Party Party Party.
Tuesday, 31 July 2007
My apologies for the recent lack of prose.
I got totally fucked at the team party (not in that way, although others, of course, did), and basically came home, had a few more ciders, watched Leaving Las Vegas (you know, for the laughable irony) and then collapsed, spending most of my daylight hours under the darkness of cover.
The party was a blast - it always amuses to see who pairs up with whom, because relationships are always forming in large companies and while some of them are blatant there are several that you're like, "What the fuck!?" There's always, of course, several blokes after that one girl and several girls after that one bloke; add alcohol to the mix, and you have the recipe for a punch-up. Or, at least, as in this case, a bit of a camp Benny Hill-like chase around the park. Men can be such bitches.
Nothing to do with me, I might add. We spent all our time stashing an assortment of the free bottled beverages beneath our chairs so as to ensure that the hip, cool crowd on my table never ran out of hard liquor. Free is free; I think I put away about 15 bottles of Carlsberg, Smirnoff Ice, Red Square, some pissy orange/vodka shite and whatever else was available, mostly in variations on the turbo shandy theme. Yeah, classy.
Meantime, a covern of twenty-something ENTS girls felt it was their duty to collectively bitch at and roll their eyes towards the 31-year old dancing alone, but enthusiastically-slash-provocatively, in the middle of the room. "She has four children, you know," they'd say, then, "She should be ashamed. Where are her kids now? Where?" Women. Rarely take one for the team, I've found.
Otherwise, the usual shite at work - it's peak-season now, so we're packed, and naturally the depth and weight of guest numbers has immediately become inversely proportional to the amount of DS who decide to turn up for their shift. Just two of us tonight, and one of them was Bilbo, so more like one-and-a-half, really (and that's being generous.) Poor Jabba had to come in at 9pm, and might have to repeat this trick tomorrow. He has just come back from a week's holiday, but still, it's not his problem, and all that. Oh - and the new lady with the SIA badge has, it seems, already stated that she won't do doors here, or ever again, thanks to being beaten up quite severely a while back. Again, the complex isn't her problem either, but it all adds up to one gigantic pile o' shite.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Zzzzzz.
Sunday, 29 July 2007
One day off isn't nearly enough; to whit, my sleeping patterns have fucked up overnight.
I went to bed around 2am but woke up at 5, and just couldn't get back to sleep. Hence, I've been up nearly 24 hours and I'm fucking exhausted. So, I'll polish off this cider and summarise tonight in a few key words: three on, small wet dog, owners, eyes right, punched in the knackers. Prizes to any and all who can decipher the fiendish clues.
Tomorrow: the team
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Infighting.
Friday, 27 July 2007
Oh, it's getting ugly.
The Lodge was off tonight, and I came in to cover Jabba, who's been on holiday all week. The thing is, nobody wants to do the lower bar, really, and Popeye, who veers from being somebody who you can get on with to a total fucking bell-end refused to do it. So Worthy did it for the second day in a row, and wasn't happy. Hence, we're now going to have an 'official' rota for the poxy thing to stop people bitching and whining about having to do it. Or, they're going to have to properly discipline The Lodge, put her back down there and keep an eye on her. Or do a swap between her and new woman, as suggested.
However, we're in the 'simmering' stage again, and it's going to get messy real soon. There's a team meeting coming up and I dare say the shit will fly.
I only have one day off this week.
Don't you feel bad for me?
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Bottom.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Well, the situation with The Lodge is getting a bit messy.
Either the timing is poor and she is quite ill, or she's doing some kind of silent protest. I can understand why she'd be miffed about losing control of the lower bar - I mean, now she has to work, and shit - but she went home tonight, again at 8pm, and again with a headache. Actually, that's not entirely true - she said she was going home. What she did was work in the lodge for an hour and a half. And then went home. And this was after I caught her working in the arcade change booth just so she could have a bit of a sit down.
It's nothing personal, but when we lose somebody reliable like Worthy to the lower bar and gain The Lodge, it's almost like losing two men. She's pleasant enough and I get on well with her, but as per usual, the team is only as strong as its weakest link. And so on.
I think the solution might lay in a subtle swap with The Lodge and our latest female SIA-approved member. But you watch - YOU WATCH!!! - she'll turn out to be a cannibal or something.
