iPhone - fantastic video.
Friday, 29 June 2007
This really does look the business; like something out of Minority Report.
posted by Sheamus @ 10:30 am
The 'strike'.
I didn't go into work on Wednesday because I wasn't feeling great. This, however, is the first shift - indeed, the first hour - I've missed since I started this job.
However, Edmonson had already been off this week. Jabba let me know he wasn't coming in because he was also sick. And, lo and fucking behold, Worthy didn't show up either. And it's several other DS' night off.
This left the two agency guys representing, and all that, all by themselves.
Granted, it's not an ideal situation. But it's a total accident. A freak occurance. Lynch, however, for some reason, went mental, and stormed off to the General Manager to grass us all up. Comments like 'strike' and 'they've all quit together' were bandied around. What absolute bollocks. Why not just try picking up the fucking telephone, mate, before jumping to conclusions?
I went in yesterday to sort out my time sheet and heard all this, and just thought: can this place get any fucking worse? You miss one night of work (and it's not like I didn't call ahead and say I'd be off) and it all goes down the shitter. I spoke to #1 about it and he was fine. I'll have to have words with Lynch when I next see him on Saturday. Madness.
posted by Sheamus @ 9:00 am
This stuff basically writes itself.
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
Incident that took place last night. Edmonson, myself and The Lodge are down by the main gates. Edmonson and The Lodge are talking about something, but I'm kind of just there, in my own world, spaced out. This woman, probably in her late 40s, has been standing kind of near us for a while, and it turns out she's waiting for her husband, who I realise is waiting for her up at the complex doors. Eventually he clocks on and comes down.
She's not too impressed with him and, kind of jokingly, he comes over to me and asks for an escort as she's going to "give him hell." We have a bit of banter, then he goes to leave, and says, "See you guys."
I say goodbye to him, and Edmonson, who hasn't spoken to the guy at all before now, looks back and says, "Ta da."
The bloke stops suddenly. "What did you say to me?", he says.
Edmonson turns around and looks at him blankly. "Sorry?"
"Did you just tell me to 'shut up'?" the bloke asks.
"No mate," I say, "He said 'ta da'. As in, 'goodbye'. He was saying 'goodnight', mate."
"No he fucking wasn't," says the chap, now in full rage, "He was telling me to fucking shut up..."
His missus is now telling him to shut up, and trying to drag him away.
"I've come here on fucking holiday," says the bloke, "And this cunt has fucking ruined it..."
"YOU'VE fucking ruined it," his wife says, adding, "You drunk wanker..."
"He said 'ta da', mate," I repeat, "He was saying goodbye to you..."
"No he fucking wasn't," says the man, "I know what he fucking well said..."
And then he steps forward a bit.
"Are you threatening him, mate?" I ask, and step forward myself.
"No," he replies, "He's threatening me..."
I mean, Jesus, it was pure fucking comedy. His missus eventually manages to drag him away, effing and blinding (the both of them), and the rest of us are like, "What!?"
The bottom line: it's another priceless example of where your common or garden drunk can 180 his personality literally in a split second on the back of one throwaway, totally misunderstood and utterly harmless comment.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
The definition of wrong. Right?
Tuesday, 26 June 2007
Bit of an odd situation at work yesterday.
Remember the new owner I told you about, who previously introduced us to Numbnuts? Well, as I've said before, the guy is a grade-A pisshead and there hasn't been even a single occasion when any of us have seen him sober. He's always off his face. As a result, he's unpredictable, random, prone to misunderstanding you, talks loads of crap and is generally somebody you want to avoid. He never takes it too far, but the potential for that is always there, twitching and buzzing, like a wasp on the floor that may or may not be dead. To wit, he's always on thin ice.
And he knows this.
Even in the week or two since he's been an owner, he's bought along some more problem mates that have received immediate bans from the complex and lower bar. The owner himself never goes too far - at least, not yet - but his mates are always total bell-ends.
He knows this, too.
Hence, what happened last night. The guy has a lot of money. This is obvious. Where it comes from, and how the fuck he maintains it, is anybody's guess. But he has it, currently, in spades. And whenever somebody does something for him, or treats him with the right 'respect', he's started handing out twenty-pound notes as a 'thank you'.
Great, you might be thinking. Nice work if you can get it. But it's anything but. Taking money or other incentives from owners at work is an absolute and total no-no. And the reason why is fairly obvious - these people are here all the time. If you accept gifts from them, you're basically in their pocket, whether you like it or not. One of two situations will ultimately arise. (1) They will be involved in trouble, and when it kicks off, look to you - and whomever else they've paid off - to stand by or help them, even if it's the wrong thing to do. Naturally, any good DS will ignore this, even if they have accepted the gift in the past, which leads to (2) The owner not being happy with the DS, and then marching up to the GM and complaining that they didn't get any assistance despite the DS accepting stuff from them in the past. End result: the DS will be fired, without exception.
Now, a lot of this is common sense. Basically, we all know it. The owner drove to the complex last night (pissed, of course), but told us he wasn't going to drive the car again tonight, so we left it. However, when he went inside, we noticed his lights were still on, so I went into the bar to tell him. He gave me his keys, we sorted the car out, and then Edmonson took them back inside. Later, as a thank-you, he offered Edmonson a score. Edmonson politely thanked him, but turned it down. As I would have done. While nobody wants to work with people who are whiter-than-white, taking these gifts from owners is never going to be something that any sensible member of our team would do. If it had been from a guest, maybe there's a bit of a grey area - they're not in a position to buy favours. But owners (and, to some extent, staff) absolutely are.
Edmonson tells me what happened and I don't think much more about it, until we later found out that the owner had been offering these handouts to other members of our team, and one of the new blokes had accepted it.
Oh dear.
Now, suddenly this is all a potential mess. Half the problem is because the new guys have been hired externally, nobody on the inside has really told them anything. All the workings of the job, the company, the 'rules' etc have come from the rest of the DS team. However, as I said, some things are common sense (or, at least, you'd assume) so there was never a need to discuss every possible scenario. As a result, the older DS - who, to be fair, hasn't been paid yet and is Welsh (we'll refer to him as Jones) - saw a chance to grab some easy money and went for it. Edmonson had a word with him about it all and explained why this was something that we just couldn't do - I mean, if the owner had been just a nice guy it would be one thing, but this chap has 'future massive problem' written all over him - so to his credit, Jones tried to return the score, but the owner was like, "I don't know what you're talking about."
