OUR FIRST CUSTOMER

A few weeks ago I opened another bar, this time in Bali. After months of delays and stress, it was a special moment to finally see the first customer coming in. The newly hired staff was nervous of course, especially with their grumpy boss sitting at the bar. With established businesses absorbing most experienced staff during Bali’s current tourist boom, I had been forced to hire unskilled staff. Most could not speak a word of English, but then, neither could most of my staff during the early years of BuGils in Jakarta.

Even with the colorful and somewhat controversial BuGils neon sign shining on Jalan Dewi Sartika for an hour no one paid us any attention. I had another beer, and another, and, worse yet, started worrying. Could the location be wrong? Would the concept have no appeal? I shifted to wine. Another hour went by. The tension degraded from nervousness to a studied boredom. I noticed the waitresses covertly checking their handphones. Kitchen staff peeked through the service window.

The afternoon was hot and busloads of tourists, fresh from the plane, were passing by, eyes wide open, necks craning as they relished the novety of their new environment. I paced the terrace and wanted to shout: ‘BUGIIIILS!’, but no, I am Frisian. We do not express our emotions that easily and I retreated again to the bar.

I shifted to Captain Morgan rum coke. ‘Captain siapa!?’ asked the waitress in unbelief. I pointed at the bottle. She grabbed it slowly and looked at it carefully. ‘Oooh....’, she said. She now understood that Captain Morgan is a drink, not some dissolute expat. The other girls approached and examined the label as well. I said nothing. The three waitresses looked around for the appropriate glass for Captain Morgan. One raised a high ball glass and the others nodded in agreement. While one poured, the others regarded the exacting pouring process, then me, and back again. She filled the glass to the rim, before realising that she had left not space for the ice and coke. When I silently pointed to the jigger, she realized her mistake and started pouring the good Captain back into the bottle. This was good entertainment, at least better than staring at an empty bar. I SMSed Widi, my star bartender from BuGils Jakarta, and offering her a paid ‘vacation’ in Bali.

Suddenly the girls froze and looked at the entrance. I turned as well. Our first customer had just walked in. He was a westerner in his mid thirties, carrying a backpack, He stopped and looked around. The kitchen boys crowded around the service window. The tourist hesitated, uncomfortable being the center of attention.

‘You have food?’, he asked. There was a long silence. Then I realized the staff didn’t understand him. ‘Yes! Please sit down!’ , I replied. He shed his heavy backpack and sat down in a corner near the window, facing away from the bar – and the many staring faces.

He ordered a steak. ‘APA!?’ Lulu her reaction was not just an ‘apa, excuse me?’, no, it was a loud and full on ‘APA!?’ The man was not sure if he had said something wrong, and with some uneasiness he repeated his order, softly with a heavy Australian accent: ‘Steak... Well done, please...’. Lulu bowed forward as if she had problems hearing the poor man. ‘APA!? MELBOURNE..!?’ Lulu had had a career as a salesperson for BCA credit cards or something, but because she didn’t speak English her contract was not extended. She laughed of her own reaction. Now all the girls where laughing. Lulu will do fine in BuGils, I thought. With the help of one experienced waitress our first customer was served his well-done steak.

I am not sure if he will ever come back, considering a dozen staff members stared as he ate. No matter. The staff had served their first customer and received their first tip. I finished late that night, with a cognac in my hand on the terrace. Another BuGils Baby was born.

Bus loads with tourists passed by in the direction of the airport. The eyes of the tourists were tired, their chins drooping. I noticed, in the bright bus light, that their faces were sunburned. They were on their way home. I don’t know why, but I scraped my throat and shouted, as hard as I could: ‘BUGIIIIIILS!’. Three of the eight staff members did not return the following day, probably thinking that their boss was not only a drunk, but a Bule Gila as well. One day I have to jump on that bus out of here, but for now, even though my eyes look tired, my chin is still raised.

Hope to see you soon in BuGils Bali. Try the steak. Lulu will serve it to you ‘Melbourne’...

Bartele -- visit www.bugilsbali.com

PS:
- Sat 27th AFL GRAND FINAL LIVE in BUGILS BALI!!
- Sunday 28th F1 Night race in Singapore LIVE in BUGILS BALI