Looking out over the soot-covered ground of the Guinness plant, Rafferty wants answers. He's looking for the "men of poor judgment" who allowed "men of poor character" into the cooperage, and he knows that, given the chance, workers loyal to Guinness will snitch on those responsible for setting the stage for such a heinous act of vandalism. It's an effective bit of persuasion, one that finds Rafferty appealing to the esprit de corps the Guinness company has created
exposing the cracks and toxicity behind the scenes. Last year, Baby Reindeer, a Netflix show about a bartender being stalked by a customer, elucidated something that civilians (those outside the industry, in bartender speak ) don't always understand. It showed, plainly, that "bartending is an office that makes its holder a captive audience in a way that few other jobs do," Rosie Schaap wrote for Punch .
Since moving to the U.S., I've learned that being Irish here gives you automatic authority on all things Guinness. And while not every drunken-leprechaun stereotype is true, we do know a thing or two about stout. In case you're wondering, the way you pour it is so important that you can tell the difference between drafts in Ireland and abroad. And there is a proper way to sip a pint of Guinness.