Well, I did that this afternoon. You�re now reading a diary entry from a bartender for the Chicago Bears.

The interviews were held through a talent agency, so I took my modeling resume and headshot up to the designated meeting area at Soldier Field and pretended to be a real model. I think I might have even fooled some of them.

That or I got some courtesy laughs for jokes that went over people�s heads...

Either way, they kept me long enough to actually get an interview with a Bear�s employee, and he and I just hit it off. He quizzed me on some drinks (most of which I got right), and then we talked about computer stuff, being vegetarian (his wife is also vegetarian), and going to school to be a writer.

In the end he said to me, �You�ve not got enough experience, but you�re a lot of fun. You will be the weakest link. I�m making you a service bartender.�

Not a waitress, not a hostess, not a ticket collector, not a cashier -- not a full-fledged bartender either -- but a bartender nonetheless.

I won�t have to deal with drunken folks trying to grope me because I�m protected behind the bar.

I won�t have to wear a cropped t-shirt and carry around shots, pushing them to customers who have to go to work the next day and want nothing more than their cold beers.

I merely pour rum and coke after rum and coke after rum and coke, anticipating someone occasionally ordering a Cuba Libre, and collect some mad tips for eight Sunday afternoons that I�d probably spend sitting on my ass anyway. (Remember, football season is cold in Chicago...)

The gift of gab. It�s a fabulous thing. �