Add to favorites Examiner Bio

Bartender Chronicle: Fire blower

Working at Hogs & Heifers each bartender had a “thing.” We all had to dance on the bar but everyone else who worked there was known for something else. One girl was notoriously malevolent (in a joking sort of way), another was extremely raunchy, one feisty little blond would get wasted and flash the bar crowd and the Friday bartender blew fire. Not being a very good dancer or mean spirited (in a joking sort of way) or my wry humor being lost on the crowd most nights I figured fire was my best bet.

 

I enlisted the help of the Friday day bartender. It turns out there wasn’t much to it; needing more nerve than skill. And all that was required was a shot of 151 and a Bic lighter. After a few lessons and some practice I had gotten pretty good. Several times a night during my shift I would get up on the bar and spit fireballs like a 21^st century dragon for the crowd. The cheers and applause told me I had finally found my niche and fire was officially my thing.

 

For the bartenders 151 was more of a utility liquor. We’d use it to set the bar on fire while we dance to Ring of Fire or for the devil part of the Devil Went Down to Georgia. One night I arrived at the bar to find that we were out of 151. I felt betrayed. Fire was my thing. It was my only thing. And I was working with the blond who flashed. Without 151 I was like superman holding a huge chunk of kryptonite. I quickly began testing other liquors for flammability. Nothing was working and I was getting desperate until I picked up a random dusty bottle. I can’t remember the name of it because up until that night I had never poured it. What I do remember is that it was over 100 proof and poured thick like schnapps. When I set in on fire the flame was a lazy burn, taking its time as it floated across the bar top. I couldn’t spit it but at least I could dance in it. Half a thing was better than no thing at all.

 

The blond had already flashed several times that night and when an appropriate song came on I gave my new friend a test run. I poured a heavy trail up and down the bar and set it ablaze. It took a good 10 seconds for the bar to light up but because of its consistency it burned longer. What I didn’t realize until I started to dance was that because it was thick it was also slippery. Instead of the bar’s traditional “stomp” dance it resembled more of a sexy stripper routine where I strutted and glided more than I stomped which seemed to go over well with the crowd.

 

As the liquor continued to burn endlessly I had the brilliant idea of doing a long standing slide the length of the bar. I strutted down to one end, built up momentum and surfed fire for a good 15 feet. I was drinking in the cheers when I felt my feet starting to get hot. Extremely hot, actually. I looked down and saw that the sluggish liquor had coated my boots during my slide and my boots were on fire. Having a few shots in me everything I had every learned about fire safety…stop, drop and roll and all that crap went right out the window. I began stomping up and down the bar which only fueled the fire. The flames started to grow up the calves of my jeans. At some point the blond realized this wasn’t part of my routine and extinguished my feet with the soda gun coincidentally just as the song ended. As soon as the fire was out I jumped off the bar and stuck both feet in a back up bucket of ice. It was literally like a cartoon where smoke rose up from my feet and legs. The crowd, thinking it was intentional, loved it. The applause and cheers were tremendous.

 

Mick, the manager, came up to me behind the bar and asked if I was OK.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” I said.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “But it looked really f*cking cool.”