Roger was in a good mood. He’d just talked to his bookkeeper, and had found out that the bar he owned was finally starting to generate consistent profits. Well, technically he didn’t own the whole bar, as a big chunk of it really belonged to the bank and to his investor buddy, but things were looking good, even with loan payments.

He was whistling to himself cheerfully as he unlocked the door of his bar one morning, when one of the young bearded guys who lived upstairs came bouncing down.

“Hey Roger, I’ve got great news! We’re going to be opening our very own drinking establishment right upstairs from you!”

Roger stared at him in disbelief.

“How the hell did you convince zoning to allow a bar on a second floor in this neighbourhood? Actually, how did you even get a license at all?”

The heavy restrictions on new liquor licenses had made it very expensive for Roger to buy the former dive bar, but there were some serious advantages to running a pub in a rapidly gentrifying area where competition was limited. Renovations and building permits had been big expenses too, but nothing compared to that highly coveted liquor license.

“Oh we didn’t have to get a license or anything,” said the bearded guy, “because we’re not actually a bar.”

Roger raised an eyebrow, wondering what the dude meant.

“Yeah, basically Uber has taken their ride sharing business model and expanded it into a drink sharing concept. It’s called Uber-bar and it’s super popular in Brooklyn and San Francisco, and they just launched the new app in Toronto. We’re going to be one of the early adopters, and we’re so excited about it. I think I’m finally going to be able to make a dent in my student loans.”

“Well, I guess you’d better hire yourselves some good lawyers” said Roger, “because there’s no way the city is going to be cool with this.”

“Oh we’re not worried about that. Uber has amazing lawyers, and they’ve won in all the other cities they’ve introduced this service.”

Roger wished him good luck, then went inside to start setting up for the night. He felt a bit worried about this new development, but it just seemed too improbable to actually work. Then again, some people had said that about cabs too. And we all know what happened with that.

It wasn’t until later that week that Roger finally saw his new competition in action. He was closing up, when he noticed some of his regulars turning around and going straight upstairs after they’d settled their tabs.

Roger locked up and walked up the narrow staircase to the apartment above the bar. Inside, he recognized a handful of his regulars nursing beers, alongside a couple dozen fashionably-dressed partiers. Through the crowded room he could see his neighbours pouring drinks behind a makeshift bar in what used to be their living room. He pushed his way to the bar and confronted them.

“You didn’t tell me you were opening an illegal after-hours boozecan in here. What the fuck are you thinking?”

The bartenders looked taken aback.

“Hey man, chill out. You can’t fight technology, and people just love this app. Since we’re not a real bar, we can serve as late as we want. Plus, since the demand goes up after last call, we can charge twice as much. What a time to be alive!”

Roger grimaced. It had never really bothered him in the past that Toronto had unlicensed after-hours bars. They didn’t really cut into his business, and he’d often frequented them himself after his shifts when he was coming up in the industry. But operating out in the open like this was a different story. One of his regulars interrupted his thoughts by drunkenly tugging at his sleeve.

“Don’t worry. We’re still going to keep coming to your joint too,” he said. “This place is just nice to have around for after you close.”

And for the next few months, it seemed like maybe the two businesses could coexist. Sometimes it even seemed like they complimented each other, especially when it got too crowded upstairs and some of the overflow spilled into Roger’s place.

One night the upstairs tenants came downstairs, carrying a bottle of scotch with a ribbon wrapped around it.

“Hey Roger, we just wanted to thank you for being so tolerant of our Uber bar. We had no idea how much work it is to run a place like this. Much respect, man.”

“Thanks, are you guys having second thoughts now?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Things are actually running really well.”

“So how does this thing actually work?”

“Well, Uber for bars isn’t really that much different than Uber for cars. Uber isn’t actually selling any alcohol, they are merely connecting people who want to drink with people who have alcohol and a place to serve it. Customers just download the app and sign up for an account with their credit card. When they feel like drinking, they reserve an Uber-server through the app. The server provides the booze, and since we’re not a licensed bar, we don’t have to pay that extra commercial markup that you do, so the prices are really low for the customer. Except during surge pricing, of course.”

“So let me get this straight: you guys don’t need a liquor license, you don’t need to pay commercial rent, you don’t pay commercial insurance, and you don’t need to follow any of the same laws as I do?”

“Not only that, but we also don’t need to get all those permits or deal with all those inspections that you do. We don’t even need to handle any payroll, as the servers automatically just get a cut of everything they sell. Which is good, because Uber requires that we discourage tipping, but that’s just another thing the customers absolutely love.”

