Confessions of a POP! bartender

Purple stained everywhere. Jägerbombs, demanded from every direction. Masses of students converging upon the counter. Bartending at POP!! is certainly different to attending it on the other side, to say the least. And it’s brilliant.  

Whilst POP! attendees queue up, waiting for circling to begin, hundreds of Purples and Thatchers Blacks are poured in anticipation of the exodus, in a rather futile attempt to prepare for the hordes about to descend. Those will all be gone about ten minutes in. Cue impatience, albeit politely. And then the lull hits. Once circling commences, the bar is quiet, peaceful, but unbelievably dull, misleadingly so.

Queuing, the most British tradition, becomes non-existent. Thus, working out who to serve next becomes a challenge, although a challenge willingly accepted

As soon as it hits 10pm, endless Jägerbombs and VKs will be ordered in rapid succession, and at last, the adrenaline will kick in. This rush is what makes it worth it, what makes bartending at POP! more enjoyable than being on the other side; it’s almost as if autopilot turns on, switching to some primal instinct to serve the quickest and ensure students have the best possible night out, at least in relation to their drinks. 

Image: Martin Day

Of course, there are downsides to bartending. Cheap shots, easy access, and the buzz of social drinking lead to many students overestimating their limits. Cue all facades of civility fading away. Queuing, the most British tradition, becomes non-existent. Thus, working out who to serve next becomes a challenge, although a challenge willingly accepted. However, when students start to become obnoxious, upset when their preferred flavour of VK runs out, as the beloved blue tends to do, that’s when the night starts to sour.

There’s something faintly Nietzschean about it, drinking not to relax, but to become. To become a version of themselves not trapped by the mundanity of their degrees

Without a doubt, tap water orders are singularly the bane of any shift, particularly when the tap is on the other side of the bar. Then again, the general loveliness of students attending always manages to bring the mood up, demonstrating that etiquette and propriety are not yet dead at Warwick, thankfully so. In particular, serving the regulars is a genuine delight, for identifying them instantly and naming their usual double vodka lemonade before they order is a small but undeniable triumph. And in this business, triumphs are necessary. 

From behind the bar, POP! isn’t just a night out. POP! is human nature, stripped raw to the core by excessive drinking and mass hysteria. There’s something faintly Nietzschean about it, drinking not to relax, but to become. To become a version of themselves not trapped by the mundanity of their degrees, to escape the drone of eventuality catching up to them. For a brief, fleeting night, students are freed from all their worries, able to revel in uncontrolled madness. I suppose there’s something to be said about the performative nature of it, although perhaps that’s hypocritical. After all, bartending sometimes feels like an escape, a persona only adopted at the back of the Copper Rooms, one who focuses purely on accuracy and service. Perhaps that is why POP! is so brilliant. Not for the drinks or the chaos, but for the brief liberation it offers from the constraints of ordinary life.