So it's all a bit icky. I figured the best solution for all of us was for myself to have a quick chat with Jones about the pickle we now found ourself in, but him particularly, as if the owner leaked this back to the powers-that-be he was fucked. The best solution, I suggested, was for him to put that money behind the buy and buy some drinks for the team, and if the matter ever cropped up as an 'issue', I'd say I was with Jones all night and the incident in question never occured. Two DS against one owner has a reasonable chance of being a winner. One against one, less so. It was the simplest way out, and Jones, again, snapped it up.
Ever since, all that's been on the back of my mind is: do two wrongs make a right... sometimes? Or is this now the beginning of a short, sharp and slippery slide down to the dark side. Maybe that's what 'DS' stood for all along.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 pm
Well...
... another mini lock-in tonight.
Will write more tomorrow. Things to say, etc etc.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am
Waiting, on a Sunday afternoon, for what I read between the lines...
Monday, 25 June 2007
Just when I feel I've got the place running somewhat smoothly, Lynch (#2) comes back from his holiday today and informs us that they're cutting staff for the peak season (basically, the summer holidays) and that the maximum we'll have in the complex Monday to Friday is three, with four on the weekends.
Jesus Christ, why not just put an advert in the local paper inviting all the local scumbags to come up and have a go, "... if they think they're hard enough"!?
Wankers.
We've had this place running like a fucking baby the last couple of weeks. Virtually no trouble at all. And now I'm hearing shit like "we only want one on the door". Fucking fuckity fuck fuck.
Half the problem with the place right now is, because one works days and one works nights, #1 and #2 only see each for one hour about four days a week and each seems to be intent on either (a) showing who's really in charge and (b) outdoing each other. Specifically, they don't really talk. #1 is far easier to get on with and, somewhat importantly, actually listens to what you have to say. More importantly, he listens to what I have to say. #2 doesn't really give a fuck what anybody has to say. Moreover, he's clearly pissed off he isn't #1.
The short version? None of us are going to be there come July 25th. The only possible saver now is that the two new guys - the agency dudes - are actually here for the entire season. Talk about a fucking one-eighty.
Rumour is Bilbo is going to get offered a switch to park security this week; if he doesn't take it, he's out. Of course, how many times have I written something like this, only for nothing to fucking happen at all.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Die Hard 4.0 - 10-minute clip.
Sunday, 24 June 2007
Despite the awful news that this has been rated a PG-13 in the States (the three previous films have been rated R, which is basically an 18-certificate in the UK. A PG-13 means it'll probably be a 12 here) I have high hopes for this. The original Die Hard, alongside Predator, Aliens and Terminator, is one of the greatest pure action movies ever made.
Here's a 10-minute clip from the new film (which is titled Live Free and Die Hard in the USA), and it looks pretty decent.
Fingers crossed, and all that.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 pm
Internal.
I got home so fucking late tonight, the sun was bloody well coming up as I walked up to my front door. But is Tony Blair on the phone, promising cigars? Is he fuck.
It's getting interesting now. I did wonder if a full house of security staff might lead to its own problems and I think it might. Tonight we reached the 'doorstaff bickering' stage, with most of the negativity being pointed at Bilbo who, to be fair, told enough outright lies tonight to make Jeffrey Archer feel like an amateur. I mean, he was telling me one thing, and then five minutes later two or three other DS would say the exact opposite happened. Quite, quite mad. I'm not sure what's going on in his head; the LAST thing you want when you're in our position is your own team (a) not trusting you and (b) thinking you're a lying cunt.
I told #1 that I want it to be officially announced that Jabba and myself are in charge of the doors (together, we cover all seven days of the week) and he agreed. This was my idea. Jabba didn't warm to the news; the problem with the guy is that he's got the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met in my life but despite being a fuck-off giant of a bloke has self-confidence issues in some areas. I told him to get over it; this is a good thing for him. People already look up to him, in more ways than just his height. I'm gonna try and sort us out some extra cash as well, although that's a bit like trying to get blood out of Dracula's cock, except not quite as exciting.
As we're unofficially in charge anyway, I can't see this being a problem with the other DS. Only Edmonson might have a bit of a private sulk over it, although mentally he's long ago lost interest. He's a good guy but I think he can't be long for this (DS) world.
Highlights tonight included an ambulance being called out for a 'very sick' 13-year old boy who turned out to be smashed out of his head on booze and also appeared to have smoked a joint. His family seemed very well-to-do as well. You've gotta love this place.
Trouble-wise, it was fairly quiet until the close. We have a fuck-off party of 83 - yes, eighty-three - boxers, kickboxers, and one twat who actually announced himself as 'in the protection business', and that his typical M.O. is to "nail people to the bar and set fire to them." Riggghhhhtttt. Second door on the left, Mr Archer.
Perhaps not to anyone's surprise, we then went on to have trouble with the hardcore pisshead owners, who again had to be separated. If some major incident doesn't happen before the end of the season - assuming, you know, I last the course - I'll eat my fucking CATs.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:30 am
1408.
Friday, 22 June 2007
This opens in the US today. Based on the Stephen King short-story, It's been getting fantastic press, with many suggesting it's the best horror movie in years.
Looks good.
posted by Sheamus @ 8:00 pm
Project Playlist.
Project Playlist is a cracking website that lets you set-up a Flash-powered bit of kit for your MySpace/Facebook/Bebo/Blog (or whatever), with an 80-track playlist that is fully customisable (songs, colours, shuffle, etc.) Better, it's a fantastic MP3-resource that lets you download any songs you find, either on the site or somebody else's playlist. You can even track down MP3s elsewhere and add them to PP's database. You can't ask for more than that!
I've been using it on my MySpace page for a little while now; here it is, in fact, as a stand-alone player.
posted by Sheamus @ 10:30 am
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.
Thursday, 21 June 2007
It's been a quiet but fairly odd week. One of the odder experiences was this young handicapped boy. He couldn't have been older than ten, but he had some kind of fetish for smashing glass bottles, and really liked to lob them out of the main complex doors around 10pm each night. This happened two nights in a row. It was kind of tough for me to bollock him, but thankfully when I spoke to his 'carers' - which basically came down to one 18-year old lad - he stopped. Last night, however, upon leaving the complex, he did this thing where he repeatedly grabbed his right arse-cheek and let out a monster fart. While he was walking. And I mean monster. Even the seagulls fucked off. Britain's Got Talent, indeed.
