Page 13 of The Other Half

I thought back to the tutorial I’d watched last night on pouring beers and saw the handles sticking out of the counter. Grabbing a glass from the mat in front of me, I lifted it to the spout.

“What are you doing?” Jo asked, and I turned to face her. “That’s a rocks glass. Beer goes in pint glasses.” Her arched eyebrow made me feel about two inches tall.

“Right. I did know that. It’s just my friends like their beer in these glasses,” I lied. My friends would never drink beer. “Sorry.”

“No worries. Just grab one from there.” She pointed to the taller glasses, and I grabbed one then put it under the tap spout. Finding the blue handle marked Bud Light, I slid it over and pulled. Golden liquid poured out and landed in the bottom of the glass. Instantly white foam started creeping up and soon it was ready to overflow with the bubbles.

“You need to tip the glass,” Jo said, and I turned to see her and Larry exchange a look.

Tip the glass! Damn it! I knew that! It was part of the lesson I’d watched on YouTube last night and already forgotten.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, been awhile,” I said and heard Larry snort.

“Gotta break the new ‘un in, eh, Jo?”

“Apparently I do,” Jo grumbled, and I could hear the irritation slip into her voice.

Dumping out the foam and starting over, I angled the glass like they showed me in the video and tried again. The beer slid down the side this time, and instead of white foam, the golden liquid rose toward the top. When it got as high as it could without spilling, I brought it straight up and pushed the tap handle back. A perfect glass of beer.

“I did it!” I cheered, stopping just short of jumping up and down so I didn’t spill the beer.

With a huge grin celebrating my accomplishment stretched across my face I turned to Jo and Larry and held it in the air like a prized trophy.

“Congratulations?” Jo said, and I realized the experienced bartender I told her I was wouldn’t think tapping a beer was worthy of a celebration akin to climbing Mount Everest. Trying to stifle my excitement, I carried it over with care and set it in front of Larry. “Here you go. That’ll be four dollars.”

Grey bushy brows snapped together, and he shot Jo a look. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, I didn’t tell her yet. Locals don’t pay as they go. You start them a tab and they pay when they’re done.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said, my excitement deflating beneath Larry’s stare.

“She just started fifteen minutes ago, Larry. Give her a break.”

“What the hell’s the fun of breaking in the new help if I can’t give ‘em a hard time!” The anger in his eyes subsided and mirth replaced it. “I’m just shitting you, kid. Welcome to the family.”

“Oh,” I breathed, then smiled. “Thanks.”

“Jo here’s a good shit. She’ll teach ya right.”

“Thanks, Larry. Wish I could say the same for him, but he’ll never stop giving you a hard time.”

A gruff laugh filled the empty bar then dissolved into a coughing fit.

“Quit smoking, Larry,” Jo chided.

“Quit yapping at me like you’re my wife,” he snarled back. They both smiled, and I realized their banter was playful. “I’m goin’ out for one. Save my seat.”

“Will do, Larry,” Jo answered.

When he carried his beer outside, Jo turned to me and cocked her head. “You’ve never bartended, have you?”

Biting my lip, I shook my head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I really need this job. I promise I can learn.”

With a huff she tossed up her hands. “It’s fine. But you’d better learn fast. Pretty soon this place will fill up and I won’t have time to hold your hand. I wish you would have told me, and I would have had you come in earlier to train you more.”

“I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t think you’d hire me.”

“It’s fine. I need the help. Any help. Just pay attention.”