Pub woes - yet again

Dear Diary,

Well, I've done it again. There is now ANOTHER angry old man at the pub who hates me and doesn't want me to serve them ever again. Gosh, I'm getting bad at this. It was Irish Paul - who stands at the end of the bar, and I've known since my first shift. I came on my shift, only to smell some kinda revolting burning wood smell, which he explained was the turps all over his hands. So, throughout the next two hours, I kept jokingly coming back and commenting on it, eventually (jokingly) begging him to "wash his hands, cos I felt ill." So - a few minutes later, Landlandy comes downstairs and immediately asks why I've been offending the customers. What?? Turns out I'd inadvertantly annoyed Irish Paul with all my comments. Fuck's sake. So I went to straighten things out:

ME: "Um..... Paul?"
IP: "What?"
ME: "Listen, I've just had a word with the Landlady and she says I've upset you somehow - look, I hope you understand, I wasn't trying to offend you or upset you before, I was only...."
IP: "Look, I don't want to talk about it anymore. Whatever your name is, you're nothing but a rude, rude girl...."
ME: "Wha....? But....."
IP: "You do this ALL the time, you always find some reason to start on at me, and you've been doing it all night, jumping down my throat every 5 minutes...."
ME: "What? Paul, listen, I don't have a problem with you...."
IP: "Well, I've got a problem with YOU."
ME: "Now, hang on....."
IP: "No. I'm fucking sick of it. You've got absolutely no respect....."
ME: "Paul, I was JOKING. I seriously wasn't trying to offend you, I was only joking with you...."
IP: "I don't want to hear it. I don't need to be told I smell by some pissy little barmaid...."
ME: (*hysterically*) "Paul! Paul, I never for a SECOND said that you smelt, I said it was the TURPS! You TOLD me you had turps on your hands, that's all I was referring to!!"
IP: "I'm fed up with you!"
ME: "The..... turps!"
IP: "I don't need this anymore. I won't be coming in when you're here, and I don't want to be served by you again."
ME: "But..... I...... what? (*friendly*) Oh come on, Paul, it doesn't need to go this far!"
IP: "Well it already has, so I suggest you piss off away from me, because I don't want you to talk to me again."
ME: (*utterly speechless*)

Can you fucking believe that??! What a nasty cunt! Was very different to the Pat saga - where I gave as good as I got and swore my tits off - this time I just stood there talking very high pitchedly like a confused little girl and looking hurt. Naturally, the whole pub (well, the 5 men at the other end of the bar) went dead quiet and started listening, and were witness to my eventual walk of shame. So, that was fun. Walked round the corner where the Landlord took one look at my face and asked what was wrong. I only managed to choke out "I tried to apologise......." before the tear-wave broke, and he sent me to the back room to calm down. Landlady came in and tried to reassure me it wasn't a big deal, whilst I went through the 5 stages I usually go through whilst crying:

STAGE 1, DENIAL - "Oh hey...... no, I'm not crying, (*sniffle*) there's just....... something in both my eyes.... and I've gone red. Perfectly normal......."

STAGE 2, DEPRESSION - "God, I might as well just quit now, (*sob*) I'm so bloody bad at this, I'm the worst barmaid ever, everyone's always falling out with me, I should just jack it all in....."

STAGE 3, BARGAINING - "Well, maybe the customer ISN'T always right..... Yeah, he HAD had a lot to drink..... And at least I TRIED to apologize......."

STAGE 4, ANGER - (*flinging arms around*) "You know what? I am so fucking SICK of walking on eggshells around bitter old men who can't take a fucking joke around here!!!"

STAGE 5, ACCEPTANCE - 5 minutes in the loo with my make-up bag, and I was right as Rain. Rain with very dramatic eye make-up.

Landlady was surprisingly understanding. I apologised for acting like such a girl, at which she assured me that this was never an easy job, and I'm not the first person to be upset by someone. So that eventually sorted itself out, and now I'm back to feeling my usual mixture of fury, disbelief, confusion, and a hint of "fuck you, you're just annoyed because you're a pathetic alcoholic who'll probably die before me."
Jesus. That place turns me into such a bitch. If I wasn't so desperately poor, I'd have left by now. (Mind you, I found out yesterday that people with only one job and less than a certain number of hours a week can apply for the dole. Free money, and they HELP you find work!! Sweet!)

On the upside - the people who witnessed the fight tipped me loads (maybe out of pity? My eyes WERE pretty obviously red afterwards) all night, and Pat seems to be talking to me again. Well, I mean, he let me serve him and called me "Chucks" - which was his old nickname for me. Take the good with the bad!

Plus, I'm developing an alarming attraction to a 40 year-old punter. Is that wrong.......? He's called Ben, comes in quite often with his mate, they always drink the same, and play pool. He's one of those lovely, intelligent-but-friendly-looking types, with those archetypal "sensual artist" hands, and a sweet arse. And he's one of those men who looks like he could be anywhere between 26 and 45. Mmmmmm....... He's pretty quiet and only speaks every so often, but I'm always smiling like crazy at him. And he tips. And smiles back. Well, he has no wedding ring, I can but dream! Especially since he looks like one of those quiet, unsuspecting types who are always absolutely crazy in bed and would probably take you roughly against a wall somewhere....... whilst still being all touchy and sensitive. Eeeeep. Must. Calm. Down.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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