One slightly less amusing item of note: remember Numbnuts? Well, his mate, the better-behaved alcoholic who splashed out on sixty shots at closing time, is now an owner. It's just him and his (equally intoxicated) family at the moment, but it'll be interesting to see if the Brixton Bomber returns anytime soon. He ain't fucking coming in, I tell you that.
Oh, get this: the outdoor pool has been closed down for a few days. Officially, it's because the heaters are broken. Unofficially, and actually, it's because fucking E. coli was found in the water. Just keep your hair dry, and you'll be fine. Too late, you've swallowed some.
This, incidentally, is what E. coli looks like.
Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a bit like the bacteria version of Ripley in the power-loader at the end of Aliens? I mean, he's got guns and everything. Don't fuck with him, let me tell you.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
The best of ENTS.
Wednesday, 20 June 2007
Thunder and lightning, very very frightening.
Actually, this kind of weather doesn't bother me at all - I find it quite soothing, to be honest - but Jesus Christ I didn't half get soaked tonight. As a result, the main complex was borderline deserted for most of the night, with sensible folk deciding they were far better off with a good night in, albeit one in a caravan.
So, I'll entertain you with a couple of amusing stories from the world of ENTS instead. ENTS, in case you've forgotten, is shorthand for the complex in-house 'entertainment'.
This first one came directly from the current ENTS manager, and he told it to me a while back after he'd had a couple of beers. It happened a few seasons ago. It was a Saturday and he'd put on a show in the family bar to well over a thousand people. It had gone down tremendously well and afterwards, as he was leaving the main complex, lots of people came up to him to congratulate him, shake his hand, get a photo, an autograph, etc. He told me he was lapping it up as it rarely happens. However, all week he said this little six-year old girl had been following him around - "bugging me", as he put it - and she had this habit of going up behind him and repeatedly pulling on his shirt and saying his name, over and over until she got his full attention.
Now, however, his attention was fully elsewhere. He was standing outside near some steps, and she was behind him, again repeatedly tugging on his shirt and saying his name. He was surrounded by a throng and they were all shaking his hand, etc etc, as above. More with the tugging and the name-calling. Over and over. "In a minute, in a minute," he kept saying to her, but she wasn't having it.
Eventually, somewhat out of frustration but also absent-mindedly, he reached his hand back and kind of pushed her away... and she fell backwards down the stairs and cracked her head open.
Well, naturally the shit hit the old fan. The parents turned up and went furious. The child was rushed away for some emergency stitching and when they came back, the ENTS manager was taken into a full disciplinary with the park GM. The parents were called in, and when they saw him, they immediately started with a, "You fucking really hurt my..."
To which the ENTS boss replied, "I'm sorry, what was that? Did you just swear at me? I'm sorry, but I'm not having that..." and he went on and said it in such a way that the disciplinary concluded with them apologising to him and dropping the matter. Fuck me! He told me he was almost shatting himself with fear but had enough of the gift of the gab to turn it all around. But it doesn't make that story any less of a shocker, really, does it?
Part two. Again with the family bar. Each night there's a special kids show where the park mascots turn up, a bit like Disney characters in full costumes, and entertain. Now, while these furry fuckers are big, the space inside the costume is quite small and so only the female ENTS members can put them on. There's a huge deal at my place about how the kids must NEVER know that their favourite characters are anything but real (we're actually told to say, when asked, that they "came from the jungle". Can you believe this job?) and so nobody apart from ENTS staff and very little children are allowed anywhere near them.
However, this wasn't always the case; a few seasons back, while the characters were on stage a band was always with them, and they played incidental music and interludes, sound effects, and that kind of stuff. They'd been doing it for years, and were well-known on the circuit, with lots of work. This one night, however, they'd had a few sherberts before going on, and one of them had the 'hilarious' idea of sneaking up behind one of the main characters and pulling their mask off mid-skit. Now, this might seem kind of amusing at first, but here's the thing. These masks are heavy, and because they're so big are supported by all this interior metal wiring. They don't come off easy, and have to be kind of wriggled off. However, when yanked off, they tend to catch on the skin a bit. And that's exactly what happened. Big furry character's mask is ripped off, and with it half of the ENTS girl's nose and some of her lip and cheek matter. Cue, blood pouring down her face, and her and several hundred kids screaming in terror. Her shrieks were caused by agony; the kids, that their favouritist mascot has actually just been beheaded and, worse, there's the bloodied corpse of one of the ENTS girls inside.
Surprise to say, the band never worked, or probably had to pay for drinks, again.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Deja-vu.
Tuesday, 19 June 2007
Bit of an odd night. I spent most of it (5+ hours) chatting to the latest member of the DS team at the main gates and even though he's quite a few years my junior, we had a lot in common.
The evening was quite peaceful until about 2am when, naturally, a few pissed-up staff members starting having words with each other, and before you knew what was going on one of them - a senior bar staffer - had only gone and tripped over a kerb and smashed his face in. He lost a tooth, may have disclocated his jaw (it was clicking constantly when he spoke) and there was blood and fat lips everywhere. A right mess. Naturally, he refused to believe he'd tripped over and instead decided to take it out on his three 'best mates', also staff, even going as far to ask them how much money they'd be willing to take to fuck off out of his life forever. He's a thoroughly decent and amiable guy when sober but this has unfortunately been coming for a while. They're really going to have to crack down on this after-hours staff drinking, as we're getting a fairly major incident every other week. The best option, rather than banning it entirely and punishing most of the innocents, is to just lay down a law that they have to all leave at midnight. End of problem.
Besides that, one other item of note was another young staff member bolting out of the complex about 1.30am, pissed-up, with a baby in a pram. It didn't take me long to realise that he hadn't actually come into the complex with the infant, and naturally I called it over the radios and for a little while started to fear the absolute worst. Especially when he came back into the complex ten minutes later by himself.
What happened, it turned out, was that he was so angry at a young female parent in the bars who was out of her skull despite having her 7-week old daughter in a pram next to her, that he'd found out where she was staying and taken the baby back to her chalet, where her mother was waiting. It was actually a pretty good deed, but it kicked off a right panic and for a period we assumed it was a bout of baby-snatching. The mother was so drunk that she literally had to be carried back to where she was staying by another punter. Quite shocking really. At least, it would be if this kind of thing wasn't becoming entirely too familiar.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Freebies. Right.
