Is it sad that I am actually looking forward to going to work tomorrow? I feel utterly ridiculous (well, more so than usual) at admitting this, but I really am genuinely looking forward to it. And not just so I can see Lee again - although that is an added bonus. I think it's because I'm just enjoying escaping my parody of a life for 8 hours and actually going somewhere and having something to DO again - as opposed to sitting at home with the parents, constantly sending off applications for work and exclaiming half-arsedly over "I'm a Celebrity" (despite the fact that it is a complete pile of wank). Now I'm getting used to it, and getting to know the people and the building, it's becoming a lot more bearable than I thought - even bordering on exciting. Although I could do without the serious Party Dress Envy I keep experiencing when the guests walk through the door - apart from the woman last week who resembled a transsexual porn-star.
Is it also sad that I got a missed call and a Voicemail off Lee today (re: extra shifts) and I got so excited to hear his voice that I squeaked a little and saved the message? (Haven't rang back yet, need to establish my "sexy phone voice" - yeah right)
Is it also also sad that I feel another list coming on? (Yeah OK, I'm massively bored and sometimes I just don't have the energy to write in large chunks)
PROS AND CONS OF WORKING AT THE PUB:
PROS:
- The tips. As fluctuating and low as they sometimes are, I am guaranteed to always make at least enough for my taxi home. And since I set myself a quota to try and earn at least £5 per shift, it seems to be working.
- Talking sex with the punters - honestly, it can sometimes be fun. Yes, 97% of the punters in this particular pub are over 50, but it's reassuring to know that men never change, however old they get. Plus, you will hear innuendos and comments that would make a "Carry On" star blush.
- Having a steady job. OK, so I only work 2 nights a week, but I always know I will have at least £50 in my account on Monday.
- The landlady. Not only is she one of those fantastically take-no-shit-from-anyone, hard-faced, speaks-her-mind Northern brassy types - but she had enough faith to keep me on despite a fairly disastrous trial, and now calls on me anytime she needs a shift covering. Which she knows I will do, as I'm available all the time. AND she's completely cool with the L********* job, and even helped accomodate for it.
- The smoking ban - Thank Christ it came into effect before I started pub work, and will never have to sweep up cig dimps.
- The other staff - fun and easy to have a laugh with.
- The punters - ditto. It's nice to sometimes have big chats with them, and nice being able to recognise regulars - especially since the hot 23 year-old brother-of-a-friend has decided to come in. And ESPECIALLY the one who always tells me to "keep the change" - which is usually over a quid. God bless that rich bastard.
- Being able to pull a pint. Call me crazy but I fucking LOVE the fact that I've finally mastered that skill.
- Listening to music all evening. The latest Now CD? Frank Sinatra's greatest hits? Best of the 80's? Yes, yes, a thousand times, YES!!
- Kareoke night - when asked to work it - is an absolute BALL. Hear some truly talented people, and the atmosphere is awesome.
- The Punchball - genius invention perched by the till that shouts random insults when you hit it. FANTASTIC outlet for when a customer is pissing you off.
- Giving as good as you get - yes, I need to work on mine somewhat, as I'm too much of a geek to have mastered it properly - but being able to slag someone off in a place where they will appreciate and laugh at it is pretty goddamn amazing.
CONS
- Looking at all the punters and thinking: "Shit, will I end up like that??"
- The tips. I mostly earn shite-all, while the rest of the staff goes home with about £15. Why??!
- Talking sex with the punters - it can sometimes go beyond fun and into really fucking WRONG. Especially on those days where everything is pissing you off, and you once again have received a proposal from someone to come hoover their flat in a maid's outfit. Grrrr, grrrr.
- The realisation that I have a degree and am now working in a pub. Fucking recession.
- The landlady - sometimes her hard-arsedness can turn on yours truly....... and it scares seven shades of shite out of me. Never again will I chat to a customer for more than 7 seconds, paint my nails behind the bar (oh come on, it was DEAD!) make comments about the time or check my phone while she lurketh.
