A server I know from Davis Square (Somerville, MA), recently started a blog featuring restaurant haiku. English language haiku is typically only three lines and is meant to capture a single moment, or feeling. Here’s a description from WikiHow: “When you see or notice something that makes you want to say to others, ‘Hey, look at that,’ that experience may well be suitable for a haiku.”
Haiku-style seems perfect for bar blogs — it’s in line with today’s shorter Twitter-like communication. (“Easily digestible, aren’t they?” this server said when I raved about her posts.)
If you want the real deal, I suggest visiting her site . . . but here are few of my own in the general style.
A bartender’s life . . .
Finished with work, tired and burnt-out,
searching through the frig for something to eat.
So you have a beer.
If you’re going to behave like a little girl, where’s your . . .
You are a restaurant worm, talking
behind everyone’s back. Pssst. Psssst.
Where’s your little skirt?
You know your life is different when . . .
Hit the snooze button twice — then
struggle to sit upright, bare feet on the floor.
Trying to get to work by 6:00 PM.
I’m tempted. I’m flattered. But . . .
I don’t know what scares me more
than the thought of another relationship
with someone who’s a little crazy.
Not even one more . . .
I could serve you another drink, but
then I’d lie down tonight, close my eyes
and I’d still see you sitting at my bar.
Will this shift ever end . . . ?
Making martinis, margaritas, the maple honey badgers.
Pouring the draft beer, the glasses of red and white wine.
How really good would any of them taste right now?
An older couple at the bar. Tell yourself it’s none of your concern . . .
Back and forth under their breaths,
they continue to throw at each other
cupfuls of acid.
Service industry blues, thinking this is a tough way to make a living . . .
Busy night, customers swarm the bar.
So many are taking little bites
like ants crawling up your arm.
(This is not how I feel about bartending — for that see here, or here. This is just a quick snapshot of a feeling I had once, when in a terrible mood, and every little thing a customer asked for seemed like a giant imposition.)
Running late . . .
Socks and underwear in a tub of soapy water in the sink.
Dry them in the microwave oven,
or on the car radiator as you drive to work.