I am currently eighteen years old, working as a bartender and a waitress in Greenpoint, a small Polish neighborhood in Brooklyn. It’s called The Place and is a short fifteen minute walk from the train station, through a quiet neighborhood filled with houses and apartments. As you continue walking, these homes turn into warehouses lined with large wire gates with moving equipment stored behind them. At the corner stands a small three-story building with a bar and Pizzeria on the first floor and apartments on the other floors. I enjoy my job, but it’s a love hate relationship. On the one hand, the financial benefits are great! Typically I make at least a hundred and fifty dollars from just one shift (eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon), my coworkers are friendly, and I have a flexible schedule. On the other hand, despite these benefits, I constantly engage in awkward conversations that usually turn into uncomfortable situations.

My morning routine consist of opening each of the blinds on the four windows covering the side and the front of the bar to let the natural light settle in, then turning on every ‘Pizza’ and ‘Open’ signs in the front two windows, and cleaning up leftover messes from the last shift. Restocking is key to having a successful day. Everything that is commonly used must be restocked before the rush of people from the local film crew companies pour in, such as bottles or beer, bottles of wine, and most importantly plastic cups. The lunch rush is the only time the bar is really busy besides when we host parties on the weekend. With all the crews coming in to have a quick bite, we do well with tips in a short amount of time.

As the bar stools fill along the counter of the bar, conversations begin. Most of the customers are males in their late twenties to early fifties. Small talk isn’t mandatory, but the more the customer likes you the better tip he’ll leave. I try to engage in casual conversation with everyone, asking how their day is going and so far and so forth. Men usually ask about my age. Although I may be eighteen, I appear older to almost everyone. You would think these men would have different angles to start hitting on someone, but it’s usually always the same, something regarding my age or appearance, or even my nationality.

“What’s your nationality? Oooh, that’s exotic. I like that. It’s different.”

“I could tell you were Asian but knew you had to be something else by your body. You have too much body to just be Asian.”

The worse conversations are when you’re trying to do your job and take someone’s order and they hit you with bullshit.

“Hello, how are you? Could I get you anything?” I begin.

“A burger with you on top would be great,” replied the man with a smirk on his face.

After a few beers, they become frisky and flirt. Their comments about me make me cringe, but instead of making a remark, I laugh it off and walk away or replay with a blank state that gives them a taste of their own medicine.

When I have a moment to myself, I wonder why these men think it’s okay to talk to women as if they were objects of enjoyment. Stepping foot in a bar should not mean you throw your manners and respect for others out the window. For instance, one man asked me what I was planning to do with my future and I told him my plans, he stops me mid-sentence and goes on about how I should focus on my looks. “That’s something that could make you famous.” I fume. There’s so much more to me than money and fame. Although I have my own ambitions, these men will see nothing but a pretty face and ignore what I say even though they asked. I am drained because I have to serve these men and let them talk down to me, but it’s something I have to shrug off.

As the end of my shift comes closer the bar empties out with only my coworkers and me. We have friendly conversations and tell jokes, and I’m at ease again. One of coworkers nudges me.

“That man was so rude and difficult. At least he left a good tip for us.” We chuckle at the man. Although serving him was a pain, it still paid off. The conversation flows with my coworkers the negativity and pointless repetitive conversation with my customers are replaced with a meaningful exchange of words.