by the photo’s below it wasn’t a tiny cut.

ouch Photo on 7-29-13 at 1.12 PM #2

I ended up needing eight stitches after an immediate scary rush to the emergency room. This is probably an absolute worst case scenario or at least one of them but it’s nice to be aware of the negativity as well as the positive aspects to any situations.