- The other staff - there is one in particular I HATE working with, she's one of those who never talks unless you talk to her first. Used to work Fridays with her and it was pretty damn uncomfortable.
- The punters. What a bunch of sarcastic, predictable, nasty cunts. Mostly they're alright, but when their alcohol/blood levels are in your hands, they can sometimes turn on you.
There's the one who makes constant sexual innuendos at me
The fat twat who stands in the same place at the bar every night, lording it over everyone, safe in his alcohol-fuelled reign, staring openly at my tits as I pull pints of Bitter in front of him and making bitchy comments at me.
Then there's one who constantly huffs at me and taps the bar with his coins if I take more than A MINUTE to get to him. (Little hint: tap the bar and I will purposefully take as long as humanly possible to serve you)
The one who just shouts his order from his seat and only comes up to the bar to pay for it. I'm sorry, but if you want a drink, why don't grow a pair of balls, get up off your lazy fat arse and ask me to my face??
The one who never tips. Thanks Scrooge, while you're at it, why don't you shit on me as well?
The one who looks pointedly at the clock whenever I walk in. OH MY GOODNESS, what a funny JOKE!! Let me think - you haven't done that exact same thing EVERY SINGLE TIME I'VE WALKED IN since August!!
The one who calls me "spoilt" and a "Daddy's Girl" just because I live in a quite nice area, sometimes get a lift to work, still live at home and my parents are self employed. Let me tell you something mate, first: my parents worked FUCKING hard for what they've got - especially my mum who was MADE REDUNDANT a few months after her store, which she worked in for 24 years, was BOMBED. Fair? I think not. Second, what the fuck is wrong with getting a lift to work on these cold winter nights, if my dad is offering? No thanks papa, I'd rather walk in the cold. Third, I may not "pay for my keep" now, but if I don't have a "proper" job by January, Mum is either charging me rent or kicking me out. OK? Now leave me the fuck alone and worry about your own problems - namely that you drink in the same pub every single night, are a bitter ugly cunt and haven't been laid in years.
The one who thinks he knows EVERYTHING in the world - and tries to tell you all of this while you're trying to serve 3 people at a time. And then gets in a huff because you're not LISTENING. Mate? I'm not PAID to listen to you, I'm paid to get people pissed, fuck off out my face.
The one who has the same drink every time he comes in, without fail. And then turns the TV channel over just as Coronation Street is about to come on. Grrrrrr....
The little dickhead, whose real name I would LOVE to reveal.... Let's call him Andy. 18-years old, short, looks like a pointy walrus, asked me out in my first month of working there. Because I was so desperate after a 4 month hiatus and didn't know what he was like, I said yes. He took me BOWLING. Anyway, as I found out on the date, he is singularly the most annoying person on the planet. Up himself, completely convinced of his superiority and not even funny with it. Everyone in the pub hates him, although he doesn't seem to know it. He comes in, always bragging about his latest job. One week, he was working at a fancy restaurant, and by the time he was telling the 5th person - he had become a top manager with 12 people working under him. The next week he was selling conservatories to "Pakis" (racist knob-end) and making thousands on commission. Always talks down to me and acts like he'd seen more of the world then me (despite me being 4 years older) and pisses off everyone around him. A few weeks ago, after I knocked something over, he tutted at me and started talking down to me again. At the end of my actual tether, I whipped round and told him to "fuck off and stop talking to me like I'm a 5 year-old, you condescending cunt" I've never seen anyone look so shocked. Mainly cos I've never stood up to anyone in my life. Not that harshly, anyway. I have only ever smiled in his presence once - and that was because I wore my Love Eggs on the date with him. Fun times.
- Busy shifts - they make me angry.
- Those days. This is not some glorious euphemism for when I'm on my period, let me assure you. Those days are when I want to kill whoever walks in the door, scream at whoever orders a Guiness, crack the head open of the next person who stares at my tits, break the arm of someone who doesn't tip me, and rip the knackers off the next man who frowns at me, or so much as gives me A Look.
- The actual work. Like I said, I try to avoid it if I can. Sue me.
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Current Mood: can't be bothered
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