Brian walked into Crossroads and headed back to the bathroom to change his shirt into the Crossroads uniform. A black T-shirt with a stylistic typeface spelling CROSSROADS across the front. On the back was a drawing of a man and a woman standing at an intersection with their hands on their hips looking up at a road sign with four arrows pointing in different directions.
He made his way back to the front of the place and crossed through the waitress station and went behind the bar. Jack gave him a towel.
“Brian, you have to remember that the best bars are microcosms of the world. You get all walks of life in a bar. From the richest of the rich to the homeless person who just scrounged a dollar for a happy hour beer. No one is better than the other. Once you learn to serve each one with the same respect and thoughtfulness, once you learn to talk with each person in their language, only then will you truly be a good bartender, a good business partner, and quite frankly, a better person. It’s the main reason I left my corporate job and opened this place. I was tired of answering to a boss, a company, and a brand I couldn’t support. So, I scrounged every dollar out of my savings. Borrowed from anyone who would back me and opened this place. I call the shots. Literally. It could be many years before I own the place outright, but that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to get rich. I’m here to serve.”
Jack gave Brian a big pat on the back.
“Before we open the doors, I just ...