Monday, 18 June 2007
After the events on Friday and the way it's been at my place of work for the past three months, I've decided that my new and firm policy is unless I get a free drink from the management (or some kind staff member) post-business once I've locked the place down I'm out of there. Fuck paying for my own cider; a drink should be basically unofficially written into your contact like it is at every other bloody nightclub. I was down the rather swanky Black Market on George Street on Friday and the doorstaff there were getting free Cokes, coffees and even fucking Red Bulls all night long. And that's how it should be. Draft Coke costs the venue fuck-all. Likewise coffee. The cost of a draft pint in a barrel of beer is something between 35p and a quid depending on the barrel size, and don't fucking tell me they're paying £2.50 for a can of Red Bull and selling it on at cost. Fuck that.
On the upside, I did get 1 1/2 free giant-sized hot dogs tonight, but I'm still not happy.
Bilbo's disciplinary ending with a verbal warning; a light slap on the wrist if you will. While I had no vested interest in seeing the guy get the boot, he did everything in his power to warrant it. Once again, management have proven that everybody is basically the same - loyal and hard-working staff don't get anything in the way of a reward, and unreliable and bone-idle layabouts don't get anything that resembles a punishment. To wit, you're all the fucking same to us.
Otherwise, the main highlight this evening was a series of overnight caravan robberies, and all the flimsy evidence pointing to the uber-chav 'wigga' boyfriend of one of the ENTS girls, who happens to be leaving the job tomorrow. Coincidence? Hmmm.
posted by Sheamus @ 1:30 am
I love this game.
Sunday, 17 June 2007
Fucking hell, all kinds of crap came out tonight.
Things that are so massive that I can't possibly reveal them because they might destroy people's lives.
I will say that I found out that the two new blokes - who are on a one-month contract while we're short-staffed - are being paid significantly more than us and this has pissed me off significantly. There's also a rumour going around that they're not on a short-term lease at all; rather, they're the start of a proposed contractual buy-out of our security. To be honest, if that's true, and they keep me and the boys on staff, it's no bad thing, as our money will go up some forty per cent. But if it's anything else... fuck 'em.
Bilbo has a disciplinary tomorrow. Not sure if he's going to actually get the boot or not, but I doubt it.
Meantime, Potter, who is turning out to be a total fucking fruitcake - yesterday, Jabba caught him banging his head against a sign and saying, "I must do better" over and over (what!?) - came walking down to the main gates about eleven pm tonight. Jabba, Bilbo and myself were there.
"You alright mate?" I said, as he looked a bit off.
"Nah," he replied, "I've gone numb down my left-hand side. It's something to do with my migraines."
Hell-o.
"You sure you didn't just lean against a wall too long?" I ask.
"No, I get it all the time," he says.
"Why don't you take the rest of the night off mate?" Jabba suggests.
"No, I'm alright."
"No, really. Don't worry about it..."
And then suddenly little old, wet-behind-the-ears, ten-stone Potter steps right up to Jabba, one hand, in some kind of 'beak' formation, repeatedly pointing in his face and says, "NO. I SAID I'M ALRIGHT."
I looked in Jabba's eyes and I could tell that (a) this was the last straw and (b) he was probably going to slap the fucker, and justifiably so. But because Jabba is Jabba, he did the right thing and immediately sodded off for a cigarette break. As soon as he was gone, I turned to Potter and said:
"Don't ever fucking talk like that to him again. He was only trying to help you out."
And then he reacted the same way to me, and started with this, "OK, OK..." with his hands up and shit.
"No," I said, "Don't talk to me like that, either. You do not treat the people you work with like that."
And then I bollocked him some more, and left him by himself for ten minutes or so. Eventually he came over and apologised, so I bollocked him that I wasn't the person he should be apologising too, and sent him off after Jabba. The shitty part is that Jabba has been looking after the little twat ever since he's been here and as I said above I knew this was the end of all that. He did apologise, and Jabba accepted it, but he later told me that it's now very much a case of 'fuck him', and rightly fucking so. What a prick. I keep trying to find just a glimmer of a redeeming quality but it doesn't fucking exist. Hitler was an animal lover; this guy is just the kind of wanker who couldn't be any less suited to his choice of career. With social skills like that, I give it two weeks before some punter beats the crap out of him. And I won't lose a second's sleep over it.
Later, we had to kick out some prick - who I'm almost certain is a local - and he started up with all this, "Look at all you old bastards on steroids. I'm going to go away and shave my head and then I'll come back and sort you all out."
What!?
Otherwise, on my night off last night I ended up down the Brass Monkey with some friends and my missus, and lo and fucking behold I only ended up getting involved in breaking up two bloody fights that kicked off right behind where I was sitting. The door staff? Nowhere to be seen. The manager thanked me (and my mate, who also got stuck in) but did we get a free drink? Did we fuck. Meantime, my missus bollocked me for the rest of the night. "You aren't bloody working!" she said, and she was right - I wasn't - but believe me, you can't switch the fucker off. I walk into any room now and I'm immediately checking out the people inside to see who might kick off and who looks like they can handle themselves. And while I won't cross a crowded room to get involved in a knife-fight between two pikeys, I will get involved when somebody brings the fight to me. But still, a bottle of Magners wouldn't have killed them.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:45 am
King of the Chavs
Friday, 15 June 2007
A picture taken Wednesday night at my place of business.
Shockingly, he works there. Don't have nightmares.
posted by Sheamus @ 11:00 am
Lock-in, Jr.
Thursday, 14 June 2007
We had a bit of a mini lock-in after work tonight - the complex has two managers, and the younger, infinitely more sociable one has been promising us a proper lock-in for a while now, and it is something we'll do before peak season (i.e., August). Tonight, we (security, bar staff, ENTS leader) collectively barraged him into a mini-session, and on tab, too. Better still, the security #2 (Lynch) is paying for it. You can't ask fairer than that.
Subsequently, I've come home and had a few more sherbets and I now have no idea what the hell happened over the course of my shift tonight. I do know that I had something to write about, but it'll have to wait until tomorrow.
I realise this is a bit crap, but it's beyond my control. On the upside, I've found that the shame is like the pain: you only feel it once.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am
Sick.
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
I appear to have once again picked up the dreaded man-flu, and have felt like crap throughout my entire shift.
That is all.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Freaks.
