Five Years Behind the Bar: Reflections on a Monster-Filled Decade

You’d think that after five years of serving drinks to the creatures of the night, I’d have it all figured out. That the nervousness would fade, and I’d become as cool as the ice in my shaker. But let’s be real, Anonymous - when you’ve got a mummy barking orders at you with a voice that could shake tombstones, or a zombie’s arm drops off mid-order and they casually ask you to pass the salt, it’s hard to keep your cool. I mean, I’m only human. And no matter how much citizenship these monsters might have, they’re still monsters. The kind that give grown men nightmares and make them double-check their locks before bed.

But here’s the thing - despite all the scares and close calls, I’ve learned something crucial. It’s not about not being afraid; it’s about learning to function while terrified. Like when that werewolf pack comes in right before full moon and orders a round of bloody marys (no pun intended), or when the local vampire lord requests his usual ‘Type O Negative’ martini (which, let me tell you, is just cranberry juice with a splash of grenadine). You learn to smile, to joke, to flip those bottles like your life depends on it - because sometimes, it feels like it does.

Still, after all this time, there are moments that catch me off guard. Like last week when a ghoul asked for a ‘Graveyard Smash’ and proceeded to list off ingredients that sounded like they belonged in a witch’s cauldron rather than a cocktail glass. Or when the bar was empty except for one lone specter who just wanted someone to talk to… well, that one actually wasn’t so bad. Maybe I’m getting better at this monster-bartending thing after all. But don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head. After all, in cursed New York, complacency is just an invitation for trouble. And I’ve had enough trouble to last me five lifetimes.