It’s January of Senior Year. After a heated debate at Christmas dinner about your plans to take a 5th year so that you can focus on breaking the school record for sports classes taken, your Dad threatened to cut off tuition payment. What a fucking bro-hater. Doesn’t he realize College isn’t about class and shit? In addition to being a fucking dick and not paying 20 thousand dollars so you can learn about #102 Frisbee Golf and Kickball II, he demanded you talk to the Career Counselor. For some reason he didn’t like it when you yelled, “But Dad can’t you get me a job?” He started screaming some shit about responsibility, but you weren’t paying attention. Fuck him. He better be getting you a fucking car for #118 graduation.
Now you're sitting in this Career Counselor Bitch’s office. It’s been awhile since you’ve been up before 1pm and the last thing you want to do is listen to some ugly old hag drone on about life after graduation. She starts rambling about bullshit like your “multiple conduct violations,” “terrible GPA,” “no extracurricular activities,” blah, blah, blah. Meanwhile all you can think about is how many beers it would take for you to bang this gruesome beast. That’s when she says something that actually hits you: “The key to career success is doing something you love.” Holy shit. It makes perfect sense now. You’re pretty sure there’s no company out there requiring their employees to “Have #24 unprotected sex with hot random girls.” so you move to your second favorite thing: getting fucking wasted. You interrupt her and scream out, “I’ll DO IT!” as the she looks at you like you’re fucking crazy. You tear out of the building and sprint across campus like you’re playing the “press the rape button and run” game so you can break into your “liquor cabinet” aka the freezer and start pouring shots for your roommates. You’re gonna need all the practice you can get if you’re gonna land that dream job. For the first time in your life, you’re excited to enter the workforce. You’ll be applying to one of the most bro jobs in the fucking world. You’re gonna be a Bartender.
Let’s be honest - outside of illegal Mexican immigrants, nobody likes to fucking work. When people ask kids what they want to be when they grow up, do they ever say, “Jr. Consulting Analyst?” Fuck no. So why the fuck are so many people graduating College and agreeing to work at some sellout Corporation just so they can make their parents “proud by getting a steady job?” Bros don’t give a shit about making their parents proud. If a bro’s parents want to take pride in their son, they can do it by bragging to all their friends about how many slam pieces their kid’s banged. Becoming a bartender is one of the most selfless jobs in the World. Fuck all those losers Teaching for America or joining the Peace Corps. Bartenders may not teach the alphabet to dumb-fuck 7th graders who don’t even know how to read or dig out holes in the ground for people to shit in, but I would argue they serve a much higher purpose. They help American men deal with the crippling Bropression epidemic plaguing them daily by getting them wasted.
Bartenders aren’t all about charity though – sometimes they take. In addition to living the bro dream of working in their natural habitat, girls fucking throw themselves at bartenders. It’s a proven scientific fact that slam pieces love powerful men and what’s more powerful than deciding who gets the next beer? I just can’t think of a better job than having drunk sluts PAYING you to get them more drunk. Anytime a girl buys a bartender a shot, it doesn’t mean she thinks he’s “sure doing a swell job!!” – it means she wants to get banged.
As bro as it is to be a bartender, knowing the bartender is fucking essential. Every group of bros has that one bro who tends the bar. Anytime he’s working you better believe everyone and their fucking mother is out there pounding free drinks. It really doesn’t matter how shitty the bar is – there could be fucking 80 year olds playing Bingo – as long as there’s free booze, bros are gonna be all over that shit. It’s gotta be funny to see the workers close up after a big night where all the bartender’s bros came in. After dishing out like $600 of drinks, there might be like $22 to show for it. Who gives a shit though? Just by having a fuckload of bros in your bar made it cool as shit in there. Bros should really be getting appearance fees for that shit.
I’ll be the first guy to tell you tipping fucking sucks. I don’t need some fucking psyschopath rolling my bag for 20 feet at the airport and I definitely don’t need to pay that motherfucker to do it. While tipping people to do shit you can do yourself might be stupid as shit, there’s always a group of people who I’ll throw a dollar for a simple twist of the wrist. No, I’m not talking about hand-hookers, I’m talking a fucking Brofessional. I’m talking about Bartenders.