It was a busy Saturday night and I was swamped. People were packed in tight three deep against the bar, trying to squeeze their way in front of each other to buy a cocktail. The dance floor was completely packed. A thick cloud of smoke clung to the upper atmosphere of the bar, and cast an eerie glow upon all the beautiful young people gyrating to songs you could barely hear, it was so loud. The line for the bathroom went around the corner, and the line just to get in to the bar was at least an hour long.

It was not yet midnight and I was soaking wet from dirty dishwater, stale beer, and my own perspiration. The skin on my hands looked like prunes, and they were cut and bleeding and sore and stinging from all the broken glasses and sharp metal edges and whatnot in my work area. My hair was too long back then, and my bangs were constantly in my face. The sweat dripped down from my forehead and stung my eyes. I was constantly running my fingers through my mop in a vain attempt to see.

I was still a barback and I wasn’t allowed to mix drinks or handle money, besides grabbing the tips off the counter. Barbacks are there to support the bartender. The barbacks make sure all the fridges have plenty of Corona and Heineken, and all the other beers. We change kegs when need be, keep the counter top clean, wash glassware, and basically do whatever the bartenders need us to do to keep things running smooth. If you do your job right, everyone makes a grip of cash.

We were one bartender short tonight, so it was just me and some muscle-head I couldn�t stand. I wished that I was working with my buddy Steve-o instead, but he was working the lower bar, the bigger bar, the first bar you saw when you walked in the door. The lower bar was the desired spot, as you made the most tip money from serving the most guests. However tonight this would not be the case. It was so packed it didn�t matter. So I�m at the smaller upper bar with Mr. Body Builder with ILS (that�s Imaginary Lat Syndrome) and I�m in �the weeds�.

I had been working at Moose McGillycuddy�s in Long Beach for almost two years. When I was discharged from the Navy in 1995, I collected my obligatory six months of unemployment and partied my ass off. When the unemployment cash ran out, I had to get a job. I was 23 and a freshman at Long Beach State, undecided major.

Moose McGillycuddy�s was my dream job. I would daydream about working at the place since it opened in the Fall of 1993. I was not yet 21 at the time it opened, and I had to wait a few more weeks while all my buddies went to the hip-hoppin�est nightclub in all of Long Beach. They went every single night, and always came back to the ship with tales that made me burn with jealousy. When I finally turned 21 I started hanging out at Moose McGillycuddy’s immediately, and it fast became and remained my favorite hangout for years. So when the time came for me to get a job, I knew exactly where I wanted to work.

Moose�s was the only place I planned on applying. I was so certain, so confident that I was going to get the job I didn�t try anywhere else. I walked in without a resume and filled out an application. I chatted with the manager for a good 20 minutes, and he hired me immediately, just like I knew he would. I started the next day as a busboy. Within a few weeks I had been promoted to server. And about a year after that I finally got my invite to the bar. I was ecstatic. This was something I had dreamt about and planned for ever since I was 21. Soon I would be promoted to bartender, and I would finally be at the top of the tipping food chain.

One night I was out with some friends in Long Beach, playing pool and drinking pitchers of Miller LIte. But I wanted to go �out� and they just wanted to hang. I wanted to go to Moose’s. So I left and went to my favorite nightclub by myself. Once inside Moose�s I bought a beer and made my rounds. I smiled at girls I thought were pretty. If they smiled back I would make my move, and buy them a drink or ask them to dance. But I wasn�t getting and smiles that night. I stopped to sip my beer and watch the dance floor.

A girl walked up to me and said, �Hey, my friend wants to meet you.�

Oh great, I thought, she�s probably ugly. I contemplated leaving. Maybe my friends were still playing pool?

“Do you want to meet her? Her name is Rosemary.”

Ah what the hell, I thought. Let’s see who this girl is.

I turned to see a group of girls giggling and whispering to each other. They were all cute, but one stood out from the rest. Her piercing green eyes locked to mine, and I knew which one was Rosemary. We spent the rest of the night dancing, drinking Heinekens, and getting to know one another. I got her number that night, and a kiss goodbye, and the rest you know.

I never forgot Rosemary, and I still think about her often.

But I digress. Back to the busy night of barbacking at Moose�s.

So we�re slammed, I look like hell, and I am not happy. Musclehead is barking orders, and I curse the management under my breath for scheduling me to work with this guy. I can�t clear the bar counter fast enough, we�re out of glassware, we don�t have enough Coronas or ice, and the Sierra keg needs to be changed. All of this needs to be done NOW.

I look up, across the bar counter, and through a break in the crowd I see Rosemary. She�s standing there smiling at me, her right hand folded across her chest and rubbing her left bicep. She�s leaning to one side, and with her other foot she�s dabbing at the ground. She bites her bottom lip nervously.

I completely shut down. Nothing else exists in the world at this moment except her. I can�t hear the music, the shouts of my bartender partner, the yelling of the crowd, the bass of the music system, nothing. I LEAP over the bar and make my way over to Rosemary.

I thought I�d lost her forever. You see, when we parted ways years before we tried to keep in touch. But then I went on a tour overseas that lasted six months. When I came back she was gone, and I had no way to find her, contact her. All I had to remind myself of Rosemary was a receipt from a Chinese food restaurant I took her to when we were dating. (I still have the receipt).

So when I saw her standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, and obviously as happy to see me as I was to see her, well� we embraced. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply of her fragrance, and a wash of memories came over me.