The Ghosts of Pop-Up Bars Past, Present, and Never Again
It’s that time of year again, where the lights twinkle, the guests jingle, and almost every bartender you know is hanging on by a tinsel-thin thread.
Holiday pop-ups are back.
If you’ve worked one, you already know: the ghosts are real.
The Ghost of Christmas Past
Ah, nostalgia.
Remember your first holiday pop-up shift? The wide-eyed optimism? The sense of wonder? The promise of extra tips and “festive fun”?
You said yes because you were told it would be a good opportunity. You’d wear a cute hat, sling candy cane cocktails, and bank enough cash to get through that bleak scary January you’ve heard of.
And then…
Came the candy-cane cocktail list with 23 ingredients.
The endless line of 5 PM guests who all wanted a table “not by the speakers, but also not where people walk.”
The themed glassware that arrived 4 days late- broken.
The manager who said, “Just lean into it.”
The ghost of Christmas Past visits you now in flashbacks. Your first sticky shaker. That night the heater broke. The scratch and sniff peppermint vodka that never quite left your pores.
Your own voice, still faint in the back of your mind:
“I said I’d never do this again.”
Yet here you are. Fake snow in your hair. Glitter in your drink. Repeating history like a holiday hostage.
The Ghost of Christmas Present
Somewhere right now, in a converted storage closet wrapped in wrapping paper, someone is 9 hours deep into a shift. They’re dressed like an elf, shuffling around in 5-year-old Converse with jingle bells zip-tied to their apron. The “cocktail tree” centerpiece has caught fire twice.
They’re hosting a 22-top of bachelorette Santas. One is crying. Four are filming her. One is asleep. All want separate checks.
You, too, have been here. The playlist is on a tortuous loop. The tip jar is full of coins. And someone just asked if the drinks “come in a cuter cup.”
You’ve got cinnamon in your lungs, the glitter made it’s way into your sinuses, and the creeping realization that your last actual meal was “that one marshmallow from someone else’s drink.”
This ghost heckles like it’s done whispering. It demands you smile while that obnoxiously short playlist loops, and the whipped cream slowly collapses into the lukewarm cocoa. It laughs when a guest says, “It’s just so magical in here!” while you try to unclog the sink with a wine key.
This is a festive farce.
The Ghost of Christmas Future
This one’s tricky.
Sometimes, it shows you hope: a better bar, a stronger team, a season with systems and support. A time when you’re not expected to sacrifice your sleep, sanity, and spinal alignment just to “create a holiday experience.”
Other times, it shows you the same stage next year. Same playlist, same broken heater, same hollow grin.
You wonder: “What would it take to make this stop?”
The ghost of Christmas Future asks questions we avoid:
What are we trading for these shifts?
Why is burnout still a badge of honor in this industry?
Who told us we had to suffer to make all of this magic?
The answers aren’t simple. But they do start with honesty.
And with maybe, just maybe, pouring yourself a real hot chocolate, not the powdered sadness in a plastic tub behind the bar.
If You’re in the Industry:
You’re not broken for dreading the holidays.
You don’t owe anyone forced cheer.
You are more than a seasonal fixture in someone else’s Instagram story.
Say no, or say yes, but say it on your terms. Take breaks. Find your allies. Laugh at the madness. Eat real food. Get some fresh air. Leave when you can. Stay when it’s safe.
You’re allowed to mourn what this season could be and still show up for what it is.
You’re allowed to gain five pounds from hot chocolate and survive December without guilt.
You’re allowed to be a human being.
You should probably try to eat something more than marshmallows.
The ghosts are loud this time of year.
Be louder.
If you want to step into the room after the noise fades,
the Shift Notes reflection is here.
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