Among the many jobs I had in my wayward youth was bartender at a college bar. I was paid minimum wage and was damn glad to have the job. It meant I could eat the next day, and I really liked eating as opposed to, well, not eating. But college students were not known for being particularly generous with tips, all their money going to pitchers of cheap beer and the occasional mixed drink if they were buying a beverage to impress someone. So I tried my best to be accommodating to get the occasional tip. After all, it was called “hospitality” for a reason.
What I understood was that the bar didn’t exist so I had a place to make food money, but to make money for its owner who took the risk of opening it, at his expense and hoped it would produce enough revenue to survive. The way that happened was that the joint was sufficiently hospitable that people would come, bring their money and spend it there. If not, then it wouldn’t survive. Harold would be out of business and I would be out of a job. Continue reading
