Epilogue.
Thursday 30 August 2007
Re yesterday's late-night events, I forgot to add that the woman - Ms Ketchup - wouldn't let the man back inside their chalet, but she had his credit cards in her wallet, which he wanted back. He also wanted the keys to her car so he could sleep in that, but she wouldn't give them up in case he drove away and/or turned up again in the middle of the night (the residence keys were on there as well - why she didn't think to separate them is any genius' guess).
So they had to come to a compromise, organised by my boss - the man got the cards and, temporarily, the keys, but the latter was returned to the lady after the chap bedded down, by my boss.
I tell you: the place is fucking mental. Where else does this kind of shit happen? Nowhere, that's where.
It's worth noting that neither of them came up for a drink tonight.
I also forgot to mention that Bilbo quit on Sunday. He was going to be fired anyway, but he figured he'd beat them all to the punch, just to make it even more of a farce.
So, when Edmonson and I hand our notices in this Friday, a week later there will only be three doorstaff left. Even if they work seven days a week a piece, there won't be enough of them.
"Hello, is that the SIA...?"
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
Red Sauce.
Wednesday 29 August 2007
Scene One: It's 2.33am, the bars are closed, and the only two DS in attendance - Welshie Jones and myself - sit back, relax, and work our way through the better part of a couple of pitchers of Export each.
Scene Two: It's 3.45am, the bars are still closed, and the only two DS in attendance - Welshie Jones and myself, both sucking furiously on Polos to remove any possible stench of moonshine from our breaths - are outside, deep in the park, attending a domestic where a man on crutches has covered his heavily-intoxicated girlfriend with ketchup, and she now wants him to leave.
It's a hard-knock life.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:30 am
You're hired.
Sunday 26 August 2007
After the incident on Wednesday, the angered black chap came back on Thursday (my day off) and ended up dragging one of the male cleaners into the female toilets and giving him a bit of a slapping. The male cleaner, you see, is the brother of one of the chaps who works in the arcade, the latter of whom was quite heavily involved in some of the name-calling the day before. The black guy had started on the brother and the cleaner had dragged him off, and then it all went tits-up. It's finally over now, as the entire black group left the park - on their own whim - at 5am Friday morning.
I got the job, incidentally. It's about 65 per cent more than I'm earning now, and involves watching over people trying to rebuild their lives in a kind of halfway house, proving themselves to qualify for proper accomodation (through the council, etc). Most of these people are recovering addicts, alcoholics, victims of abuse, etc, who through their own fault - or perhaps not - have found themselves homeless. They all know this is a one-shot chance, but due to their nature, history, etc, many of them are extremely volatile and problematic.
To be honest, it's not a cause that's enormously close to my heart although I can certainly see the reasoning behind it all. The money, however, is superb for this area, and it'll be a very rich experience. Both Edmonson and myself got a position with the firm, and we'll split the week between us, doing 3 1/2 days each, 10pm until 9am, in a three/four-days on, three/fours-days off shift, which is a pattern that's going to take some getting used to. Going to bed at, say, 10am, means getting up at 3-4pm, even with only 5-6 hours sleep, which puts you in a different world to most other people.
Edmonson aside, nobody at work knows yet. Not even Jabba, which is something I feel quite bad about. Almost like I've betrayed the big guy. I'm trying to find a way to time this relevation, which is proving to be a bit of a bitch.
It's due to start September 17, although there's a possibility it may begin a week earlier. I have some training in Portsmouth to attend before all this, and will give my notice in for my current job within the next week. I still plan to keep my toe in the nightclub business, getting door work when I can fit it in. One big plus of the new job is half the week I won't have to do anything at all.
Another MAJOR plus is that the control room in my new place has a DVD player, and we're encouraged to 'watch films all night' to help keep us awake. Can you say 'sur-weet'?
In other news, my brand-spanking new Nokia N95 arrives Wednesday.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 pm
Update.
Thursday 23 August 2007
Another big brawl at work last night. And, yeah, it was a race war. Again.
One (very large) black guy swore blind he heard some white guy call him a 'black bastard'. Problem was, he didn't know exactly who said it, so thought it made more sense to take everybody on. Everybody who even looked at him. Everybody white who so much as passed by.
Between us Edmonson and myself calmed him down, but it just kept on flaring up again to the point where we had to get him and his mates - most of which were trying to contain him as well - out of the main gates. I sympathised with the guy and told him as much - I hate that kind of shit - but we never saw anything, he wasn't sure what he heard and everybody else just seemed to be either trying to stir it up or look the other way. There's not a lot you can do. In those kinds of situations, getting people out of the door without it really kicking of is a big result. We did that. Still, it definitely did not end last night.