Tuesday, 12 June 2007
The new staff have definitely made a difference in how we control the club - basically, as you'd expect - and because I've actually been only on the doors/gates for three nights now I've found myself having a much better handle on who is coming in. When you're on the (actual) door some of the time, you only see some of the people, which naturally gives you a grip on some of the potential risk. Since Saturday, it's been very easy to spot problem areas and as a result whenever something has happened it hasn't been a surprise.
One chap - already well pissed-up - had an early exit tonight. He subsequently re-appeared just outside the main gates with a can of Stella, and went and sat on a grass hill about a hundred yards away. And then promptly passed out. Park security came to deal with him, but had problems waking him from his slumber. When he finally did get up, he seemed to go into some kind of panic and promptly ran off. They went in pursuit but he kept on running every which way, until ultimately he thought it would be a good idea to climb into one of the fenced-off electrical areas, lost his balance, and smashed his head on the concrete floor. He then woke up from that, refused to go to the hospital (and, we were told, speak any kind of recognisable language, even though he was English) and went back to his caravan instead. As he walked past me on the gates he was clutching quite a nasty looking wound on the back of his neck. Later, I noted an ambulance making its way in his direction. Ten quid says he tries to sue the park.
We had some other fiftysomething bloke in tonight who kept on asking everybody in security if they were an ex-army guy - myself, specifically, about four times - because he was. Just one of those punters that, given half the chance, will waffle on all night, and as he became increasingly intoxicated it became increasingly dull. His missus was well off her face too, and the amusing part was both of them had earlier (whilst sober) ridden up to the complex on very old-fashioned bicycles. Watching them trying to leave on these bicycles provided significant laughter material. When I checked out, they were still there, probably a hundred yards from the main gates and with neither of them having any idea where they were staying and not a single key between them.
The other highlight tonight was some lunatic who had stalked his ex-wife and children to the park and was now hanging around outside the lower exit, menacing anybody who passed his way. We had loads of complaints about him, but he never made any kind of effort to enter the camp and so there wasn't an enormous amount anybody could do. Rumour has it he walked here from Brighton, too. What a fuckwit. Later, a girl, who was probably 19 or so, and absolutely chavtastic, told me she'd had an encounter with him that had riled him up quite a bit. "What was he going to do?" she told me, "Stab me? I've already been stabbed once before. I ain't afraid of that."
Quite. She asked my opinion on whether she should go back and apologise. "Probably best to leave it," I said.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Tension.
Monday, 11 June 2007
It's rarely a positive when you have to eject somebody within an hour of starting work.
About 7pm tonight, Worthy and Jabba kicked out a guy who had been giving the lead ENTS girl grief and - more seriously, in this place - swiping a bottle of wine without paying for it. He went peacefully enough, but over the course of the night his entire family, and all of their friends, were ejected too.
They were all your cliched London pissheads and the women - specifically, the mother and her sister (i.e., the aunty) were the worst. They always are - drunk middle-aged women are a fucking nightmare. They don't stop talking shit (usually the same shit, on some kind of endless loop) and flat-out refuse to do anything, including leaving. Worthy had been having words with some of their twentysomething kids all night and it mounted to the point where Jabba thought he was going to snap. He called us all into one of the bars to deal with the potential conflict, but also, as he informed me later, to make sure that Worthy didn't go AWOL. Because it looked that way; he had a real fire in his eyes. He was into his second all-day (9am-closing time) shift in a row and it's not a clever move on his part. He needs the money but those kinds of hours are not conducive to peak performance. I was right there when he and one of the lads were smack on the verge of swinging away and to be honest they were as bad as each other. As I said, however, the women were far worse, and took ages to get out. One of them even did a sit-down protest outside the main doors. We really need to get some Tazers. I mean, what are you supposed to do? If I rabbit-punch them I'll be the one who gets blamed.
Both the new guys were off-duty tonight but came up to the complex to have a drink. One of them subsequently got hammered, while the other - the young'un, or Potter, as we'll call him - did not, and later announced himself as a teetotaler. I'm always a bit suspicious of blokes who don't drink but Jabba doesn't either, and he's a cracking lad, so bygones and all that. However... about half-eleven Potter comes outside to get some air and promptly informs us that he's feeling really down on himself and might burst into tears at any time. And that this happens regularly. Why, why, why did he want to be a doorman, then!? It's stressy enough as it is. Jesus. If he lasts the full term - both are contracted for only one month at the moment - I'll be very surprised. I bet he proudly pulls out a Blue Peter badge next week.
Furthermore, it's not really a positive seeing one of your team getting wankered in front of all the guests/owners/staff on his first night off.
Rumour has it Bilbo is going to get the boot in a few days. This has cropped up before and nothing has ever happened, but yet another family member of his was 'rushed into hospital' tonight and he was gone before 8pm, never returning despite promising that he'd be back later. He's either the unluckiest bastard ever or some of these 'incidents' have come straight from Satan's bottom. The new night-manager (Lynch) doesn't like him anyway and neither does #1, so he's definitely on the way out. Sometime. I think the reality is that if they can find somebody solid and permenant enough to replace him, he's gone. I have mixed feelings about it. As I've said before, his heart's in the right place and when the shit hits the fan he's always there, but he's about as reliable as Chris Langham on a school trip. You reap what you sow.
posted by Sheamus @ 1:30 am
Old and new.
Sunday, 10 June 2007
There were seven of us on duty tonight. Seven.
So many, in fact, that they sent three down the lower bar, leaving four of us up top. The two new guys seem alright; one of them is an early thirtysomething Welsh chap and the other is a 23-year old Essex boy who looks about 14. I kid you not. Moreover, Friday night was the first night he'd ever worked the doors. Jabba said he'd been literally shaking several times. Problem is when you look like a kid, you don't really command a lot of respect, and he got a fair bit of stick from 'lad' types. He seems nice enough but is potentially a liability - a target, if you will. Nice counts for fuck-all in this job.
With so many staff on we didn't really know what to do with ourselves for the first four or five hours and ultimately Bilbo and myself stayed outside all night; 6am-2pm, making the odd trip into the complex to see what was going on. Not much, was the answer, but of course we had another domestic after midnight.
We noticed some bloke giving his missus grief about how and why she wouldn't give him the key to their chalet, and very quickly he became verbally aggressive. I never witnessed it myself, but a few minutes later (out of my sight) he ended up hitting her. She storms off, and goes around the side of the complex, balling her eyes out. Ultimately, we find one of her friends and pair them back together, while the prat of a boyfriend goes back to the chalet and sits outside on the grass.
