It’s not every Sunday morning I find myself sitting in a local pub, though it has happened on occasion. Yet this particular Sabbath I need not worry about my liver or eternal damnation. This is strictly a business-related matter. I’m on the job.

With a fresh Chinook wind blowing outside and the stale air of last night lingering inside, I flip through a 140-odd-page training manual. This defacto Bible was issued from up-above by the province’s liquor and gaming apparatus, known as the Alberta Gaming and Liquor Commission (AGLC). It is to be read and followed by any and all who provide the thirsty masses with alcoholic beverages. No exceptions.

“I’m still recovering from Friday,” says Andrew, a bleary-eyed bartender sitting next to me. Duly noted.

Scanning the group, I see 30-odd bartenders and servers — young and old, fresh-faced and weathered. And, of course, there’s one lone coffee-deprived writer anxious to discover what this course offers.

It used to be that one could plant their work-weary butt on a barstool and guzzle plenty of booze, even enough to induce a coma. Countless bars across the city used to offer an array of drink specials — 25-cent draft, $3 triples — it was a binge drinker’s wet dream.

That was then; this is now. In Alberta, personal responsibility for alcohol consumption has been foisted upon servers and liquor store employees to prevent their customers from getting drunk. As of January 1, the province mandated that anyone serving alcohol in the retail or hospitality industry has to be “certified” by passing this training course within 30 days of starting a job.

A 16-year veteran of the industry, who asked not to be named, calls the program “stupid” — merely a cash grab by a government that has simply shifted its responsibilities onto the shoulders of servers. And, in reality, not many waiters and bartenders follow the so-called law.

Introduced in 2006 and overseen by the AGLC, the certificate program was designed to “adequately” train staff to exercise duty of care. Boiled down, staff isn’t supposed to allow patrons to get drunk and is supposed to protect customers from unforeseeable harm. If not, sizable fines can be levied and lawsuits could follow if an incident occurs.

Legally, one is considered intoxicated if their blood-alcohol concentration (BAC) is at or above 0.08. Using the chart provided in the manual, this means I, at 70-ish kg, would likely be considered intoxicated sometime during my third or fourth beer if consumed in less than four hours. If my waitress keeps bringing me more, she’s technically over-serving.

“The days of serving until they drop are gone,” says Mark Aplozer, a likable and competent fellow tasked with teaching this Sunday session at Shillelagh’s Pub in southwest Calgary.

“We don’t go through the book word for word,” says Apolzer. Instead, the class skims the manual, watches situational videos and discusses what we’ve read and watched — which boils down to: Don’t serve someone who is passed out, becoming belligerent, underage. We’re told to keep the manual, as most will likely forget 85 per cent of the training within three days.

At the end of this five-hour course, we have to write a multiple-choice test. One of the 35 questions goes like this: How do you know when to stop serving a customer alcohol? a) he is passed out. b) he is belligerent and violent. c) he is vomiting. d) all of the above.

There is no e) it’s a no-brainer.

Contrary to what has been reported in one local newspaper, the course is not and never has been free. Workers have to shell out $25 to take an online test or $50 for a six-hour in-person session. The certificate is to be renewed every five years. Consider that more than 73,000 people have been certified, with 80 per cent doing so online. Multiply this, divide that, square root the total (or something) and that roughly works out to more than $2 million raked in.

It’s easy to see why one would take the online test: it’s cheap and convenient. And with a number of safety measures in place — registering with an email account and password — the system is quite secure, assures the ALGC. It would undoubtedly take a crack team of villainous computer hackers to circumvent this high-level security.

So, imagine my shock when numerous bartenders and servers inform me that cheating online is easy and commonplace. Some supervisor’s text answers to their employees. Managers get workers to sign up, then write the test for their employees. English not your strong suit? Pay a colleague to take the test.

And to think it has cost taxpayers $670,000 to develop this program and the website.

A couple of days later I contact bartender Andrew to gather his thoughts about the program. Despite the training, he readily admits he will continue to serve one of his regulars a dozen beers and a handful of shots within a few hours. It’s an amount that would put anyone over the legal limit and is against the course’s recommendations. “Really that guy could probably drink forever,” says Andrew. “How am I going to cut him off after three or four drinks every time he comes in? He’s just going to stop coming in.”

It’s a Catch-22 situation, he says. Break the law and risk being fined up to $200,000 and potential lawsuits. Or follow the recommendations and drive customers and their money away. And earning only $400 in a 48-hour workweek, Andrew says he is hesitant to risk his tips, which amounts to about half his pay. “Even with tips there’s not that much for me to survive off of,” he says. Bottoms up!