Moments that make it worth it

Most of us are familiar with the theme song for the TV show “Cheers.” But everyone knowing your name is not always as important as one might think — certainly, and ironically, not in my business. In the bar business, it’s more important for me to know your drink. Names will come later, because nobody ever taps their empty glass and says, “What’s my name again?”

So it was with her. I certainly recognized her face. In fact, I even remembered her drink: a chocolate martini. But her name, I couldn’t tell you. But it wasn’t the same for her.

“Jeff!” she said right before she ordered two chocolate martinis.

I have a man that comes into my bar every week. He’s kind, intelligent and charming. And he always drinks the same thing. Oddly enough, I learned his name first, not his drink, the circumstances of which I can no longer remember. But because we did it backwards, I always struggle to remember the garnish on his martini. I can’t explain it, but there it is. Olive or twist? I have to ask every time. It’s become a long-running joke between us.

The woman whose name I couldn’t remember introduced me to her friend. And 30 seconds later, I could not have told you what her friend’s name was. But in a year when that friend comes back, I’ll probably remember the chocolate martini.

This phenomenon is common in the restaurant business. If I tell my restaurateur friend in Sausalito, “It’s the Fortaleza silver skinny margarita guy,” he’s probably going to know who I am talking about.

“Have you seen Todd lately?” asked another woman, one who I didn’t recognize at all.

“I don’t know any Todds,” I said.

“Yes, you do,” she said a little annoyed.

“Maybe,” I replied. “But I don’t know you.”

Not remembering can often be accidental, but sometimes it’s on purpose.

Meanwhile Miss Chocolate Martini enjoyed her chocolate martini.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” she said. “But in a way we do.”

People should recognize that in a profession such as mine, we meet a lot of people, all the time. Some we remember and some we don’t. It’s not personal. Often someone I have never waited on before will tap a glass for a drink I made an hour ago and say, “Another.” As if I can remember one out of 100 different drinks, as well as what you ordered to eat, where you are sitting, etc. Funny how many of these glass tappers can’t remember the one drink that they had either, and they weren’t also making hundreds of them. It’s true with people, too. I might recognize you, but often I am not sure exactly why.

Miss Chocolate Martini seemed to know that. And I appreciated it.

“About 20 years ago, I came into your bar,” she said.

OK, I thought.

“My husband had just recently passed away, and I was just starting to go out again,” she said and paused, her voice beginning to waver. “I used to come by and have a hamburger over there in the corner all by myself.”

The circumstances sounded familiar but 20 years ago is a long time.

“You were always so kind and patient with me,” she said. “You made me feel welcome and comfortable at a time when I wasn’t feeling particularly welcome and comfortable anywhere.”

Her eyes welled up with tears right then and there. And then so did mine.

“You probably don’t realize how much of a difference you made to me, but you did. And I will always appreciate it,” she said.

By now, tears were running down her face, and they were running down mine, too.

“I just wanted you to know that,” she said.

And that was it: one moment among a thousand other moments.

I have made a bit of a name for myself through this column, through my articles for other publications, with my books, with the short film I participated in and through my podcast. And all that is great. But it’s really these singular moments behind the bar that I treasure most. Life isn’t always a big sweeping epic tale, sometimes it’s a collection of much smaller ones. For every achievement, there are all the ordinary moments that led up to it. In the greater scheme of things, there are cumulatively more of these types of moments. And they are equally valuable.

Leaving me with these thoughts:

• Sometimes the greatest kindness possible is just being there.

• Now, I will always remember her name. However, remembering her drink might be the problem. Truly, I’m OK with that.

• It might be just another moment for you, but to someone else it might be THE moment. The world would be a kinder place if we all realized that.

• Happy holidays to those whose names I remember, and to those whose drinks I do! And everybody else, too!