Nothing unusual here, then. Same old, same old, etc. However, the friend quickly abandons the lady-in-distress and goes back into the main bar with her other mates, and kids, and carries on knocking them back. The kids loiter in the arcade and end up having a bit of a scrap with a female owner's kids, after her brats (because that's totally what they are) pushed a three-year old to the floor, who was actually an epileptic (and duly had a fit.) Now, the friend is outside having a toe-to-toe with the owner, and it all gets very nasty. Names are called, threats are made, and the owner is very pissed off (thank you.) She wants me to chuck the other woman out, but my hands are somewhat tied. If she goes, the domestic lady has to go, and that doesn't seem right at all. Meantime, I know what the owner's kids are like (little shits) and can tell they're milking all their tears for all it's worth. So, nobody leaves. And then they all do, independently, one after another. The thing is, knowing how this owner is she's going to be fuming at me for a while now, but really, I'm beyond giving a fuck. They're all cunts at the end of the day.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:45 am
Bouncer (2002, Ray Winstone)
Friday, 8 June 2007
The full 10-minute short movie. Worth a moment of your time.
posted by Sheamus @ 5:00 pm
Diddy.
Thursday, 7 June 2007
Well, the two new guys that were meant to be starting tonight are now starting Friday. This annoys me a little bit as I won't get to see them until Saturday, so I'm tempted to go into work Friday night and creep around as some kind of 'mystery punter' just to see what's what. I probably won't, but then again I do go a bit mental sometimes.
A couple of highlights tonight. The first - the biggie - was Jabba's dad, who has recently stated working on park security, accidentally let slip that his son's nickname was Diddy, as he was going home. As in, "Bye, diddy." Well, we didn't let that one rest all night and probably never will. Jabba is 6ft4 and 18+ stone, remember. Diddy! You can't make this stuff up. Edmonson even arranged for the DJ to play Doo Wah Diddy Diddy at midnight.
Later, Jabba, Edmonson and myself, as well as one of the complex cleaners, were standing down by the external gates, chatting, moaning, bitching and taking the piss as usual. The other three were in the hut and I was outside. Suddenly, this seagull swoops down, and dive-bombs me with a string of shit. Jabba starts laughing, but as he does, the bird strikes again, except this time the wind catches it, and Jabba, Edmonson, and the poor cleaner bastard get totally pebble-dashed. The cleaner even has it all over his head. The way the wind caught and zoomed it in towards them was like that bit when the Death Star gets torpedoed in Star Wars. Unbelievable, but bloody brilliant. Much respect to Ben Gunn.
Otherwise, at one point there was five of us in the main complex and it really was a total piece of piss. We didn't know what to do with ourselves. There'll be seven on Friday and Saturday this week. It's almost a farce, after three months of staff shortages. Most nights are going to be very easy but part of me wonders if a greater visible security presence might trigger the odd bit of group rowdiness. We'll see.
Right, I'm off for a pair of days. Be safe.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Domestic.
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
I was in a funny, disinterested-cum-lethargic mood all evening and to be honest I'd rather have been somewhere else. However, I do have two fairly typical/odd incidents to report.
About 8pm a chavtastic couple came running down to us at the gate - that's myself, Edmonson and Bilbo - and the woman said that she'd had her handbag on one of the machines in the arcade, and now it was gone, and she assumed the family next to them had taken it. This family had been pushing a baby in a pram, and she asked us if anybody meeting that description had come by. They hadn't, and we said as much. And then both of them immediately went bonkers and starting piling on the abuse, before storming back up to the complex. So, collectively, we thought: fuck 'em.
They come back a little later, ranting and raving, and chav-bloke is issuing all kinds of threats and insults. We don't take any notice. They storm up to the lodge and a few minutes later come back with one of the park security guys. They walk back to the arcade where the bag had been 'stolen' - and find it immediately, right next to the machine that they were playing. It had fallen on to the floor. Duh.
I speak to the bloke and explain how because of his behaviour we hadn't exactly been overly-enthusiastic about helping, and he accepted this. His missus, however, was in a foul one, and started accusing her man of having just 'pushed her'. She stormed off. He gave up and went back to the bar. We all realised this was a domestic waiting to happen.
We were right. We never saw him leave, but at some point the bloke returned to his caravan, and then came back up to the complex. He had a small gash on one side of his forehead and a large, bruised bump on the other. "Fucking women," he said, "I try to apologise and this is what she does." He's totally alright with us and is acting fairly reasonably so we let him back into the bars. He keeps popping out to the front to make phone calls (it's one of the few places you can get a signal) and then a little later leaves again. Soon after, we get a call over the radios from park security informing us that he'd met up with his missus a little further down, and once again the two of them had belted each other. He comes back up, but this time we tell him that he can't come back in. Again, he's fine, totally accepts it, and leaves.
Meantime, his missus has called her mother who has called the police. They never show up, but somehow the bloke must have got wind of something (not from us), because he then spends the better part of an hour scurrying all over the site looking for hiding places. Eventually the park boys catch up with him, again contact the police, who state that unless something else happens, they are happy for him to return to his caravan. With his missus and her mother. We never hear anything else, but you can really see that one ending well, can't you?
The best part? The entire family come from Malvern Way. Local residents will know that not only is this probably the scumiest area in the entire town (I have a theory that all chavs originated from there), it's about an eight-minute drive away. Absolutely fucking mental.
Later, a tobacco tin gets handed into the bar. It's opened and, lo and fucking behold, it's packed full of rolled-joints and a lot of quality cannabis. Nobody can seem to decide on how much it's worth, but it's clearly a lot. And this is supported by the fact that the owner - who's clearly an idiot, desperate, or has balls of fucking steel - goes up to the bar and asks if his tin has been found. I mean, what was he hoping for? Yeah, yeah, sure mate. We took one of the joints as a finder's fee - hope you don't mind. He's fucking lucky we don't have some kind of policy where things like this are immediately turned over to the rozzers.
For a short period chav-tastic geezer above had left his bag - full of clothes after his missus chucked him out - behind one of the bars, and we had an idea where we could plant the tin in there and phone the police, thus eliminating two problems in one throw. But management weren't all that keen, the pussies.
