Chip informed us that, except for restaurants and sometimes hotels, bars will almost never post job listings in the classifieds. Pubs, dives, nightclubs and the like will typically seek out employees by giving leads to teachers at bartending schools, which is a relief, since a brief glance in the classifieds yesterday yielded almost nothing to me (save for a few restaurants) which very nearly scared the crap out of me. It's nice to know that's to be expected.
Chip spent a few hours drilling Jackie and me today, calling out order after order and having us make them. I did much better than I expected, but I still have work to do before the practical exam tomorrow.
We then moved on to learning our final set of drinks (which will not be, for reasons which will readily become obvious, on the exam tomorrow): layered drinks. Up until now, we had been working with bottles filled with appropriately tinted water to make drinks, but tinted water, obviously, does not layer, so learning these drinks required the use and consumption of real alcohol.
Layered drinks are all very desert-esque and served in a fancy shot-glass, and are typically cordials (sweet liqueur) topped off with irish cream. The best tasting one of the ones we made, in my opinion, was the Baby Guinness (kahlua topped with irish cream, which looks very much like what it's named), but the coolest (or most disgusting, depending on your point of view) looking one was undoubtedly the Brain. In a Brain, the cream is thrown into clear peach schnapps in such a way that it folds up at the top and looks very much like a brain floating in a jar of formaldehyde. For added effect, you then throw in some grenadine and you have a Brain Hemorrhage which looks, appropriately, like a floating brain oozing entrails. Quite tasty, too.
But I digress.
With an empty stomach (I hadn't had breakfast), I made six of these drinks and drank seven. (Before we started, Chip set up the rule that we were not allowed to make these drinks for ourselves; that is, I had to make drinks for Jackie and she for me. Earlier in the day, I had accidentally spilled something on Jackie, so she playfully decided to get back at me by making my drinks particularly strong.)
Suffice it to say, this quickly put me at a level several, several notches above "merely tipsy" but didn't make me nearly so intoxicated as to be labeled "drunk". Fortunately, Walberts are built in such a way that they are rather good at holding their liquor, especially when compared to their ability to handle other illicit substances. We hold our composure surprisingly well (though our physical ability to move around suffers considerably), though we are more prone to laughing at silly things or trying to make things silly than we normally are.
Regardless, it seemed important to get some food in me, so shortly thereafter, when we let out for the afternoon, I succeeded in ambling (ever so slightly) from South Street to China Town where, in my tainted state, I allowed myself to order for the first time "Pork Egg Foo Young", which is thoroughly disgusting, and where I downed plenty of tea and water. Having convinced myself that I was sobered up, I proceeded to head towards Bump (Chip said earlier that one would be surprised by how many bartenders get their jobs from being in the right place at the right time; often, one will walk into a bar inquiring about a job and, due to dumb luck and circumstances, will be hired on the spot). After all, what str8 boi in his right mind wouldn't want to work in a trendy gay bar? Unfortunately, I wasn't sober enough to remember that they wouldn't be open until 5:00.
Having walked several miles over the course of the afternoon (not that I mind a good walk, and it was considerably warmer in the afternoon than it was this morning though the temperature still hovered above freezing), I decided that my best option would be to return home early, and, well, here I am, completely sober and with a slight headache (which I'm not sure if I should attribute to the booze or to my walking in the cold).
And, eh, that's enough writing for one day. Off I go, then.