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Bell Curve


You don't abide by the iron clad rule of not using glass to get ice—your glass breaks in there; things are busy; you don't do a thorough job cleaning out the shards in the ice bin; a client dies from drinking the glass you broke. You get off from the manslaughter charges but the rest of your life will be filled with nightmares of Mrs. Coughemup spitting blood until she was dead.


You just aren't that good. You forget orders. You can't remember that "virgin" means NO ALCOHOL. You move on to the DMV where you shine as a high-talent player.


You just work at the same bar, a nice pub. You pull thousands of gallons of blond lager a week. Decent tips. Nice people. Low hassle life. You've saved your tips and spend your last days fishing in your little log cabin on the lake where you bartend for yourself.


You are the first bartender for a smokin' hot establishment. Your deal with the owners is that you get to keep 3.5% of the gross sales receipts, over $600 a night. And some nights the receipts are really gross (high). That sweet deal was cut in order for the owner to lure you from your last job where everyone loved you and the owner thought you'd bring over tons of customers. And you did. You retire after 25 years at this gig a millionaire.


You start your own bar. [You]'s. The smartest thing you did financially was to use every extra penny to buy the real estate under you. When the shopping center developer came in and offered you $10 million just for the land, you knew you were Done (in a good way).