Hallelujah.
Thursday, 12 April 2007
My biggest gripe tonight is that the entire complex was basically deserted from 12.30am but did we close at 1? Did we fuck. Even though I was told by the bar staff that between 1am and 1.30am they only took nine fucking quid we didn't call last orders until ten to two. Fucking ludicrous.
It's funny the difference a week can make. Seven days ago Captain Jack was firmly at the bottom of my PSR (Personal Security Rankings) but despite the odds he's moved above both Bilbo and The Lodge this week. Earlier tonight Bilbo, who was off to work the lower bar told us, "Look, don't worry about your breaks. I'll be back up at 10.30pm and you can all go on your breaks then." Did we ever see him again? What do you think?
Cunt.
You can understand why, but one of the shitest things about this job is being unable to accept the offer of a drink from a punter. I get at least two a night, and I know damn well if I accepted them I'd get more. But this isn't the 1980s; you can't do this line of work and be knocking back pint after pint. You just can't. It still sucks though. But it's all so worthwhile when you realise the power - and I'm absolutely referring to the mental here, and not the physical - that you, as a sober person, have over a drunk when anything threatens to kick off. They seem so slow and obvious. It's incredibly revealing. You should try it.
An escalating problem over the past couple of weeks has been the presence of intoxicated staff in the main bar at closing time. We're talking about little groups of 6-8 here. Most of them are okay and leave without much bother, but there's two or three who fall somewhere between 'tossers' and 'dildos'. A couple of them are barstaff, and they're the cunts I mentioned previously who always serve the underage girls just because they've got their tits on show. Utter wankers. The complex is trying to crack down on this but it's a tricky one; they're torn somewhere between ensuring that the staff don't become a nuisance but also relishing getting back 10-20 per cent of their day's pay in one or two hours. It's all money, money, money around here, and fuck you if you try to inject some sense into the equation.
Mr Sorry came up to me earlier and wanted a quiet word. "Look mate," he said, "Is there any chance I can see the CCTV tapes from last night?" I told him that (a) it wasn't my call and (b) either way it seemed pretty unlikely. I asked him why, and he said, "Well, I've been accused of touching those girls up and my missus is going fucking spare." I knew this would happen. I said as much last night. The wife says one thing to me, defending 'her man', and then thinks about it and immediately starts accusing him of the crime. Women. Still, I've learned a lesson here, and that's to be fucking careful what you say. Especially to drunks.
I'm off to begin my two day's vacation. Be good.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:40 am