In other news, I got offered a pretty decent job, which I'm going to take. I'll wait to read the formal offer but it looks very good thus far. More detail on this when I'm looking at the cold print. Don't worry - it's dirtier than what I'm doing now.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 pm
Job.
Wednesday 22 August 2007
I had a very good interview today, for a position that is highly promising.
I won't say any more, as I'll jinx it.
That is all.
Ps. My days off recently changed - it's now Mondays and Thursdays.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:45 pm
Blacker.
Monday 20 August 2007
Hmmm.
After what I wrote in my last post, I came into work yesterday to be faced with a complaint suggesting that the security team had been racist. What happened was Bilbo - against my best advice - had responded, despite not witnessing the incident, to a report from some parents that their white children had been bullied off the dance machine in the arcade by some black kids. Bilbo told the black girls to go home and get their parents so he could speak to them. I told him there was no positive outcome here - there is no fucking way kids are going to march back to their folks and say they've been rumbled.
No: instead, what they clearly did was paint some pretty story and now there's this shit in print suggesting we handled it all badly, and, without actually specifically stating it as such, that the security team at this holiday park is on a par with The Third Reich. Like I give a fuck. Nothing will come of it, but it's a lesson learned.
I have two job interviews and several other possibilities this coming week. Watch this space.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
Black.
Saturday 18 August 2007
Well, a little bit of everything tonight.
First, at about five minutes into the shift, a police car, an ambulance, and a fire engine come roaring into the park. It appears that an owner had decided that it really wasn't the holiday venue for him and, instead, put his wallet, mobile phone and a letter up on a tree outside his caravan, then went back inside, locked himself in, poured petrol all over his body and set fire to himself.
He died.
It isn't in any way funny you insensitive bastards, but I'd heard the barbecues that the management threw for the owner's were smokin', but this one takes the cake.
(I'd never met the guy, so it's okay, really. God turns a blind eye if you don't actually know the people you mock. Incidentally, the note he had prepared said something about 'this isn't suspicious', would would ring all kinds of alarm bells if I was a cop.)
About half-midnight we had to eject about thirty 16-24 year-olds for repeatedly 'accidentally' breaking glasses and bottles. I told them if they behaved (quote: "If you don't fuck around spitting, swearing, smashing things and generally being pricks...") they could come back in half an hour or so later.
However... a bit earlier, I had to twice throw out a group of five locals. All probably 16-17 years old. They were fine with me but each time they were down at the main gates they felt some kind of compulsion to have a go at punters who were leaving. Most people ignore stuff like this, preferring to keep on the safe path back to their homes. Whether the chav/ASBO 'threat' is exaggerated or not, enough people believe in it to take no action.
Others, however - usually big blokes, or ballsy women - don't ignore it, and as per usual each time somebody came back at them the locals backed off, or one of the others would drag his mate back and say something ludicrous like, "He's not worth it..." Around 1am I thought they'd long gone, but no... one of them had stayed behind and decided it would be just killer to not only mouth off at a mother, but to knock her baby pram, too.
Well, the mother went fucking ape shit, as you can imagine, chasing the boy near out of the park. But not quite out, however, as her husband then ran upon the kid and started beating him to a bloody pulp. I had to intervene - I didn't want to, but there are cameras everywhere, and me standing back eating popcorn while even a chav dies probably wouldn't go down too well in court - and after I'd told him to, "Fuck off and run the fuck out of here!", he did. I calmed the family down - the mother was especially heated - but to be honest I'd have done the exact same thing in their position. You fuck with my kids and you die, plain and simple.
Unfortunately, the collective already outside the gates thought it would be just swell to goad the mother into chasing after the chav so none of them came back into the complex, either.
This week we've also had a bit of a black and white issue.
There has been, for some reason, a large group of black families in the park this week. And lots and lots of black kids. There are also lots and lots of white kids, too (plus one Chinese, but he just sits in the corner crying, picking his nose.) They're all about the same age - 15-18 - and it's been a recipe for fun.
The problem is, we've had x amount of what I would call slightly stereotypical British families. You know, old-fashioned types that would rather spend a fortune (£100/night in August) at a holiday park 'down South' than spend the same money abroad on Johnny Foreigner. Those that think PG Tips and Heinz Beans are more important than decent weather and learning how to say "Thank you" in a native tongue. People of the land. You know: morons.
