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Perks

Lake wiped the foam off the counter for the hundredth time that night, his wrist moving on autopilot as his thoughts wandered elsewhere. The bar was alive with chatter and laughter, but all he could hear was his boss’s voice from earlier, drilling into his head: “Tilt the glass just right, Lake. A centimeter off, and it’s a crime against beer.” His boss, Frank, was the human embodiment of a megaphone — loud, unrelenting, and obsessed with perfection.

Still, despite Frank’s insufferable nagging, Lake didn’t entirely hate the job. For one, it threw him into a new world of people. Each night he looked at the crowds, and a new script unfolded in his head, quietly taking notes for some future performance.

Tonight was no different. The bar was buzzing, and all of a sudden, a guy in a group of regulars asked: “Hey, Lake, what’s your thing?”

Lake smirked, sliding a fresh beer across the counter. “My thing? Surviving this shift without Frank yelling at me, I guess.” They laughed, and another joined the conversation. “No, seriously. What do you do when you’re not here?”

Lake hesitantly replied: “Acting, singing, the usual starving artist clichés,” he said, leaning slightly on the counter. He always felt a mix of pride and vulnerability saying that aloud.

As the conversation drifted, Lake caught himself looking at his phone again, where another notification from a dating app came in. He looked around into the crowd and met eyes with the guy that sent him a message. 'Another perk of being a bartender', he grinned. He softly bit his lip.