Tomorrow, we have two new doormen starting. It'll be interesting to see if they (a) don't show up, or (b) are anything but right wankers. Believe me, it's going to be one or the other.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Peace.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
Thank Christ, a quiet night; just what the doctor ordered.
We have a system at work where if the bars meet their preset 'targets', the staff left on duty after they close get a free drink. I think I'm on a company record with ten nights in a row. And as I said before, I've become one of those right wankers who insists on a pint of cider. What a cunt.
There's a staff crisis at the moment. I'd estimate that we have only about 40 per cent of the people left on the books who actually were there at the beginning of the season. And they're dropping like flies; in the last week, at least six well-established employees have either quit or been given the boot for some reason. I think that by the time the high-season kicks off, which is basically August, we'll have around 10 per cent of the original team working in the complex. What this means, of course, is the 90 per cent of the workers will be either (a) inexperienced or (b) useless tossers who they're hired out of sheer desperation. Good times, good times.
I watched Dead Man's Cards today. Highly recommended if you enjoy seriously gritty and violent British movies. I liked it so much, I'm actually going to shell out for the fucking DVD. This, believe me, is a very rare bird.
View the trailer here.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Tolerance.
Monday, 4 June 2007
Christ, my buttons were pushed tonight.
We all have a breaking point, and I like to think mine is not only well in the distance, but pretty firm. The last week I've had a few guests, mostly owners, somewhat jokingly telling me that from time to time I'm 'rude' to them, but after discussion what they've agreed is that I'm basically blunt. To the point. A 'straight talker', somebody said.
Fair enough. I can certainly live with that.
Tonight, however, I had so much fucking abuse that one more incident would have seen me going not only past the edge, but so fucking beyond it I'd probably have lost my job.
The problem was that the two incidents I experienced basically happened at the same time... twice.
On Friday, Jabba and Worthy had problems with these two women who got absolutely rat-arsed, starting groping up other women on the dance floor, threatened and swore at other guests (in front of children), and when ejected, repeatedly cursed at and threatened Jabba and #2, even going so far as to raise a glass to them. Pisshead women really are the worst.
The thing was, they tried to come back in on Saturday and when we told them they were barred, they were shocked; they clearly had no memory of any of the incidents and were absolutely apologetic and humble. That, we assumed, was that.
No.
They came back again tonight. I'd never seen them before but Worthy noticed them sneak by us, nodded to me and I escorted them back outside again. They were already pissed, and while not really abusive, were certainly a bit full of it. They kept on asking what they'd one, why they were barred, etc, but I wasn't interested and just told them they had to leave. Worthy, however, started going through all the things they'd done again, and while he did that I turned my attention to two other blokes, and a child, who were coming up to the door.
"Have you got your passes, lads?" I asked.
One of them pulled out his wallet. "I've got mine, mate," he said.
I turned to the other guy. "You got yours mate?"
And then he immediately got funny.
We've discussed this many times at work. While a group showing up without any passes at all is a no-no, if enough people in a booking have remembered their passes then, more often than not, if they're actually, you know, polite, we don't really have a problem with it. Especially if we know their faces. I didn't know the face of either of these guys, however, and one of them went straight into 'cunt' mode.
"Oh come on," he said, "I'm here with my kid. What am I going to do?" and started to push by.
"I'm sorry, mate," I replied, "You can't come in here without a pass."
He started giving it all this and that until I pointedly told him - twice - that if was going to have that kind of attitude he wasn't coming in at all. He shut up then and sent his mate off to get his pass for him (from inside the complex, where he'd apparently left it). The guy returned soon enough and the twat went inside, but not before making some sarcastic remark. I've started to develop a pretty reliable radar for tossers in the club and immediately sought out Jabba to give him the lowdown on the dick, suggesting we may have a problem later. I saw him once again that night, when all he said was 'Alright mate', and I figured (again, foolishly), that that was probably that.
Maybe an hour or so later I was at the door when a big family group came out, with multiple prams, etc, and to be honest I wasn't paying an enormous amount of attention. But when someone asked me for my autograph, I looked around and saw it was the tosser. The passes that guests use to get into the complex have various animal prints on them (for some daft reason) and the current one has a bear, but he seemed to think it was a monkey. "That's your picture on there, isn't it?" he said. He was laughing to himself in that way that people do when something they've said is only funny to them - I clocked his missus and she looked absolutely fucking horrified, as did the other people with him - but he thought it was the best thing ever.
As he'd kind of come up on me out of nowhere I was caught on the backfoot a bit, but I really wasn't in the mood. "You don't want to do this," I said, and stepped up to him. He just carried on walking, pushing out his pram and laughing, while his wife told him to be quiet and everybody else just kind of got on with it. I could feel the heat rising within me and it was one of those times where you were kind of hoping that he'd do something physical, just so you'd have an excuse to punch him in the nuts and then stamp on the side of one of his knees. But he just fucked off laughing that stupid laugh and it actually made me feel a bit empty; a bit ashamed of myself, to a point, because of my inability to react in a way that I found satisfactory, and he found to be a problem. But your options are so fucking limited. Unless a patron actually tries to force violence upon you, there is little you can do. You can roll with it and 99.99 per cent of the time I can wisecrack anybody into a corner, but because this guy was acting like such a prick in front of his wife and child, I just felt like I couldn't do anything. And I'm guessing he knew this, because as said when he was by himself earlier in the night he just did as he was told.
Probably two minutes had passed when Worthy called me into the main bar. I went inside and lo and fucking behold, the mouthier one of the two women had somehow got back into the complex and was sitting at a table having a pint. I went straight up to her and told her, again, that she was barred and had to leave now.
"I'm going to finish my pint," she said.
"You're not," I replied.
"Well, wait till my husband gets back and I'll go."
Husband? Up until now I was pretty sure she was located somewhere on the right-side of 'flaming' and 'lezza' but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Seconds later this bloke walks up behind me. "Is this him?" I ask her, and she nods.
"Sorry mate," I say, "But your wife has been barred from the complex, and must leave."
"My wife?" he says, "I only met her twenty minutes ago."
The cheeky cow.
I tell her she has to leave now and she stands up, with her glass. She starts giving me all this lip about how I'm this and that (mostly, a wanker) and that she wasn't doing anything wrong, blah blah fucking blah. Eventually she agrees to go but only if her 'husband' can be with her when we escort her outside. By now we've decided to take her through the nearest firedoors, and agree with the plan as it'll make things easier. However, she goes to leave with her half-full pint and when I grab it to stop her, she raises it in a way as if she's going to use it as a weapon. Remember that this is all taking place in a packed main bar and a lot of people are watching. Jabba is nearby and while she begins to rant and rave again, I whisper to him that we're almost certainly going to have to physically remove her. This is something we've never done with a woman before and to be honest raises all kinds of complications.
