Bartending in a Party Hostel

It's 10:30pm on a Saturday in O de Casa Hostel, and I'm in the zone.

An English guy comes up to the bar - he's in a Tottenham jersey, slightly tipsy. He lets out an easygoing smile and raises his eyebrows at me - but he's tapping his fingers on the table and looking back at the dancing crowd every few seconds. “He wants this quick,” I conclude to myself, as I quip “Large Corona?” As the English lad nods with a thumbs up, I'm already opening the bottle and swiftly handing it to him.

I see three empty gin and tonic glasses next to the sink - “I swear those French girls ordered these five minutes ago,” I laugh to myself as I surgically sponge my way through each glass, rinsing and repeating.

I notice at the cocktail station that my friend Akio needs more ice. I slide like a snake past my coworkers in the kitchen and grab a full ice pack from the fridge, slamming it on the ground before cutting it open and dumping it into the ice tray.

Now my favorite part of the job has arrived - when I go clear the tables of empty glasses and actually talk with the guests. “Oi, e acabou?” I repeat with a instinctive Brazilian accent as I go from social group to social group. I walk up to the rooftop empty handed, and not even one minute later, I'm walking back downstairs not only carrying countless glasses and bottles, but having sung samba lyrics with Brazilians, instigated a political debate between two Canadians, and confirmed plans to go out with my best hostel friends. I return to the bar feeling victorious, and rinse and repeat.

When I first signed up to bartend for São Paulo's most famous hostel a month before, I had imagined myself making these elaborate drinks with a sense of calm. I thought I'd only be making caipirinhas by day and cool random combinations for my favorite guests by night.

And to be fair, I did learn all these things. But more than anything, bartending was this subconscious trance that I never wanted to end - my eyes darting from task to task, my hands and body in fluid motion from station to station.

“I've missed this feeling,” I kept telling myself. “I feel like I'm working at Cane's again.”