Well, we have a few of those in. Most, lovely, lovely people. Just racist as fuck. "Yeah," one said, "I saw a load of the blacks picking on a young girl earlier."
"Well," I'd reply, "I'm not really comfortable confronting people simply on the basis of their colour. Whom do you mean specifically?"
"The blacks."
"Right."
See, one of the major problems we face in this poxy business is that if you haven't witnessed it yourself, you can't really do fuck all about it. Now, that's common sense when you think about it, but if you then throw in the risk of being seen as a racist as well - rightly or wrongly in this crazy modern world - it complicates things a lot more.
When people start telling me that 'blacks' are doing anything, I'm inclined, by default, to think they are not. Now, don't get me wrong - some of the black kids this week have been right little cunts. But then, of course, so have some of the white kids too. And that Chinese kid never has a fucking tissue.
Bottom line? Unless I'm fortunate enough to see the deed myself, I'm not going to go all strike team on 'the blacks' just because some twenty-something McKenzie-wearing dufus says he saw shit happen. I didn't see it happen. And if I'm being honest, I'm not convinced you did, either. Now go and get a proper hair-cut. Tram-lines? What the fuck is this: 1984?
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
One of a kind. Thankfully.
Thursday 16 August 2007
I forgot to mention last night that the evening's cabaret was none other than David Copperfield.
No, not that one - the third wheel in the 1980s comedy 'gem', Three Of A Kind.
 |
That's him, on the far right, alongside Tracy Ulman and Lenny Henry, who both went on to great success, despite having no talent whatsoever.
So, yeah. He did a comedy set for an hour or so.
He was fucking shit.
I'm pretty sure I read once that he became an alcoholic; it must have took, as he was knocking back pints at the bar after his act. He left some time later in something bordering on a drunk disgrace.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am
Brawl.
Wednesday 15 August 2007
Well.
Pre-team meeting (Thursday at 5pm, fact-fans), it really couldn't have gone any better. Or worse, depending on your point of view.
Your typical night, really. Very busy, the arcades in particular, with groups of kids doing crazy things like tilting the two-penny waterfall machines to make a hedonistic 24p (or more!). Lots of underage drinkers, etc. An early highlight was a heavily pregnant woman passing out due to the intense heat in the main bar (the air conditioning is still broken), falling back off her chair and hitting her head on a table. I had to do the first aid - fortunately, she was a trained nurse, and diagnosed herself to a clean bill of health.
So, it's around 1.30am and last orders has been called. Jones and I had been very closely watching a pair of very-heated brothers for an hour or so, but they seemed to have calmed down. I left the main bar to have a look in the arcades when suddenly over the radio came the now-familiar, but eternally unfathomable, "SDSD SDHKS DKS DKSHDKSH DSK DHSKH!" What this means, of course, is that there's a problem in the main bar. Duh.
I go inside and The Lodge is just marginally visible between at least eight other women of various ages on the dance floor, and around this group is probably 15-20 other people, all looking a tad animated. I walk over to see what is going on, and before I can even make out what The Lodge is saying it all goes a bit, well, berserk.
And, as per usual of late, it was nearly all women.
Fists flying everywhere, pushing, shoving, bad language, and one cracking punch from one women to another that connected full-on and very quickly resulted in a Rocky-style downpour of blood from the punchee's unfortunate face. Then it really hit the fan, with husbands, boyfriends, brothers, ad infinitum, all getting stuck in, and one chap thought he was helping the situation by picking up a 16-year old girl and throwing her into the stage. He misjudged his surroundings, however, as that only made things worse.
Finally, we managed to calm it all down. By then, The Lodge had taken a punch in the face. Bilbo, who was useless again to a point where I had to SHOUT AT HIM IN FRONT OF EVERYONE, had also taken one on the chin, but that kind of seemed fair enough given that instead of getting one of the key women out when he could have done he walked the other fucking way. Poor Jones had lost his earpiece and had the misfortune to have had one large woman stand on his foot and literally tear his shoe in two. Look:
That's what you call a trophy. I took one of the key families out the back firedoors and walked them all the way back to their villa (which was, naturally, miles away). We went from "I'm calling the police!" to "I only did what every other mother would have done!" (this came from the cracking punch thrower) to "Thanks for your help, ADJ!". Good times.
From start to finish the entire brawl took about an hour to clean up.
What this all means, of course, is that all of these people - and there was some twenty-five involved in total - who are here until the weekend at least, are most likely going to kick off again, and again, and again.
