here’s to never being sober at a wedding

Agreed to be the bartender at a wedding, so I could say I have been a bartender. Problem with this is, what if the wedding is bad and you can’t drink because you’re the bartender?

What if it starts out bad, continues to be bad, then gets better for a second to make you think that it’s not bad, then it gets real real bad and just when you think you’ve had all the bad that bad could be it is in fact, still bad….?

So my friend and I who were the bartenders for this wedding arrive at the venue in the middle of nowhere, walk up a gravely hill in our heels, and then sat down to enjoy the least enjoyable ceremony there ever was.

Picture the most annoying woman, with the most annoying voice, who thinks she is crazy important, and that is the pastor who officiated this wedding. Her voice was robotic as she recited scripture and then discussed the scripture in that same tone, that sort of reminds me of my GPS minus the British accent. What was worse was that she kept saying the word “love”. Every sentence this bitch would throw that word in. She was only three or four minutes in when I began swearing under my breath and turning on my phone to text, anything to distract myself from the temptation of simply walking out of the ceremony. She talked of the love of the couple, the love of the families, the love, true love, God’s divine love. I waited for her to start in on the love the couple has for cats, for walks on the beach, or gardening but I can’t claim to have still been paying attention by the middle to see if she took it that far.

After the ceremony from hell (where apparently the focus is love) my fellow bartender and I booked it down that damn road of gravel to set up the bar at the reception site. As we are carefully trying not to die in platform heels we find one of our friends, stumbling up the road, towards the ceremony, with an empty bottle of jack in his hand. Drunker than I think I’ve ever seen anyone in my life and headed toward the crowd of people exiting the ceremony, we took it upon ourselves to steer him away. As we tried to hide him from others it became more clear, he wanted to make a scene.

Soon other friends came to cart him off to a hotel, but the second that catastrophe was crushed I was approached by someone in authority at the venue, about my credibility as a bartender. Apparently the bride had let on that my friend and I were professionals, so what was really left for me as far as options? Lying. Which I did.

As I’m pouring alcohol that I cannot drink, because I’m the one behind the bar, I’m realizing what a terrible idea this all was. The maid of honor (who was constantly panicked and constantly annoying) went up to give her speech and begin to sob and give the most obnoxious 5-10 minutes of blubbering, meanwhile I attempted to go to a happy place in my mind that stops me from drinking the open bottle of wine out on the bar, that I’m supposed to be serving.

Soon things picked up and loud music and friendly people made the time go by faster. My brother, one of the groomsmen, attempted to get me on the dance floor but the bride screamed at him to put me back behind the bar. Apparently it was a violation of something or other.

It’s ten thirty pm, the reception is over and we clean up until about eleven thirty pm. We get to our hotel where our drunken friend had been dropped off earlier. He is still drunk and now wanting to streak in the hallway of our hotel. We take awhile to take care of all that before we head down the street to a bar.

At the bar my friend and I are finally ordering drinks instead of soberly serving them, and we realize that the majority of the wedding party is not really drinking and are actually sipping water. You see they had been drinking beer/wine for free at the reception for the last three hours and were now wanting to go to bed. This should have been the point where I just stayed at the bar and ordered shots and let everyone else leave, but at this point I had given up on it all and thought maybe bed would be nice.

As our group is getting ready to leave a huge bald guy with tattoos calls my brother a “faggot” and starts making threats and wanting to fight outside. Our party then couldn’t leave the bar because the bald guy and his friends decided to stay outside the door waiting for us to come out for some lets break your jaw so you have to get surgery and your face will forever be distorted good old fashioned fun. Finally after the bride stepped in and gave a sob speech about it being her wedding day and all, they let us leave.

Side note, I wanted to give my phone number to this one guy who was part of the wedding party, but then found out he was brother to the bride and I suddenly chickened out. As I was leaving he said something about “well I probably will never see you again…” can’t even remember what I said back but I remember thinking that my drunken self could have done this better.

Anyways so were back at the hotel hours earlier than I thought we’d be, I’m not tipsy or even that tired, but as were laying down and getting comfortable, our drunk friend/attempted reception ruiner, returns to the hotel. He is determined on havoc as he shouts about wanting to go to Tahoe, then has sex with his girlfriend in the bathroom, then attempts to get his keys and when he can’t, walks out of the hotel room. He comes back and is still riled up so my brother goes on on a walk with him in hopes to tire him out.

The girlfriend of our drunken problem had started sobbing on the floor so we put her in our bed, and the three of us had probably fallen asleep together and had been pleasantly dreaming for about a half hour before my brother returned with him, who had not been yet tired out. Another hour goes by and finally he is as quiet as he is ever going to be and we all sleep.

That sleep lasted all but an hour and a half before it was about eight something am and we are up. One person couldn’t find their wallet, and the other their keys. Searches began and I felt that leaving this god forsaken middle of nowhere town was never going to happen. Finally two hours later or so I’m home, in bed, making note to volunteer zero services to any wedding in the upcoming future.

Here is the positive take from this terrible day and a half:
I can now say I have bartended (whoop).


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