Greg, himself, will sometimes say that he is surprised at life’s little quirks. He wanted to work for the best mixologists and found them in Boston but needed to beseech them for their guidance.  Truly, he said “please” to them all and that intrigued them, as well as his description of the beauty of hospitality. Finally they decided something, they said “alright Greg, we’ve never had a bar back, we can try if you’d like, we’ll most likely kill you in the morning.” Ten years they said that: “good shift Greg, sleep well, we’ll most likely kill you in the morning.”

It was a fine time for Greg. He learned to shake, stir, anything anyone was willing to teach him. Eventually they all became friends. Then it happened, those mixologists became so rich that they wanted to retire. So they took Greg to their office and told him their secret: “we are not mixologists,” they said.  “Our real title is bartender, we inherited that other title from previous bartenders, as you will inherit it from us. The bartenders we inherited it from were not the real mixologists, either. Their names were dabhands. The real mixologists have been retired fifty years and are living like kings in Patagonia.”