What this means for me is free drinks at the bar, as I actually got one tonight for the first time in fucking weeks.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Who's who? And where? And why?
Tuesday 14 August 2007
Yesterday, as expected, Worthy handed in his notice.
This leaves six door staff to cover the full seven days of the working week. Well, really it's 4 1/2 - The Lodge never comes up to the main complex until quite literally last orders have been called (it's a unique talent that she possesses) and Bilbo is about five-feet tall in heels.
Let's have a quick refresher as to who has gone where since the beginning of the season!
(In order of their join date. Those still around are in bold.)
1. Captain Jack - was fired for gross misconduct.
2. The Lodge - still here, but spends about 5 per cent of her hours in the main complex. You know, the place where all the bad stuff happens.
3. A Dirty Job - moi.
4. Edmonson - still here, but has been on holiday for the past week.
5. Jabba - still here.
6. Other Blonde Female DS I'm Not Sure I Ever Mentioned - quit after a week.
7. Bilbo - still here.
8. Shrek - was given the boot for being a complete dick.
9. Worthy - quit this week.
10. Jones - came back to work last week. Now non-agency.
11. Potter - was given the boot when his agency contract ran out.
12. Popeye - quit last week.
So, as you can see, there are six of us left. Which gives us a bit of a maths problem, as the site needs a minimum of four DS Monday through Thursday and five for the weekend (inc. Friday). Everybody is contracted to have two days off per week. The end result is the beginning and the end of the week suddenly has a huge void, as the work rota hasn't changed since people have left, and many people now suddenly have the same days off.
To conclude, we have an 'emergency' meeting later this week. Is it finally all going to end?
---
Last night I spend half an hour trying to explain to a fortysomething man why it wasn't okay for his two under-fifteen year-old daughters to be openly drinking WKD in the main bar. The basis of his (flawed) argument was that because the day security had turned a blind eye to some locals drinking cans of Tenants Extra and "spitting and swearing everywhere" outside the main gates then we should turn a blind eye here. "Tell me," he said, "Is it one rule for one?" thus totally stamping on his own argument.
"These are licensed premises," I repeatedly said in various degrees of clarity, "That is outside. By buying a drink for your children in here, you are openly breaking the law."
He didn't want to get it, was the problem, and seemed to take great issue with me possibly assuming that he was a lousy parent. I don't think he actually was, but he was a misguided one, and drunk, naturally, which really didn't help his case. After twenty minutes I was very bored - hearing the same words over and over will do that to a man - and had to wrap it up, agreeing to disagree and suggesting to him that out of sight, out of mind might be the best policy for him. If we didn't see it, we didn't care, and we didn't have to worry about other parents thinking they could do the same for their kids, too.
He concurred.
Ten minutes later, one of his girls was dancing wildly on a chair, bottle of WKD quite clearly on the go.
"Fuck it," I thought. I won't be the one who loses my license.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 pm
Weekend.
Monday 13 August 2007
Right, let's see.
Saturday: busy night but generally uneventful. 2am, and we're closing the place down, getting the last few people out. All owners, of course, maybe fifteen of them. Several women. All of whom have a shit load of history.
One of them, a total pisshead I've written about before, had come up for some late drinks with a chap who works in park security. They're kind of a known couple, unofficially. Unofficial because she's married and it's his ass on the line. Both were pissed tonight, which didn't help, and they were standing at the bar amongst the other owners.
Jabba had noticed something wasn't right and after radioing to tip us off, had gone into the complex manager's office to have a closer, more private look on the cameras. It was less than a minute later when it all went tits-up.
First, I had to split up two of the female owners who were literally in each other's faces, and were on the verge of lady fisticuffs before I pulled them apart and Jabba carted the pisshead one off, smashing his thumb up on the firedoor in the process (somehow, when women are involved, he always ends up getting hurt.) While he was getting the drunkard outside, the other womam she was rowing with, who had clearly had all of her buttons pushed, turned on the other female owners at the bar.
With me right in the middle.
I had one literally on my back, reaching over to grab another one's hair. The other one was reaching over me from the front, threatening and trying to do XYZ. Two others were in front of me to my left, trying to get past (I had my arms stretched out from the bar to the railing, in an attempt at a one-man human wall) while two more just stood there, right next to all of this, looking on the verge of hysteria.
Man, the shit that came out of these women's mouths, I ain't ever heard.
And they all had glasses in their hands. I couldn't help thinking, fuck, I'm going to end up getting bottled by a middle-aged slapper. Oh, the dignity.
