I found myself behind a bar at just 15—yeah, I know, it sounds wild, but stick with me. My grandma’s favorite spot was the Azteca Grill, and she had a soft spot for the owner, Gus. He gave me my first shot as a busboy. One night, the barback didn’t show, and there I was—diving in like I was born to do it. I hustled my ass off that night, and that’s where everything changed. That moment? That’s when it all started.

From then on, I was hooked. It was everything. The way the lights would dim as the sun faded, the rhythm of a cocktail shaker in sync with the bpm of the music, the laughter and smiles that filled the room, the occasional tear, the heated arguments with chef that somehow always ended with sharing beers at the local bar after service. And the friends you make? That’s the magic. The people behind the bar with you become family, lifelong friends. Some nights felt like an episode of Cheers—everyone knew your name, and it was more than a job, it was belonging, it was home.

It was electric, that feeling of knowing what you're doing is more than just a hustle—it’s special, it’s alive. I lived for that rush. I’m forever grateful for those beginnings. And though I’ve long since hung up my bar towel for good, I’ll never forget where I came from. That’s the spark that lit the fire.