BARTENDER

ROSCOE’S, JUST ONE BLOCK west of 82nd, is filling up with a
Friday night crowd ready to do one thing: shrug off the troubles of the
past week with a cocktail or two… or three. The crowd fits no
overwhelming demographic. They are old and young, tattooed and not,
hipster and blue collar, but they do seem to have a propensity for
unique headwear—bowlers, flat caps, fedoras, trucker hats, and
the ubiquitous ball cap are all here. The patrons mill about, talking
over the music, laughing, and letting loose the occasional
“woo-hoo!”

Kerry Reese is behind the bar. She looks very much like a “take no
shit” type of person, with her long black hair, dark eyes, and rocker
style. Her job, as the sole bartender on duty, is to make sure that
everything runs smoothly. It’s her against the drunken world. She’s
going 90 miles an hour.

There are essential things in this life that we often take for
granted. We simply expect them to be there when we need them. Among
them is a proficient bartender on a Friday night. If everything is
working correctly, they are barely noticed. Your wait is painless; you
pause your conversation just long enough to shout an order at them over
the sound of a blaring jukebox; a powerful cocktail arrives promptly,
you tip them generously, and you go on with the evening. But when
things go poorly, it can put a damper on everything. The party
screeches to a halt.

Reese has been in the industry for over 15 years as a bartender and
server. She doesn’t feel comfortable giving her age. “I could probably
be your aunt, though,” she says. Suffice it to say she is over 21, and
she’s been at Roscoe’s eight months. As she steps away to fill another
pint glass, she shouts out, “It’s the best job I’ve ever had.”

A good dive bartender is always watching. Reese paces back and forth
behind the large U-shaped bar, waiting for someone to give a high sign.
She holds her hands in front of her like a gunfighter who’s just drawn
her pistols, fingers pointed, sweeping across the crowd.

When she spots a new face at the rail, she launches a coaster, which
lands on the bartop like an invitation. She looks them in the eyes;
takes their order. Thus, the brief relationship begins.

Or, if things go well, maybe not so brief. Roscoe’s is often filled
with regulars. “I worked in the Pearl, in the Northwest, a lot of other
places. People are cooler here,” she says, proud of her customers.
“They are way more down to earth. Not pretentious at all. I love my
regulars, actually.”

They, in turn, seem to love her. One brings Reese dinner on a
regular basis. Another helped her set up a new computer.

A good bartender will engender this kind of devotion. A good
customer receives the devotion in kind. Which is not to say that Reese
has never gotten tough. Being so close to 82nd Avenue, the occasional
run-in with hookers, tweakers, or the homeless and mentally ill is
inevitable. Reese seems just as capable of staring someone down as she
does of lifting them out of the dumps with a smile.

It’s almost 11 pm and things are picking up. Reese has hit a steady
rhythm: pour, add to the tab, scan for the next order, run a load of
glassware through the dishwasher, repeat. All across the city there are
bartenders engaged in the same activity. They’ve finally been placed in
a shift with good tips, but in the chaos they still need to find time
for a quick bite or a smoke, all while keeping everyone happy and
maintaining a balance between friendly hospitality and steadfast
authority.

As a veteran bartender, Reese makes it look easy. Everyone has a
drink. Every drink has a coaster. Beneath the coaster the bar is clean
and dry. At least in Roscoe’s, until Reese shouts “last call,”
everything is right with the world.

When Kerry Reese isn’t clocked out on the other side of the bar
relaxing with a drink or two, she can be found in her neighborhood
local, the Standard (14 NE 22nd). What makes the place the
choice for this rockin’ bartender? It’s close to home and there is
plenty of outside seating.

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