But then she suddenly downs her pint and starts to go towards the back doors. The man comes along for the ride but I can tell by his face that he's bitten off more than he's prepared to chew and he doesn't stay for long. Once outside, she truly unleashes her torrent of abuse but Jabba and I just humour her, agreeing with what she's saying just to keep her moving. We get her out the back gates where she announces that her real husband is actually the 'chief of police' - you know, like in Cagney & Lacey - so we just step back inside and close the doors behind us. But that ain't good enough for her; no, she has to open them again. Jabba steps up to hold them firm but another violent burst from her catches his arm, which pisses him off no end. He slams the door open and she goes flying a little bit, but no harm done. Now, however, it's all about how she's 'only 5ft2' and how these two 'bald rugby bastards' were picking on her. We tell her the police are now going to be called and I make a call up to the lodge to try and scare her away, but she just gets more abusive, telling us how she's going to be back later with weapons, friends, etc, and finish us off.
Lovely.
Finally, she walks away and out of sight, but we can hear her for a long time, mouthing off at our ghosts and giving us all the details about how much trouble we're both in. The silence that followed was bliss, and Jabba and I respected it by saying nothing at all; we just looked at each other and shook our heads.
This all happened over about fifteen minutes. It left me reeling a bit to the point where, pissed off as I was that I felt I'd handled the first situation badly, but had had enough abuse and name-calling to last me a lifetime, I was in no mood for anything else. For the rest of the night I kept expecting one or both of these fuckwits to turn up again, probably and actually fucking armed, and my mindset was 'Fuck it. To hell with the consequences.'
It's probably a blessing for all (myself absolutely included) that they never did. But, man, I'm still fucking pissed.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Foursomes, firings and fights.
Sunday, 3 June 2007
First of all, I had two days off this week. Thursday and Friday. You'll recall (of course) that last week I told you I was going to work the Friday (yesterday) but because management changed, the shifts changed, and that was no longer necessary. I'd done thirteen of fourteen days before this, and I was fucking knackered. However, because life is a fucking cunt, I came down with some kind of grade-A, man-sized superbug on Thursday evening and spent the better part of 24 hours lying in bed feeling really sorry for myself. Yeah, that's right: man flu. Proper, hardcore disease that would kill weaker men, and makes delivering a baby look like popping an Opal Fruit into the mouth of a rhino. Somehow, I got through.
What I missed, of course, was all kinds of shit.
First of all, Worthy. He dropped me home from work on Wednesday night, and was then meant to be taking three sub-twenty year-old females back to their residences afterwards. What actually happen was all four of them went to his temporary, for-the-night-only chalet - en park - and indulged in sexual shennanigans. A foursome, if you will. And this didn't come from his lips (snigger). At least, not at first. Jabba had heard a rumour, and together we picked it out of the guilty parties, telling each that one other had already blagged. The suckers (arf) fell for it. Eventually Worthy himself coughed up (oh, stop.) Of course we pushed it further by telling him that (a) it was a sackable offense, which was true and (b) the GM had found out about a sexual incident involving 'the new guy', but 'seemed' to 'laugh it off', which was false. He bought it all.
What all of this highlights is just how many fucking slappers are employed at my place of business. That's not a sexist statement; Worthy's blatant pursuit of the ladies is already becoming a bit of an issue. While he's great in any kind of conflict situation, the old 'weakest link' argument has many layers. It's no good being useful in a fight if you're getting a blow-job off some tart in the disabled toilet when it's all kicking off, is it?
Work-wise, Jabba told me it had all been pretty peaceful, like the rest of the week. They'd closed down on Friday night and were getting all of the owners out when suddenly it just all kicked off. One longstanding owner, but an unknown to all of us, had been drinking hard all evening. When some shit was said, he went mental, punching another bloke so hard in the face that, according to Jabba, one second he was fine and then suddenly his entire nose just seemed to explode. He then hit someone else, elbowed Jabba in the chops and then went and headbutted Bilbo... who wasn't even working that night. Bless.
(This has puzzled me; the lunatic was, Jabba said, taller than him, so somewhere at 6ft4+, and Bilbo is short. Shorter than me. So what did the crackpot do - step into a ditch!?)
Suffice to say, this geezer should be a goner. The final decision - yes, they need to make one - will be made tomorrow. If he stays, I think a lot of people will leave. It'll be a farce if he does. Rumour has it this is like the fourth or fifth incident in which he's been involved.
Bilbo. I've mentioned before his somewhat eratic working schedule, and the last time anybody had seen him at work was Friday, May 25, when he showed up on time, informed Jabba and Edmonson he had a doctor's appointment but would be 'back in, at most, an hour', then didn't show up again until the following Thursday. And was headbutted on the Friday.
Problem is, he's piled a whole heap of hay on the old camel's back and the new security management have never really liked him anyway so... they're going to get rid of him. However, he was working park tonight and when I saw him in the security lodge around 9pm he was in the middle of writing his notice. Or so he said. If there's one thing I've learned at this place, it's never to believe anything until it fucking happens. But either way it does seem his days are numbered. I have mixed feelings about it; he has been a major liability at times but fundamentally he isn't a bad bloke - he actually has a decent heart - and when I see people ganging up on somebody, especially behind their backs, it never sits well with me. But it's definitely a case of taking the piss a bit too much.
Jabba, meantime, was in one of his major gumpies tonight, and was giving it more of the 'I've had enough, mate' melarchy. He says this enough, and lately with significant venom, for it to be a worry. For me. If he leaves, I'm basically fucked. Edmonson's head has been elsewhere for weeks now and with all the staff problems and weak links in the chain we've had since I've started it's going to make my position a fucking nightmare. But the thing is I can't blame either, or, indeed, any of them for wanting out. The job has plenty of bullshit, but you accept that when you sign up. You don't need or want the bullshit from your employer, too. Or, indeed, your colleagues. You need to be able to trust somebody. Jesus, anybody will do.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am
Midget fight - does it get any better?
Friday, 1 June 2007
I long for the night when something like this breaks out at work.
posted by Sheamus @ 7:30 pm