It wasn’t long after that conversation that Roger started noticing he was having more slower nights than busy ones. His formerly loyal customers had started going upstairs before last call to take advantage of the lower prices, and he’d caught one of his bartenders going upstairs after closing to work a second shift at the Uber bar. Roger considered firing him, but he really couldn’t blame him, given how dead it had been at his bar lately.

After one particularly bad night, Roger found himself making an anonymous call to the police. He felt guilty about it, but what choice did he have? When the flashing lights of the cruiser pulled up outside, his stomach felt nervous. He stood outside on the sidewalk, waiting to see what was going to happen, when the two cops came back down the stairs.

“What’s happening up there officers? Is there a problem?”

“Someone called in a complaint about the place upstairs, but there’s not much we can do.”

“But, aren’t they basically illegal?”

“You’d think so, but our bosses are telling us to hold off on laying any charges, at least until the politicians at City Hall can figure out what to do about them.”

By this point, Uber bars had started springing up all over the city. By some estimates there were even more of them than legal bars. This new economy was very popular with young urbanites. Roger had taken to reading everything he could in the media, and was saddened to see that the public was definitely not taking the side of bar owners. The comments sections of articles on the topic revealed that people had a lot more resentment towards his profession than he’d ever imagined:

I swear my local bar used to water down their booze.

I only go to Uber bars now, because I know I’ll get better service and better prices.

The app is just so convenient. I hated lining up for clubs, and never knowing if I’d actually get in.

I’m just so sick of dirty bars with stinky washrooms. Uber-servers just seem to care more.

Why should I care about the fate of bars? Does anyone still care about the fate of horse carriage drivers? You can’t stop progress!

The politicians at City Hall were very aware of how much support Uber bars had, and so they’d passed the issue off to the courts to avoid pissing off voters.

Initially a few Uber servers were given heavy fines, but then they were overturned by the courts on appeal, which made the city reluctant to pursue more charges. There had been some momentum behind the idea of forcing Uber bars to get licenses, but Uber lawyers had a lot of money and time to contest that, too, so they were still operating without any restrictions, while the appeal process dragged on. Meanwhile, Roger was behind on loan payments and rent. It wasn’t surprising when his friend the investor called one afternoon.

“Hey Roger, how are things?”

“Not great, but you know that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I’ve been looking at the numbers. Have you considered replacing your bartenders with Uber servers? You would save a bunch off payroll, not to mention finally being able to get around that commercial markup on booze.”

It seemed like a longshot, but Roger had few options left. Besides, half his staff were now calling in sick regularly, and he assumed they were working Uber bar shifts somewhere else instead. They probably wouldn’t be happy about losing a steady paycheque, but the tips had been shit for so long now that he figured the staff would go along with it. Under the Uber bar system, if he supplied the location, he could get a cut of whatever the servers sold, although not as big as what Uber were taking. It might just be enough to stay open.

The new concept for the bar didn’t last long. Turns out inspectors still took their jobs very seriously when it comes to licensed establishments. Roger got hit with a couple big tickets the first week, but by that point he’d already realized that his astronomical commercial rent made the Uber bar model completely unprofitable for him anyway.

By this point, it seemed like the only people still going to bars were those who didn’t have credit cards, or those who were too old to get excited about a smartphone app. These weren’t bad customers, and were often better behaved than the younger hipsters, but he wasn’t even coming close to paying the bills anymore. He was disappointed, but not surprised when he showed up to the pub one day to find the doors chained and an eviction notice taped to the window.

One of the bearded dudes from upstairs came out while he re-read the notice for the 10th time.

“Shitty man, that really sucks. We’re actually closing our Uber bar too. It’s a tough business. The service is so popular now that the company decided to reduce prices across the board. We finally got around to doing the math, and we realized that after expenses, we weren’t even making minimum wage anymore. It’s just not worth the bullshit.”

Roger looked at him and nodded, but didn’t reply. He got in his car and went home, calm on the outside, but fuming inside.

At home, he opened his smartphone. Back in his more reckless younger years, he’d considered opening an illegal boozecan himself, but the fear of jail time and hefty fines had stopped him. Those weren’t concerns anymore, but neither were the big profits that an after-hours joint could provide. Instead, he’d be paying some multinational corporation for the privilege of running an unlicensed illegal bar, and still struggling to make minimum wage.

After staring at the Uber icon for what felt like hours, he tapped the download button. What a time to be alive.

benjaminb@nowtoronto.com | @benjaminboles