Finally I got them far enough apart and the mental one also outside (no thanks to Bilbo, who somehow managed to keep himself 3-5 metres distant from anything even remotely resembling hostility) and we calmed the situation down. End result, the original pisshead now has a permanent bar, and one of the others is on very thin ice. Good times.
Sunday: was very busy, and finally felt like what 'peak season' should. All pretty much run-of-the-mill stuff until, lo and behold, about 8pm, fucking Numbnuts came marching in.
"Just going to Burger King," he said.
No you're fucking not mate, I replied. You've got a full complex ban.
And then, of course, we had another ten minutes of how he had never done anything wrong, and how we must be used to people like him, and how he was going to tear my fucking head off, etc etc, blah blah blah. His missus was with him as well. Lovely woman, who was kind enough to tell us that the park was a 'shit-hole', and how everybody from Hastings was a right cunt.
Why do these people not understand that we don't give a fuck?
posted by Sheamus @ 1:30 pm
Saturday.
Sunday 12 August 2007
Fucking hell, it all kicked off tonight.
Women. Fighting.
Owners, naturally. And I was right smack-bang in the middle of the shit.
More tomorrow. And I've got some stuff to say about racism, too. Oh yeah.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:30 am
Wee.
Saturday 11 August 2007
I worked tonight.
The usual crap; as mentioned before, Popeye had taken 10 days off and was on the verge of getting the boot when he called up and quit. Now, Worthy hasn't come in for a week. Edmonson has taken a week off, so we've gone from being generally short-staffed - now entering a record fourth week in a row without a single night of a full team being on, folks - to being fucking short-staffed. Honestly, it's getting quite ridiculous.
It's pretty clear, however, that the park is struggling. The 'peak season' we were consistently warned about has yet to happen, and to be honest the place was busier back in Easter than it is now, and by some way. And none of this compares to those poxy football weekends. Really, even with the low numbers of DS on duty it's a piece of piss.
Give it a week, and I'll be dead, you watch.
----
Incident this evening: a young couple were walking down to the gates with their three young children. One of the boys, who was maybe five or six, was holding his crotch.
"Jesus," said the mother, "How many times are you going to go to the toilet tonight? That's the last time I buy you one of these." She motioned towards the supersized plastic drink container in her hands.
"Yeah," said the dad, WITH NO IRONY OR INTENTIONAL COMEDY WHATSOEVER, "You're just taking the piss..."
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Progress.
Wednesday 8 August 2007
I think the antibiotics have finally started to kick-in.
Man, that shit was painful yesterday. I know, I know - whining on about a little bit of pain. But it got so bad that eventually I had no option but to file down my own tooth. Which wasn't entirely pleasant, let me tell you. But it made a massive difference. And I think I'm finally coming out of the cave.
Meantime, I managed to get a picture of one of the midgets.
The funny bit is the barmaid there is only about 5ft3. Bless. Still, you'd have to ask for ID, wouldn't you, just for a laugh?
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 pm
Regression.
Tuesday 7 August 2007
As mentioned previously, one of my molars has broken, and I've now got a thumbnail-sized ulcer/blister on my tongue. This has become infected, says the doctor. Believe me, it fucking hurts enough for me to agree. I can't speak much. For many, this is a good thing. When I do speak, I'm one half-step away from being identified as the missing link.
However, I'm still working. That's right, bitch - I'm hardcore.
(Although codeine is playing a minor role in my performance.)
Bilbo showed up last night - for five minutes, wearing a fucking eyepatch. This is to support one of his latest lies, that he got involved in a big scrap down the town on the weekend. Needless to say, he didn't bother working. Just showed up to let us all see his homegrown attempt at convincing us he'd been to the hospital and they'd told him he shouldn't work.
Popeye has quit - I'm not sure I mentioned it, but he hadn't turned up for ten days in a row. So, to be honest, it was kind of coming.
What this means is that we've all come full-circle, and are back to the exciting, heady days of April, where only really three of us can be relied upon to turn up for their shift, and everybody else is a bit of an x-factor.
What this means for me is more money, or I quit.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 pm
The tooth.
Monday 6 August 2007
Initially, I have to inform you that I am in a lot of pain.
At some point today, one of my molars decided to kind of fall apart. Basically, the side fell out, and as this particular tooth contained a filling ("Look ma, no cavities!" / "Shut the fuck up!"), that is now sticking out into my mouth, like a little dagger. And, subsequently, has formed an ulcer on my tongue, and then decided to cut it open. So the tooth hurts, and my tongue hurts. And the ulcer on my tongue hurts.