The lowlight this evening: each night, prior to the dancefloor being opened proper, a mini stage has to be pushed back in under the main one to make room for all those crazy kids (you know, doing the twist and stuff.) Whichever doorman is closest is always called over to push it in, as the fucker weighs a ton. It was me tonight, and so off I went. However, once I was bent down and in mid-push, the DJ grabbed the microphone and shouted to the packed bar, "Let's have a round of applause for ADJ's arse!" And the place fucking erupted. I supposed it could have been worse - silence, or even booing - but Christ that's not easy to recover from. Especially with several other DS present in the room.
It all worked out in the end, though - I got myself another pair of hot dogs.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Mark Wahlberg's audition for The Departed.
Wednesday, 25 July 2007
The Departed is one of the best movies - like, ever, dude - but this shit is fucking hilarious. Won't make any sense at all unless you've seen the film. And if you haven't, why the fuck not, douchebag?
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 pm
The switch.
The breaking news upon arriving for my shift this evening was being told by #1 that The Lodge, due to a vast number of complaints, can now no longer work the lower bar, and must work exclusively in the main complex. This sucks for various reasons, but most notably because I will now have to do the lower bar a couple of times a week.
Complaints? Numerous things, including but not limited to being generally lazy and sitting around doing crossword puzzles and the like, blindly oblivious to all and sundry entering the venue. And - heavens, no - somebody saw her playing the over-eighteen fruit machines. Not my words - those are the words of Heat magazine. No, sorry: #1. The Lodge was furious, spent two hours in the lodge being angry, and then went home with 'a migraine', not actually working a single minute in the main complex. Ho hum. I give it a week before she threatens to quit over this and is reinstated down below. They'll die before they lose a female DS, although coincidentally a new one began working - on park - yesterday. Don't fret - she's rough as old boots. And bossy, I've heard. Not a winning combo.
So, as said, tonight I worked the lower bar, and Christ, it was about as exciting as a Pope-approved cut of The Exorcist. So, instead, I'll leave you with this joke, which is good enough that for a moment you might actually be able to persuade yourself that it could actually work in real life.
A bloke is racing down the motorway, 120mph. Naturally, it's not long before a police car is chasing behind him, siren raging. The guy pulls over, and the cop gets out of his car, walks across and taps on the window. The man winds it down.
"Do you know what speed you were doing?" asks the copper.
"Yeah," says the man, "About 120 miles per hour."
The cop looks annoyed. "Can I see your license please?" he asks.
"Sorry mate," says the bloke, "I don't have it with me."
By now the policeman is fuming. "Get out of the car, now," he says.
"Alright mate," says the bloke, "But first you need to know a couple of things. One, I've got a loaded handgun in the glove compartment. And two, in the boot is the body of a man I just killed in cold blood."
The cop is suddenly nervous. Panicking, he gets on his radio, demanding serious backup. It's not long before several police vehicles have pulled up, and even the Chief Superintendent has arrived. After speaking to the constable, he immediately takes charge of the case, and marches over to the bloke, who is still seated in his car.
"Sir, can you open your glove compartment for me please?"
The man does as he is asked. Inside is nothing but his driving license. The Chief's eyes narrow, but he says nothing more.
"Right, can you now open the boot of your car for me please?"
The man gets out of his car, opens the boot and, lo and behold, inside is nothing but his golf clubs.
The Chief looks confused. "I don't understand," he says, "My constable said you had a loaded gun in your glove compartment, and the body of a dead man in the boot."
The man looks at the Chief, and, shaking his head, says, "Oh really? I bet the cunt said I was speeding too, didn't he?"
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
"I'm Hotdogacus."
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Remember ages ago I was moaning on about how the complex manager had decreeded that instead of any leftover hot dogs going to the working security staff, the guy who was selling them must throw them away instead? In other words, security aren't even good enough to qualify for trash food.
Well, thankfully, the hot dog kid (for it is he) ignored this and helped us out when he could. However, a free dog has become an increasingly rare bird, quite simply because of late they're bloody popular. They sell out - 100s - all the time.
Well, tonight, finally, he had enough left for us each to have one. Great. We'd hit closing time and I double-checked with him again and, yes, he'd kept some back. So, I'm walking towards the main bar and just before I get there I see this little kid crying his eyes out. He's like five or six, and sitting on the floor, bawling, about ten feet from the hot dog stand. "What's the matter mate?" I ask.
"I wanted a hot dog," he said, holding out a little hand full of the right money, "But the man says they don't have any left."
