It was a textbook mid summer day, blazing sun, crystal clear blue skies and more touch than a of humidity. By 5PM the scorching summer sun had its done its job and the thermometer read nearly 100 degrees. There's a special smell that only exist on these the hottest days of summer when the tar based pavement liquifies with the heat - the air was full of that smell.
This was well before casual Fridays and the ties and suit jackets added to the discomfort of the dense herd milling about on the Hunters Point Avenue station platform. Those commuters had already braved the inferno that was the subway just to get here. They were parched, skittish and more than ready to stampede. Of course being a wet behind the ears 19 year old summer parlor car attendant I didn't know that.
The bar car was built at a time when things were meant to last; even so it was ancient when I climbed aboard on it over 40 years ago. The bar itself stretched almost the full length of the car. Plenty of room for 2 bar tenders. When I look back to it all now I can't help but think how poorly organized the Long Island Rail Road was and how ill prepared I was. The full timer who met me asked if I had change. I said no and he shook his head and then fronted me the needed funds. He instructed me to fill the large metal sinks with beer and ice which I did. He probably said in all 20 words to me - that was extent of my training. I noticed there seemed to be a great deal of Budweiser on hand. The full timer was well organized, a cigar box for his cash, an opener handy. All ready for the impending onslaught. I felt a bit naked.
The train started forward with a lurch and we crept into the station. The bar car had a bit of a rolling motion - just how many millions of miles had it seen? How many beers had slid across the Bar top? It was then that I got a appreciation of just how big that herd was. They seem to be 10 or 15 deep,and a funny thing they all seem to want to get into this car. It also was then that it clicked in that razor sharp mind of mine -omg they want beer.
It may have been my first rodeo but it wasn't for the commuters. There is a kind of queuing theory science to it. They milled around on the platform in what appeared to be a rather random patterns but had you studied it closely you would have noted it was like a mini americas cup start. At the appropriate time, as if a cannon sounded, they scooted to the exact spot they expected those doors to open. Impressive.
Not surprisingly the first through the door briskly came to me and demanded 'Budweiser!'. I reached down into that icy cold sink and pulled forth his 75 cent nectar of the gods. He flipped the dollar to me and quickly stepped out of the way - more out of self preservation then etiquette. The herd had smelled the 'water' and was extremely impatient. I sensed this and worked as fas as I could. It was then that had another epiphany- the 25 cent tip and omg that ice water is cold. The next hour or passed in a blur and when it was over there was money everywhere. The full timer had it all in order I on the other hand was a mess. Frost bite of the fingers is a particularly nasty affair - the pain starts when your fingers start to warm up. I must admit someone must have a sense of this bar business because I believe we sold out at the end of the ride.
In the end I survived, learned a lot and I guess I was a small part of history: Those bar cars, along with the parlor were scrapped decades ago. Although I prefer a draft Yuengling; Budweiser will always hold a special place in my heart. I sure can understand how good a cold one can be after 'working for the man' all week on a beautiful summer Friday night.
Oh beware of stampedes...
This was well before casual Fridays and the ties and suit jackets added to the discomfort of the dense herd milling about on the Hunters Point Avenue station platform. Those commuters had already braved the inferno that was the subway just to get here. They were parched, skittish and more than ready to stampede. Of course being a wet behind the ears 19 year old summer parlor car attendant I didn't know that.
The bar car was built at a time when things were meant to last; even so it was ancient when I climbed aboard on it over 40 years ago. The bar itself stretched almost the full length of the car. Plenty of room for 2 bar tenders. When I look back to it all now I can't help but think how poorly organized the Long Island Rail Road was and how ill prepared I was. The full timer who met me asked if I had change. I said no and he shook his head and then fronted me the needed funds. He instructed me to fill the large metal sinks with beer and ice which I did. He probably said in all 20 words to me - that was extent of my training. I noticed there seemed to be a great deal of Budweiser on hand. The full timer was well organized, a cigar box for his cash, an opener handy. All ready for the impending onslaught. I felt a bit naked.
The train started forward with a lurch and we crept into the station. The bar car had a bit of a rolling motion - just how many millions of miles had it seen? How many beers had slid across the Bar top? It was then that I got a appreciation of just how big that herd was. They seem to be 10 or 15 deep,and a funny thing they all seem to want to get into this car. It also was then that it clicked in that razor sharp mind of mine -omg they want beer.
It may have been my first rodeo but it wasn't for the commuters. There is a kind of queuing theory science to it. They milled around on the platform in what appeared to be a rather random patterns but had you studied it closely you would have noted it was like a mini americas cup start. At the appropriate time, as if a cannon sounded, they scooted to the exact spot they expected those doors to open. Impressive.
Not surprisingly the first through the door briskly came to me and demanded 'Budweiser!'. I reached down into that icy cold sink and pulled forth his 75 cent nectar of the gods. He flipped the dollar to me and quickly stepped out of the way - more out of self preservation then etiquette. The herd had smelled the 'water' and was extremely impatient. I sensed this and worked as fas as I could. It was then that had another epiphany- the 25 cent tip and omg that ice water is cold. The next hour or passed in a blur and when it was over there was money everywhere. The full timer had it all in order I on the other hand was a mess. Frost bite of the fingers is a particularly nasty affair - the pain starts when your fingers start to warm up. I must admit someone must have a sense of this bar business because I believe we sold out at the end of the ride.
In the end I survived, learned a lot and I guess I was a small part of history: Those bar cars, along with the parlor were scrapped decades ago. Although I prefer a draft Yuengling; Budweiser will always hold a special place in my heart. I sure can understand how good a cold one can be after 'working for the man' all week on a beautiful summer Friday night.
Oh beware of stampedes...
