Handle of vodka: $25. Bartending kit and manual: $50. New shirt that shows off your boobs so you make more tips when you shake your martinis: $48. A piece of paper with your name on it that no bar manager in the state of Pennsylvania cares about: $150.
This past month, on behalf of Penn Agencies, an instructor from the Main Line Center for Bartending came to Penn to teach Bartending 101, a thoroughly enjoyable but ultimately pointless exercise that included mixing tequila sunrises in glasses using orange, red and yellow water with plastic ice. The only things that were real were the martini glasses (we broke several) and the fun of watching other people try to 3-count pour without staining their shoes with green food coloring.
The instructor, Melissa McGarry, a woman as cool as her chilled red-headed sluts, came bearing brochures and flyers from her school, where you can become a licensed bartender in one, two or five weeks. As it turns out, the certificate we received at the end of the three sessions is actually worth as much as any certificate of bartending experience that I could have made on my computer for much less than $150. But, not to worry, I did the math. and this $150 is less than 0.002% of the amount of money Penn has whittled out of my parents' bank account (yeah, I bursared that shit).
It wasn't a total waste though. As part of the class, students receive bartending kits and manuals that they would have to buy for $50 if they took the class at the Main Line Center for Bartending school. The school also offers a discounted price of $440 to Penn students, $350 each for groups of 5 or more and $300 each for groups of 10 or more.
It's a decent deal, but be prepared to start spending more on alcohol and mixers. Once you start pre-gaming with real buttery nipples and cosmos made with Cointreau, it's hard to get excited about the everclear-Kool-Aid mix they're pouring down the ice luge at OZ.