Well, by now a few of the other security team had gathered around, and all had taken this in. And suddenly, it was like a scene out of Spartacus. First me:
"No, look," I said, to the hot dog kid, "Let him have my hot dog..."
"No," said Popeye (the newest guy), "Let him have mine..."
"No," said another, "He can have my hot dog..."
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And on and on. The thing was, Popeye was insistent that he didn't want his so he gave it up. The kid was thrilled, and happily handed over his £2.50.
Meantime, the hot dog kid had miscounted and after we'd locked up I got to eat two. Result. Everybody wins. Capitalism at its finest.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Shooter (2007)
Monday, 23 July 2007
Just watched this - predictable, and nothing you haven't really seen before, but good, old-fashioned, 1980s-style action entertainment nevertheless.
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Recommended, possibly after a session at the pub.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 pm
Super Size You.
The post-Super Size Me, decent, public-conscious, we're looking after your best interests approach to business practices and marketing that the majority of food and drink corporations took onboard after the impact of the movie seems to have been lost on the powers-that-be at my place.
Instead of framed photgraphs of athletes running over mountains with motivational slogans like IF YOU BELIEVE IN YOURSELF, OTHERS WILL BELIEVE IN YOU, we get shit like this in our staff room:
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No, you will win. We - the common proles - get fuck all. I tell you, it's like The Bermuda Triangle here. Even the fucking weather is different.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Spice.
Sunday, 22 July 2007
Well, it's all gone a bit tits-up whilst I've been off.
Bilbo's hours have been cut, and he's now on staggered starts. There's numerous reasons why, but he hasn't helped his case of late by turning out to be something of a supergrass. Particularly when he tried to put one of the park guys in the crap who's actually probably the most well-liked bloke in security. Big mistake.
I got some terrible news tonight; the new guy has been offered work on the Spice Girls reunion tour and I'm pretty sure I could blag my way in if I wanted to. Six months around the world, all the top hotels, etc, at £200/day plus all expenses paid. You get to be a bodyguard for any one Spice Girl - now, I'd probably get that filthy lezza Mel C instead of the Goddess that is Emma Bunton but at that kind of money, who cares? However, if I take this job on, I might as well sign my divorce papers here and now. Still, I can see myself walking in on a tipsy Bunton whilst she's in the shower and HELLO ten minutes later I'm getting a cracking tit wank.
 |
Or something. Or possibly it's Mel C and I'll open with some crass line like, "I'll cure you..." It's all good. Or rather, it's not - there's no way it can happen, and hence my heart has now taken on the characteristics and physical weight of a stone.
Team party at work next Sunday - free beer! Nobody has anything bad to say about that.
Earlier, a muslim lady came down to the gates and accused us of being racist. Well, not me and Jabba personally, but security, plural. Actually, it was one chap - the guy who checks passes in the day. Specifically, she said she'd watched him just wave some 'white women' through and then make a big deal about checking the passes of her mother and aunties, who were decked out in their hijabs, etc. "We're not carrying any fucking bombs!", she said, loudly.
I didn't see it so couldn't really comment, but we don't really like the guy who does the days so told her to make a full complaint. The thing was, she was pissed out of her head, and kept on saying that she couldn't go back to her chalet because her mother didn't know she drank - it was forbidden - and that she'd go mental. I thought, you're not really helping your case much, are you love? It then started to rain heavily, so she scurried off, leaving us with the passing words, "You won't remember me in the morning, that's the funny thing!"
Quite.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Maths.
Thursday, 19 July 2007
We stuck it to the man tonight. Hell, yeah.
Four of us on duty, but only two licensed doorstaff. Now, legally, the policy at my place is that at all times there must be two licensed doormen in the main complex, and one in the lower bar. The Lodge normally does the lower bar, but today is her day off. Nobody else likes or wants to do the lower bar. So, collectively, we thought: fuck it.
One thing I'm not sure I've ever mentioned is that The Lodge gets paid more than the rest of us. This is because (1) she was the first licensed member of the team to sign on the dotted line, and refused to work for less and (2) she's a woman. That sounds a bit sexist, and it is, but not on my part - companies bend over backwards for female DS (perhaps ironically.)
As I think I did mention, I had a meeting with the female head of security t'other day who informed me that there was absolutely no room for upside on our hourly rate, and that The Lodge was paid what she was because she had to work the lower bar alone. "It's more equitable that way," I was told, laughably.
There's nothing personal about all this - I've grown to really like The Lodge, and to be honest she's as embarrassed about all this shit as we are pissed-off.
