The evolution of Philadelphia has inevitably triggered some drastic changes over the past 10 or 15 years. The recent rise of local hot spots like Old City and Northern Liberties seems to be visibly transforming the city from its hard-nosed, blue-collar roots into a hipper, swanky college town. But as some may have noticed, along with these changes has come the inevitable decline in the quality of our fair city’s bartenders. Long gone are the days when one could walk into bar and have an enjoyable, albeit meaningless conversation with the person behind the counter. Nowadays when you walk into a bar you’re likely to be greeted with tasteless music about birthday sex while you proceed to struggle getting the attention of some uber-cool, Nickelback reject who’s more interested in scoring a bag of coke than getting you a drink.

Like most of you, I can enjoy the standard seizure-inducing, bass-filled atmosphere modern bars provide (beside the Journey songs). Yet I can’t help yearning for more fulfilling times, when establishments attracted customers with gregarious bartenders, quality service and a generally pleasant vibe. Many readers may be too young recall, myself included, but there was a time when loud music and good looking people were only peripheral aspects of the bar experience. Music and woman can be found in any bar in any town, but the experience of a good conversation and making lasting friends are phenomena fostered by only a handful of true establishments still operating today. So why exactly has this shift in expectation occurred? And how come no one has seemed to notice?

“I’ve definitely seen a decrease in personality and service,” explains John DiSalvo. Judging by DiSalvo’s 30 years of experience working at old-fashioned joints like Old Original Bookbinders and Capital Grille, I think its safe to say he knows a thing or two about the current climate of the industry. While it may be apparent to some of us who appreciate good service and bartender palaver, others don’t seem to mind the dire lack-of-bartender void Philly has. DiSalvo certainly thinks the Philly service industry is particularly bad compared with other cities like Boston, New York or L.A. DiSalvo recognizes that the majority of Philly bartenders don’t even give the two most important aspects of their job enough regard: greeting a person and saying goodnight. “As simple as that sounds, to greet somebody when they walk in the door, you don’t even see that anymore,” DiSalvo jeers. “Its just amazing.”

And I agree with DiSalvo; trying to get a bartender’s attention has become an art these days, requiring a fine balance of frustration and feigned respect that creates a tangible tension where there should be none. Knowing this, it comes as no surprise that conversing with bartenders is a long-lost art. “A lot of [bartenders] go to the corner or they’ll go away from the customer and you can sometimes see that customers, especially a single person, wants to have a conversation,” explains DiSalvo. It looks as though the days when a customer could go to the local bar where everybody knows your name seems to have died with the cancellation of Cheers. But this lack of seasoned bartenders may also have something to do with the changing perception of the profession itself.

Though there are still professional bartenders out there, the job has become less of a career and more of a part-time gig for college kids to make some extra cash. Just ask Damon Banko of the Capital Grille, another veteran of the bartending industry with 25 years of experience. “Bartenders have their own little business within a business. If they work steady shifts people know when they work and they come and make a point to come and seen them on those nights. Somebody that hasn’t been doing quite as long, just out of college, is using their skills to pay for college. They’ll use a lime that’s been cut two days ago.” (I thought that gin and tonic tasted a little rotten.) Because the convenience of part-time help allows businesses to keep their overhead low, a number of Philly bars have chosen to trade one-of-a-kind service for a larger profit margin. But in these tough economic times when customers are more value-conscious than ever, that lack of dedication in a bartender can seriously maim a bar’s reputation. That customers’ expectations are much lower than before doesn’t help the problem either. As Banko points out, there‘s also a tangible lack of gratitude festering behind the counter. “Bartenders don’t thank people for a good tip with a really heartfelt thank you. A lot of young bartenders take that for granted, and in the customers mind they feel like they were taken for granted.” With customer expectations lower than ever, it’s more than just the service that’s declining, it’s the actual bar experience that suffers as well. And in this industry, keeping the customer happy (and being grateful for any extra dough) should be valued more.

Most of the changes in the service industry have occurred within the past decade as a result of the growing population of college kids. Whether or not bar owners are correct in assuming that all young kids want is loud music and sex appeal remains to be seen, but, as DiSalvo puts it, “people that have four or five establishments are only looking for eye appeal [behind the bar]. They feel that that is just enough to attract customers to come back.” Is sex appeal is enough to keep customers coming back? It may sound foreign, but a bartender is supposed to be a warm and welcoming figurehead of the establishment, and not some glorified Adonis with no real sense of his or her duties as a server.

This trend seems to be indicative of the larger, current zeitgeist. Much in the same way most of our musical talent is cheapened using devices like auto-tune (Jay-Z knows it), so have our bars become homogenized into one blur of bright lights, sweaty people, sub-par service and Bon Jovi tunes (how many freakin‘ times do we have to hear that song?). Its as if someone invisible hand has auto-tuned all the bars to meet the frankly insulting assumption that all bar-goers don’t care about quality of service and are only looking to either f&*k or fight. “You can’t even talk to the bartender and tell him what you want unless it’s a shout,” agrees DiSalvo. “Nine times out of 10 people eventually just get turned off, and eventually it wears thin.” But they’ve (we’ve) forgotten that something is lacking amidst the bright lights and deafening music: genuine human interaction.

That the majority of bars’ customers are actually one-dimensional college kids who are completely fulfilled by simply getting piss drunk may have something to do with these lowered expectations. But for other patrons, perhaps those seeking more than bewildering physical stimulation, the discrepancy in service is all to apparent. DiSalvo sees it too. “People that have been around pick up on that sort of thing, and when you don’t have that, it just becomes an okay place. It all trickles down because your most important advertisement is word of mouth.”

While Banko, DiSalvo and myself seem disenchanted with the bar service in our fair town, we certainly aren’t indicative of the entirety of Philly bartenders—we give them credit for working hard, putting up with the worst kind of drunk: the Philadelphian. But as customers, we should remember that our patronage is essentially an affirmation of a bar’s quality, and judging by the current state of affairs, it’s an affirmation we should think twice about giving. So for those of you looking for the refined experience of the good-old days, go see Banko at Capital Grille Tuesday through Friday from 4pm to close and reveal in a perfect Grey Goose martini, starched napkins and a few “on the house” benefactions; or visit DiSalvo at Jolly’s Dueling Piano Bar Tuesday through Saturday from 5 to 1ppm, where waitresses smile and even if everyone doesn’t know your name, they at least know the lyrics.