AFTER HOURS AND A BAR HOP IN MID CITY.

My maternal grandfather was gone before I was born. And throughout my years of being with my mother, she’d explain how he was a family man who worked for what he wanted in life using his own hands.

After finishing the sixth grade he would hustle in a strawberry field picking fruit; years later, cook for military servicemen; actually build his own house for my grandmother, mother, and her siblings; and for over 28 years, clean airplanes with Pan Am (Pan American World Airways) at the old Louis Armstrong New Orleans International (MSY) Airport before passing away.

I found his work history somewhat relatable. As in, it wasn’t so different to how random mine was.

I slaved away in fast food; manned a wood shop in the middle of nowhere; labored on construction sites in Pennsylvania and Texas; cooked food and took money as a doorman at a dive bar in North Louisiana; herded background actors and did grunt work in New Orleans and Mississippi as a production assistant; ushered in and cleaned up after disgusting moviegoers at a movie theater; barbacked for a week before the world was quarantined; flipped patties and dressed donuts at a breakfast joint; explored the Big Easy as an Uber Eats driver during the Covid-19 pandemic; and stocked freight at The Home Depot when I was down on my luck in 2022. 

I despised where I last worked so much that I had quit on Christmas Eve as a gift to myself. I couldn’t stand where I was financially and it had felt like all of my creativity had been sapped by corporate nonsense. And my confidence was at its lowest too. My mind would travel back to that time when I had made decent money up north at that dive bar in Ruston, Louisiana. I wanted to work in the bar industry again. Especially since I knew how much revenue flowed in and out of them.

Bathroom Break, 2023

I explained all of this to my mother and she had a sudden look of disappointment. It just wasn’t a job she envisioned me, a person with a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree, doing.

We bickered back and forth until she had finally given in and told me how my grandfather used to run his mother’s bar called The Tumblin Lounge on the southside of Kenner where African Americans mostly lived.

What happened to where my brothers and I couldn't be heirs to a bar?

Turns out it was because my grandfather had been baptized and didn’t want to make a living that way anymore. And that’s where we differed. I wanted to.

…

So why work at a bar?

Because drunk people give away their money without a second thought.

I saw the money-making potential of the bar life a long time ago in Ruston, Louisiana when I worked as a line cook at Sundown Tavern.

I slung turkey melts, dressed gourmet sandwiches, and fire-grilled “Buster” burgers for drunks all night. I partook in Jägerbombs, shots of Patrón, Jameson, and expanded my palate on American brews and the occasional cerveza. And because of me being naturally introverted, I had to force myself to find joy in little things like making headliners on our dry erase board for when local and traveling bands performed on Fridays and Saturdays.

I got so used to being surrounded by inebriated folk that I’d listen to their ridiculous banter willingly, brave the pungent stench of cigarettes and pick up the spit cups they left behind.

(There’s also that one restroom incident I’ll never speak of…)

And strange enough, whenever I’m at a bar now, I get sentimental at the sight of cigarette butts, chewing tobacco, and abandoned glassware. Or when driving my Corolla home after working late, a familiar feeling from my college days unlocks—the blissful relief of clocking out and biking home at 4am in the frigid night air while taking in the uncanny, nightmarish scenery of a foggy dead town. My only illumination for those empty roads were the amber colored street lights which extended from downtown Ruston to beyond the rising hills of W Barnett Springs Avenue.

…

Fast forward five years and here I am barbacking in the United States’ drinking mecca. And I'm good at what I do too. My bar managers, bartenders, and barback cohorts can vouch for me out here in the Big Easy. 

Liquor Room Run, 2023

Take the liquor room for example:

Gins, vodkas, bourbon and rye whiskeys, Irish, Scotches, Japanese whisky's, cognacs, brandy's, liqueurs, amaro’s, grappa’s etc. may seem like quite a lot, but my somewhat photographic memory has streamlined the process of locating these spirits. I’m also able to inform my bar managers and bartenders on whether or not something is in stock.

It took only one shift for me to realize that barbacking was a memory game. One that I had to beat until I could secure a proper schedule and ideal weekend. And within nine months, I did.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.

The perfect three day "weekend" for hanging with the love of my life, doing photography, and bar hopping.

I especially love bar hops because I’m able to let loose and observe motion under the influence, and allow my budding desires to bloom like flowers that have captured the sun’s shine. I'll immediately snap photographs of things that catch my eye, document selfies to prove I was there, and order delicious New Orleanian cuisine.

Bar Hop Selfies, 2023

And what’s a bar hop without an accomplice?

My friend’s amazing sense of direction and astounding general knowledge on New Orleans made this particular three bar night crawl in Mid City a breeze.

At our first stop, The Holy Ground Irish Pub, we didn’t plan on staying for long. It was already too crowded and the chilly night air was great for a stroll. So quickly, we ordered two cheap PBRs and hit the street until reaching Pal’s, a cozy, warm toned bar where we had a lengthy sitting.

The mellowness was infectious.

Slowly, we’d sip on Schlitz and sample Union Mezcal. And we discussed films on our Letterbox watchlist and made plans for future bar hops and casino trips to Biloxi and Baton Rouge.

It was good to talk about things like this when we weren’t too busy at home base (Hotel Saint Vincent) doing our barback duties.

Once we were feeling really good, we then took a long sobering walk under a canopy of oak trees in a quiet neighborhood and finished at the Bayou Beer Garden where there were a few stragglers.

By this time our stomachs were screaming for sustenance so we decided to all put in for a charcuterie board with an assortment of savory meats, gherkins, nuts, fruit; two rum punches in tow.

I’d say it was a good night.

Sobering Walk, 2023

We’re thinking about day drinking at the Four Seasons, The Roosevelt, and Bar Marilou (with my sweetheart tagging along) next.

I can’t wait.