More policy: no unlicensed doorman is allowed to work the lower bar alone. Now, this presents a little mathematical problem for the company (which is starting to resemble The Umbrella Corporation more and more each week.)
Lynch (#2) didn't begin his shift until midnight, but shortly afterwards he called over the radio to say he wanted to see all doorstaff together after the main complex was shut down (the lower bar was already closed, but he'd twigged that nobody had been down there all night.)
Fine. We closed the fucker down, and went to see him.
"Right," he says, "There was four of you on tonight. Why was nobody down the lower bar?"
"Well," I replied, "I had a meeting with nameofthefemalesecurityboss on Monday and she explictly told me that the reason that The Lodge is paid more than us is because she has to work the lower bar by herself. However, we won't be paid that same money if we have to do it."
"Moreover," I added, "We only had two licensed doormen on duty tonight. We've also been told that at all times we must have two licensed members of the door-team in the main complex. We felt that, given the numbers of locals on the site lately and the problems we've had, it made sense to keep one licensed DS on the main gates and one in the clubs."
Lynch suddenly realised that this was going to be a problem at least twice a week - i.e., on The Lodge's off-days - until more licenses arrive (they're all being 'processed' by the SIA) or by some miracle we have more than two licensed DS on duty. "Hmmm," he mused, "We're fucked, aren't we?"
The reality is that Lynch doesn't really give a shit. What matters here is this will filter through to herthatwillbeobeyed tomorrow and come Saturday I'll be dragged into some shitty meeting to ask why I've made statements about things that she'll claim she never said. When she so fucking did. I ain't backing down - go on, sack me, and everyone else. You're fucked, me old sons.
Worker bees can leave.
Even drones can fly away.
The queen is their slave.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Foundations.
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
No, I haven't quit. Thanks for all the emails and messages that enquired about this. I couldn't have been very clear yesterday - I'm looking to quit. Or, more specifically, to find alternative employment. Hence, I applied for about 25 jobs today. I'll let you know how it all turns out (badly, I'm sure.) I'm hoping somebody sees sense and hires me as a bounty hunter with a £5,000 retainer at £100/hour, plus expenses.
Only me and the new guy showed up tonight - can you believe this job?
All that said, I only have the one highlight. A woman, later revealed to be schizophrenic, went mental on the dancefloor in the family bar and started smashing bottles all over the place. As there was only the two of us on duty, I got there late, but quick enough to see her throwing her own kids around like a pair of rag dolls. I followed her out and intended to follow her all the way back to her chalet - treating kids like crap pushes all of my buttons (and not in a good way) - but her son, who couldn't have been older than eight, decided he'd had enough and went back into the complex to find dad. Park security took over stalking the woman so I went back to see how dad rated, and he turned out to be a complete mongoloid. I realise life has tragedy on every corner, but what chance do these kids have? Maybe some, as the boy, at least, seemed fairly together. But it's like some shitty Dickens tale where the young'uns raise grandpa, who's a total prick.
On a more sour note, thanks to repeated plays by the DJ I've actually started liking Kate Nash's Foundations. This irritates me more than you can imagine.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Fin.
Tuesday, 17 July 2007
Tonight, in all probability, was the final straw.
Nothing kicked off at work - we had a minor domestic and a few chavs have to be separated from 'swinging' - but the problem this evening, and the continuing issue, is how we're treated by the big cheeses.
Now, it may seem like I bitch a lot on here - I'm not really sure how all of this comes across - but I've never known a place that treats every employee so equally. And not in a good way - that's equally poorly. If you're really good at your job, you're regarded and rewarded in the same way as somebody who is entirely average. What other company operates in this way? I've never experienced anything like it before in my life.
And it's especially bad in security.
I had a chat with the overall boss of security tonight, and she told me (in her usual polite, dulcet tone) that there was no more money in the security budget, so no plans to pick up the hourly wage, and that this was never going to change over the course of my contract.
In short: goodbye holiday park.
I've certainly given them enough opportunities, but how can you stay somewhere that doesn't reward good members of staff and doesn't punish the bad ones? It's the principle of the thing; by rolling with it, you're basically bending over and taking it up the shitter.
So, I'm officially looking for a new job.
