I endured a YAR game day as Boylan’s manager
Someone threw up on my bare legs
Oh, YAR. What a time to be alive and an undergraduate at the University of Virginia.
What a time to work on the Corner, and be privy and sober to all of the drunken antics people got into that day.
I wasn’t bartending Saturday, but was actually manager for the most hellish shift imaginable: a combination Game Day and YAR.
Why a borderline alcoholic who can’t get out of bed before 11am is considered responsible enough to be a manager is beyond me, but I’ve been told I’ve been doing a good enough job and it looks great underneath “Poetry Major” on my resume, so I’m very grateful
Since I have no tips from the bar this week, I figured I’d take you along for the rollercoaster ride that was being Boylan’s Manager this past Saturday.
4:30pm
Somehow showered and clean, I show up to work on time. The restaurant is packed. There are no available tables, and there is very little standing room left.
In my head, I am playing Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb,” clinging to it as I imagine Billy Ray does at night when he thinks about his daughter’s trajectory in life. The sun is still very much out, and two girls are already crying alcohol-induced tears.
It is going to be a long night.
5:28pm
Convinced I’ve been here for hours, I check my phone for any messages, truly horrified to learn it hasn’t even been an hour since arriving.
Twelve people want 14 different games on two TVs. I think about throwing the remote away and just backing away with my middle fingers raised, but don’t.
“Claire. There is a time and a place for everything, but not now!” My mother’s voice echoes.
6pm
I’ve restocked ice at the bar at least four times and carried four cases of Bud Light up the stairs. I recall vaguely an article my friend who plays lacrosse read that said chocolate milk is the best thing after a workout.
Does this count as a workout? I whisper to myself as I sweat next to the heat lamps by the kitchen.
7pm
I have seen three couples make out with no regards to who might be watching. I both respect and detest them.
I think, things could be worse. I could be dealing with the guy three weeks ago who whipped his dick out during the dinner shift and when confronted, responded, “What? I whip my dick out all the time.”
I thank God for small miracles. That boy is not here.
7:20pm
The Hoos win! The happiest part of my night! Then, one of the servers, Bess, looks at me, sorrow in her eyes, and says, “Shit. This means more people will come here to celebrate.”
All joy leaves my body, slowly, painfully.
7:50pm
I am standing outside taking a short break when someone being helped home, throws up on me.
I’m wearing a skirt. There is vomit on my bare legs. I want to cry. I contemplate calling an Uber to take me to my apartment three minutes away.
I resist the urge and walk home, wash off my legs and change into pants. The Professional Version of the “Puke & Rally.” I do call an Uber to get back to work.
8pm to close
This period is a blur. I do remember clocking out and taking shots with my boss.
I next remember waking up in my bed with two friends visiting for YAR. One of whom was naked, and when I yelled at her for wrapping her nasty-ass naked body on my pillow, she claimed “this is just who I am, don’t try to change me.”
Well, YAR, I feel the same way about you. Disgusting and ratchet, but I wouldn’t change you for the world.