My father does manual labor in the sweltering Arizona heat, placing him at risk for skin cancer and heat stroke, yet he and his cohorts have not demanded the state legislature to draft a bill stopping the sun from shining. They are quite aware of the risks that surround their job. While a nurse, my grandmother ran the risks of contracting whatever unseemly illness floated through the doors of the hospital she worked. Yet, again, she did not protest to the state legislature all of those nights she went home smelling like urine or feces. She had a job to do - a service to render.
Bartenders are no different.
His last refuge is outside, behind the dumpsters or on the streets. He has been evicted from his home, and replaced with newer, more desirable tenants. It appears to me as if the folks in Sacramento are making another historical run at homogenizing an intrinsically diverse establishment. A most loathsome reality, this pushing to the edge of those marginal members of society - all for not sharing your inclination toward juice clubs, stair masters, organic fruit and bulimia. Nevertheless, I have found a way to siphon away the sting of this fascism inbred into this most un-American law.