Ideas welcome and appreciated; email them to dirtyjobblog@gmail.com. I'm not leaving security, so basically I'm considering areas in this line of work. It's broader than you probably think, so knock yourselves out. Of course, it needs to be a bit dirty. And if you hear of anything in the East Sussex area (or really, as far as London), that is just great, drop me a line. Ideally, something will crop up in the next month or so. In the meantime, don't fret: I'll still be blogging my arse away (just imagine how that sentence would have been received a decade ago.)
On a side note, yesterday was my 100th blog post. Go me.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Rain.
Monday, 16 July 2007
What a shitty night.
First, that fucking thunderstorm. One minute, it's about 30 fucking degrees in the shade, and I'm thinking, Jesus, I can't do this all night, and then suddenly the fucking heavens fucking well open and, I don't know, God must have been pissed or something because He's spilling his bath water all over the bloody place. Within ten minutes, we have a four-inch river running around the outside of the complex, and then the ceiling in the arcade started flooding with water.
And I mean flooding.
My bath analogy above is sound; literally, it was like somebody was emptying bath after bath of water into the main arcade, all over those lovely shiny machines and all of their electricity. The power was cut reasonably quickly (but only after Jabba barked at one of the attendants). There was water everywhere, for at least half an hour, and this picture just does not do it justice at all.
That actually looks pretty good. It was so bad that any rational person - or, you know, somebody from Health & Safety - would have closed the entire place down without a second thought. The arcade was hit really bad, but we also had serious flooding in the toilets, and several leaks in the main bar. So what did the complex manager do? Close the place down? Noooo, he waited quarter of an hour and then asked the arcade manager to turn the machines back on. Which, thank fucking God, he refused to do.
Money, money, money, a Swedish band once said. And they were right.
But, you know, as soon as the rain eased off, droves of people began to leave, and I thought to myself: result, quiet night. But what actually happened was the good-natured, decent, reasonable individuals who figured an early night made the most sense were actually replaced by some of the biggest cunts and trouble-makers I've seen in months.
First, the new owner I discussed a while back, who has been quietly simmering for a while, tonight decided to piss off everybody and their uncle, and figured it would great for his future if he repeatedly referred to bar staff and the security team as 'cunts', 'wankers' and 'tossers'. He was ejected about 11pm, but not before doing that hot-and-cold thing that power-drinkers do, where one minute they're your mate and apologising and shit, and the next telling you that if you lay one hand on them they're going to 'end you'. And stuff.
Ten minutes later, his mate-for-the-night was also escorted partially home, so pissed that he was that he couldn't go more than five steps before wildly reering to one side or the other and smashing into a fence, plant or brick wall.
Then we had all kinds of aggro with a group of lads who, as the night went on, seemed to increase in number, until at one stage some of their dads were getting involved in the group decision to 'come back later and sort us all out.' Although, as I've said before, when anybody tells you that soon they're going to 'start swinging', they never, ever do.
Then, another large group kicked off outside the main gates. So we had two to keep an eye on, and soak up the threats.
Several obvious underage drinkers with authentic-looking ID - where they get these 1988 driver's licenses from is anybody's guess - but, fucking hell, we should have been closed right after those floods, so who gives a fuck, eh?
Dozens of broken bottles and glasses - the smoking ban has plenty of upside, but forcing pissheads to congregate outside the main doors is not one of them - and for about half an hour a genuine feeling amongst all of us that this was the night where it was all going to go 'fucking mental' and somebody was probably going to end up getting seriously maimed.
I tell you this - if there was no security on tonight, or even a couple of guys less, the place would have gone down the toilet. But all I'm going to hear over the next few weeks is how there are 'too many of us' on the nights when the shit doesn't go down. When it's quiet. When nobody notices us doing our thing. Wake up, dipshits: that's the point of the fucking job.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
He said, she said.
Sunday, 15 July 2007
I've written in the past how they are always at least two opposing sides to any story - two versions to the truth, which I suppose means the truth is always somebody's version - and an item tonight highlighted this yet again.
I got called up to Burger King because two blokes had been playing up. They were clearly drunk, and there was talk that they'd been abusive to one of the young girls who works there. Because I didn't see anything I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but when they decided to start throwing their drinks about enough was enough. The venue manager wanted them out, and I walked over to take care of business.
"Sorry lads," I said, "I think you've had enough tonight. Let's go outside and get some air."
Now, both of these blokes were bigger than me. The main one was over six feet tall and probably eighteen stone. He was the only one who spoke.
"Yeah, I'm just finishing my burger," he said.
"Take it with you mate," I replied, "Let's go."
And then he threw the burger down in front of him. Oh-oh, I thought, here we go - elbow to my face time.
