You will probably never understand how much joy you bring to the lives of so many, or what a pleasure it is to simply be in your company. But I do. So please allow me to, for a change, serve you. This word cocktail.
Upon seeing me you smile with your eyes as well as your mouth. You are warm, and kind, and genuinely interested in the goings on of my life. Although deep down I know that you have the same type of arms-length yet somehow intimate relationship with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of others, my disbelief is easily suspended and I feel like what you and I share is special, and unique. You make me feel like I’m the only one.
Your craft is difficult and requires considerable mental acuity and skill, yet you handle it with such finesse and aplomb it seems effortless. I love to watch you seamlessly blend the technical and social aspects of your job, not letting either interfere with the other but, on the contrary, combining the two into an elegant, alluring dance. You handle everything that’s thrown at you with the grace of a soft-handed infielder. You know what the right thing to do is in every situation, and you do it. Every time.
When asked by a reporter why he always played hard, Joe DiMaggio said, "There is always some kid who may be seeing me for the first or last time, I owe him my best." You go one better than Joltin’ Joe. You feel you owe everyone your best all the time. You don’t let the crassly unreasonable, the shockingly stingy, or the lecherously offensive faze you. You laugh them all off. Your sunny disposition is immutable. You light up the room with your smile. You make the room comfortable with your presence.
“And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson”, Simon and Garfunkel said, “Jesus loves you more than you will know.” Well, here’s to you, my amazing neighborhood bartender. Your fortunate guests love you more than you will know.