Drinks are on the House

Having a steel worker for a father, I come to usually side with labor when labor clashes with management. However, being a motherfucker, I will invariably side with mischief over either party.

When I found myself in the middle of a thousand airline workers on the verge of striking one Saturday night labor ended up getting the short end of the stick…and a shitbag Mardi Gras themed bar got that stick up their ass.

After dinner my friend and I went for coffee to see a curious sight. We noticed a line of several hundred people holding candles walking single in a single file line and wearing lime green t-shits with the words “give us a break” in large letters. The mood was heavy so I knew this line wasn’t going conga. The line ended up at the headquarters of a major airline that just happened to be in the 11^th hour of labor negotiations.

A man appeared with a mega-phone to announce that the airline was at an impasse with the union. People grumbled and affirmed their commitment to striking with slogans of solidarity like, “fucking assholes, fuck this shit.” The scene got ugly as the airline employees knew they’d be on strike and struggling.

Then as easily as all seemed lost, the workers got what they wanted and more. A little time passed and the mega-phone guy announced that they had a breakthrough and would be getting most of the concessions they requested. The crowd grew optimistic and light-hearted as the speaker warned that the deal was not done yet.

I approached the man in charge and told him that I was the manager of the Fat Tuesdays down the street. I offered my support and told them that if they get this thing worked out, the first round is on the house. The man immediately held up his mega-phone and boisterously told the workers that they were going to get some free drinks at said bar, the people roared with applause.

Another 30 minutes or so passed and the man stood up on a chair to proclaim, “We got it! We got it! We got it! Now let’s celebrate at Faaaaat Tuesdaaaaays!” Sadly, I could not join them for that complimentary first round. Yet, I could take some comfort in seeing several hundred people arguing over who was going to pay a $5,000 bar tab.