But no; he got up, enquired as to whether only he had to leave ("No, both of you, mate.") and then both quietly left. No hassle, no moaning, no problems. Out they went.
I went back to the girl who'd been subjected to the verbal abuse and got her side of the story; basically, there'd been some delay with their order and as she was nearest to them, she got a fair bit of stick. "They called me 'bitch'," she said, adding, "I don't mind that as I hear it all the time..."
What?
But then it all went a bit pear-shaped and one of the guys - the main one, as above - asked her what time BK closed, and that when she revealed it was midnight, that he'd be back to sort her out later.
Right, fair enough then. You ain't coming back inside, like ever.
Except... then it all went weird. The guys came back half an hour or so later, and I was called down to the main gates to speak to them. Seemed that the main one's female friend and her young daughter were still inside, and would it be okay if, escorted, he went in to look for them? He was incredibly polite and apologetic and I thought: why not? We walked around the complex for a bit looking for his mate (who, later, turned up outside) and the entire time he was very polite, very confused about what he had been accused of, and seemed entirely sincere that not only had he not done anything of the sort, but as he was here with his friends and nephew, "in a holiday park with kids", he'd never do anything to cause trouble. He also seemed fairly sober. It was either an Academy Award-winning performance, or someone, somewhere, had fucked up.
Eventually he and his mate left - but not before apologising again - and I told them that if they behaved and their story checked out, they were welcome back tomorrow night. I went back to speak to the girl in BK and asked her to describe the guy who'd threatened her and she described the main bloke (as above) to a tee. Now, this girl in BK is young and incredibly sweet and demure and I cannot believe for a second she'd make any of this stuff up. But could she have misunderstood? Could the guy(s) have said one thing and she heard another? She was so matter-of-fact and passé about it all that it was difficult for me to get a grip on the reality. I mean, there's jaded ("Bitch!? Ha! Is that the best you can do?") and there's jaded.
Much like a frickin' tree falling over in a wood with nobody else around, who knows what the fuck happens? And this is the problem, and something that, as I believe I've mentioned before, we - as almighty DS - have to be very careful over.
Unless you've actually seen it yourself, you have to act as if it might not have happened.
At least, not like 'they' say it did. They lie all the time. The catch is, they could both be telling the truth. I guess we'll find out tomorrow.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
It had to be done.
Saturday, 14 July 2007
Shocking. And screw the poor punctuation.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 pm
Foam.
Thursday, 12 July 2007
After I left last night, the guy who was knocked out sparko started on not only our own park security, but the police as well. Seemed he panicked a bit when somebody asked him where he was staying - possibly thinking he might have punched himself unconscious, and thought he'd be on the safe side, and all that - and went into serious 'resisting arrest' mode. He didn't show up to the complex tonight. He's probably dead, let's face it.
There's talk going around of an upcoming after-hours team party, probably on a Sunday night. My missus will be thrilled.
Speaking of last Monday, one thing I forgot to mention was what happened to poor Bilbo. He drunk so much he passed out, and one of the bar staff thought it would be an absolute riot to cover him - and by 'cover', I mean cover - with shaving foam. You know, a bit like this:
He didn't even stir. Problem was, shortly before I left he suddenly got up, walked into the bathroom, and took a shower. In his clothes. And then came out naked. That shit ain't right.
There's a video on YouTube floating around. Allegedly.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Oopsie.
Wednesday, 11 July 2007
Well... apologies for the recent delay in blog posts. Yesterday (Monday) we had a bit of a mini lock-in after work, which led on to some drinks around a fellow DS's chalet, and before you know what the fuck was happening, shennanigans ensued and I didn't actually leave the park until well after 8am. My long-suffering wife was not impressed (at least, I gathered from her reaction.) I didn't go to bed until just before 10am, finally rising at 4.30pm for a bite to eat, and then back to work. Felt like I'd never left. Quite surreal.
As a result, I was a bit of a zombie all night.
It's very quiet at the moment; low weekly check-in, and all that, which isn't a bad thing per se. We're overstaffed but the two agency guys are definitely and absolutely having their last night this coming Friday, so next week - and onwards - it's going to be more like the good old days, i.e., 2-3 DS on duty (if you're lucky) and three to four thousand lunatics in the bars. Sweet.
