As far as I know, the first time I ever visited a bar was the day I was baptized. My grandmother took me to a bar and we had Champagne together, just the two of us. I was about six months old back then. Now, I am a lot more experienced.

It is a pity that I can not remember it. It must have been a grand feeling to lay in her soft, silky, wrinkled arms with a taste of fine sparkling wine in my mouth. A mouth that untill then had only tasted sweet mother's milk.

I have often wondered why the old lady took me to that bar. I guess she just thought it was a proper place to enter the holy church in. The way I see it, it was not the ceremony in the church that saved my soul. It was rather what grandmother did to me that summer afternoon. A true Rit de passage.

How could I not work as a bartender? It brings me back to that liminal phase.