Couple of incidents tonight. I ejected one very drunk guy for making obscene gestures to some young girls, calling me a 'wanker' and then telling me to fuck off. Once I got him outside, he asked why he had to leave, informing me that he'd only acted in such a way because I'd called him 'a cunt'. I hadn't. He got a bit aggressive, as per usual, but eventually left. Two minutes later he was back at the main gates, complete with a total personality change.
"Er... I'm really sorry about earlier. Um, do you think I could go back inside for a second, as I've walked out and left my kid in there..."
And he had. The kid was about five years old, and once we'd found him back in the family bar and his dad had passed on the news, starting balling his eyes out about having to leave. "Can't we just stay?" the five-minutes-earlier-drunk-mental asked me, but there was no chance. I felt like a bit of a rotter, but he made his own bed.
Post-closing, we were standing outside getting the last few people back home, when suddenly Random Bloke A runs over and smacks Random Bloke B hard in the mouth, knocking him out and sending him backwards down a slope, where he smacks his head and is completely unconscious for a good ten minutes. It looked a bit iffy for a while, but eventually he came to and got back on his feet. He was very drunk, which made any kind of diagnosis a bit of a blur. The puncher was picked up by park security, but the punchee decided he didn't want to press charges. Bet he changes his mind when he's sober, but alas, by then, it'll be too late.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Wisdom.
Monday, 9 July 2007
Lately there have been some problems with a longstanding female owner. Not her specifically, although she is a renowned drunk who has been given a few warnings in the past over her behaviour. The problem is with her husband. See, the two of them have recently split - with some on-site animosity and heat - and as he's the one with all the dough, she is soon going to be without any accommodation on the park. That's right, he's selling up.
She's in the bars two or three times a week, more often than not with her son, who just tags along for the ride. She was in tonight, really pissed as usual, and stopped on her way out to talk to Jabba, as she often does. The kid spoke to me.
"Do you ever come in here on your night's off?" he asked, "You know, drinking and that?"
"No," I said.
"I wouldn't either," he replied, "I don't see the point in coming here, getting drunk, embarrassing yourself and getting involved in all the problems."
This kid is ten. I didn't know what to say. How do you respond to that?
posted by Sheamus @ 1:30 am
Eight is enough.
Sunday, 8 July 2007
Tonight emphasised the problems of overstaffing; you know, for a change and all that. Eight of us were on, and everything went as sweet as the proverbial nut.
Rumour has it the agency boys time is up this Friday. Wait and see, blah blah (etc etc.) But if so, we'll be back to the normal short-staff/complex disaster combo soon enough.
Until then: ho-hum.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
Deliverance.
Saturday, 7 July 2007
Sorry for the lack of updates the past few days. I had another bout of the dreaded man-flu. That sounds really pathetic, but when I get it it's really serious, and I was quite literally on the verge of death on several occasions. Count your blessings I'm still here.
We're having some problems with the 'new guy' at work. He didn't show up for the DS All-Star meeting on Tuesday, and has subsequently gone from being somebody who seemed alright to a complete and utter wanker. I had a bit of a run-in with him on Tuesday night and he's banged heads with a few others, including Lynch, whilst I've been off. I'm not sure what's going on in his head. It almost seems like he's started taking drugs, or something, as his personality has done a near-180. Quite strange. The problem is if you can't work with somebody, then they can't work here. It's that simple.
The carnies settled down last week after the incident on Monday. However, it didn't stop me making yet another gaff. As I mentioned previously, they're actually related to one of the boys in park security - a brother, cousins and all that. They are all, however, as I've implied, of the 'missing link' variety. Like Huckleberry Finn's less-evolved siblings.
All that was missing was the ominous music of a banjo. Anyway, six of them came in Wednesday night. No hassle or lip, but it's good form to radio ahead to other DS inside the complex to let them know when individuals who've previously been a problem (or are potentially so) are on their way. So I called Edmonson, although the security radio is open to everybody on the roster.
"Yeah, the carnies are in the building..." I said, "Three blokes, three women..." and then immediately remembered that the chap in park security was working the main radio in the lodge. Ho hum. We had a good laugh about it and he never actually said anything to me, but still, poor form and all that.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:30 pm
Three things.
Wednesday, 4 July 2007
Three things happened tonight. Some were a surprise. Others, less so.
1. The carnys were not removed from the site. Moreover, their ban was lifted. They behaved themselves tonight, but still.
2. It didn't rain for the first time in as long as I can remember.
3. I saw a shooting star.
The latter was, of course, very exciting.
That is all.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Stuff.
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
A lot of hassle with some local carny-type last night. He and his family/friends are actually staying on the park, and are in fact related to one of the guys in park security. However, while this guy is a decent sort, a lot of his family appear to be real scumbags, and this group was no exception. They've been here one day and already have (count 'em) four incident reports. They should be getting the boot about now. But more likely I'll come in tonight and not only will they still be there, they'll probably have been upgraded.
There's some new kid on the park who could be a serious contender for the currently vacant "King of the Chavs" title. Burberry cap, white knee-length canvass shorts, tracksuit top, Converse boots, etc. And he's German, I think, which means this epidemic is spreading across Europe. I'll try and get a photo tonight. Or maybe some video footage.
We have a DS-only meeting at 1pm today. Bunch of major issues to thrash out.
posted by Sheamus @ 9:00 am
Woof.
Monday, 2 July 2007
Had the immense pleasure of working with a guard dog for part of the evening. Well, that's a bit of a stretch - he actually belonged to a guest but she left him down by the main gates with security while she went inside (dogs aren't allowed in the complex.) His name was Manny, and as you can see he came straight out of Turner and Hooch.
(Not me in the photo.)
He was a real softy but totally looked the picture. So much so, in fact, that when I walked him around the place and took him up to the prick who promised to come back with "tools" last night (who was back inside before I arrived for work), the guys' eyes widened to the point where he may have actually shat himself. He left soon after. I'd love to work with a pair of Manny's, possibly attached via chain leads to a metal bar that I held. Man, that would rule.
I made a massive fucking gaff tonight. We'd closed up and were all sitting around having a drink after the shift. One of the new agency guys - Jones - fancies himself as a bit of player and his current 'bit' is the rent-a-tart who works down the lower bar five days a week. He was all over her tonight, and along with everyone else (90 per cent of the people where I work smoke), they kept nipping outside for a cigarette. Well, one time, they didn't come back in with the others, and we started making the usual jokes. Bilbo hadn't come back into the club either, and so I suggested that maybe he was operating as a "fluffer" between them, which got a few laughs. Or that one or both of them had "strapped him on" and was using him as a dildo (he's a small guy, you'll remember.) Or, I said, picture this... Jones is shagging the tart from behind and Bilbo is licking his arse out.
"I can't see how," a voice piped up, "Given that I'm in here."
He'd only been in the fucking room the whole fucking time.
I was sitting at an odd 45-degree angle and he was to my left, and I hadn't seen him come back in. Christ almighty, I felt like such a cunt. Nobody else had seen him too (he is small, as I said), but that didn't really matter. I quickly changed the subject - an event which he noticed - but the look on the poor bastard's face. It didn't help that Jabba, who was oblivious to my fuck-up, then started making a bunch of cracks about his bald spot. Five more minutes and Bilbo would have strung himself up from the ceiling.
I apologised to him afterwards and he seemed to accept that it wasn't anything nasty on my part, but it's not like me to cock-up like this. I blame the Blackthorn. That shit's gonna be the death of me.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
The smoking ban...
Sunday, 1 July 2007
... doesn't start until 6am this morning so it wasn't an issue last night at all. In about 14 hours, it will be a big fucking hairy deal, however.
A few minor incidents this fine (and wet) Saturday evening. A young couple get ejected because they think it's okay to bring cans of Stella into the bars and drink them ("We've been doing it all night; nobody said anything earlier.") The bloke is a plonker to the extent that it all becomes very personal between him and Worthy and he promises to come back later "with tools" to sort us all out. "I've put down squaddies in the past," he says, adding, "If you were in London, you'd be dead by now." What, Hastings is some kind of fucking Kryptonite to him, is it? What a prick. Of course, like the rest of them, he never actually came back.
The second instance concerned this 21-year old who'd been drinking all night, but aside from giving a few punters a bit of lip, hadn't been much of a problem. Suddenly, however, it was brought to our attention that he'd passed out in the arcade, then woken up and had a swing at one of the attendants. The two agency guys arm-locked him outside, where he went from being your cliched pisshead, to apologetic, to curling up in the foetal position and balling his eyes out just around the corner. Literally. The shit you see in this job.
Later, another drunk passed out in the arcade, except this time it was a woman. Boy, was she. One of her F-sized tits popped out of her top to celebrate as she hit the dirt. So many veins it looked like a spaghetti junction. Quarter of an hour later, she had to be taken out in a fucking wheelchair. You can't buy that kind of dignity.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am