Now, this isn't your typical doorman bravado, but it might amuse you to know that because my tongue is swollen, I've been talking like Joey Deacon on valium for most of the night.
"Cann I thee your path pleathe?"
"What?"
Anyway... on to this evening's highlights. Remember that owner who was booted off park for headbutting Bilbo? ("Foursomes, firings and fights.") Well, as I mentioned back then, I was off that night and so never got to meet the guy. Well, this knowledge was clearly known to the chap and his cohorts, as, bold as brass, they came up to me tonight, alone at the gate, waving their passes around (which, for some fucking reason, they still had) and naturally I let them through. Five minutes later, Bilbo calls me on the radio, and asks to meet him outside the arcade. He looks a tad stressed. Let's call the banned ex-owner Moonie.
"Yeah... Moonie is in the complex."
"Oh right," I say, not thinking much about it, because of course I never actually saw him go inside, "Well, kick him out then."
"I'm not doing it," says Bilbo, "He headbutted me, remember."
I did. "Fine," I say, and go inside to find Moonie. It doesn't take long, and after I've intrigued him with a, "Sorry mate, you have a complex ban I believe? Yeah, I'll have to escort you back outside the gates." he exits. He's fine, a little embarrassed if anything. His missus, however, who by all accounts caused most of the problems that led to them being kicked off the park, gives me all kinds of p'urty mouth. I don't think much of it - I'm immune to most of that shit now.
Outside, however, once I've made sure Moonie and his biatch are long gone, one of the non-banned owners who was with them drops a bombshell on me - Moonie never headbutted Bilbo. He went to headbutt him, sure, she says, but pulled himself back in time when he realised it was not who he thought. She knows this because she witnessed it. Bilbo, in his infinite wisdom, pulled the classic 'fighter's' trick of saying x happened when really it was x-1.
Now, you might be thinking, hold on, what if she was telling you porky pies mate? And usually I'd go along with that perspective, or at least give it an even shot at the mic. But this is Bilbo we're talking about, who lies about fucking everything. The (female) owner seemed absolutely plausible. After all, what did she have to gain? We weren't going to reverse the ban, because Moonie had done numerous other things that night to more than justify it.
Does it matter? Not really, as that ship has long sailed. But as I've pointed out many times, every fucking story has a zillion sides.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:45 am
The little things.
Sunday 5 August 2007
We get all-sorts at my place and if there's one thing I've got out of it all, it's the experience of interacting with a lot of different people, many of whom I'd rarely cross paths with in 'the real world' (whatever that is.) Granted, most of them are 'salt of the Earth' types, but even that pigeonhole is a surprisingly rich one.
Saturday is now the big 'check-in' day and the park was fucking packed, pretty much from the start. As I've said before, you do your best to remember faces because, after a day or two, people like to think you've noticed them, and won't bother asking for a pass, happily waving them through instead. The truth, however, is that unless they've done something to be noticed, you probably won't remember. This pisses some people off, others just accept it.
Some folk, however, don't have to do anything. They just have to be unique enough to be instantly memorable. A fine example tonight was a family made up entirely of dwarves. And by 'dwarves', I mean really little, little people. They were perfectly nice but, well, they were tiny. And the bit that made them really stand-out - ironically - was their little disabled cars.
Now, disabled people need disabled cars. They're those big, fuck-off things that weigh about a ton and go 'BEEP BEEP BEEP' in a really irritating way when they reverse. Little people need little disabled cars, that look like they weigh about the same as ten bags of sugar and probably squeak or some shit when going backwards. These cars were tiny. And they all had them. And, so, when they zipped up to the gates, asked a question, and then went away again, it was like a scene out of Super Mario Kart. I mean, I'm half-tempted to turn up at work tomorrow with a radio control and see if I can maneuver some of them around the park.
Okay, this isn't very PC, but fuck that shit. Some things are just funny. It's nobody's fault, and I'm not enough of a fucking bastard to openly mock people to their faces, but I challenge anybody with a reasonable sense of humour to not get some enjoyment out of little guys whizzing around on little cars. That's good shit. Not as funny as this, but not much is.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
Notebook found in a deserted holiday park.
Saturday 4 August 2007
This is a written account of a conversation that took place, almost to the letter, last week. I'd been working the lower bar alone, and had some hassle from a couple of 18-19 year olds, who in all likelihood were locals. I'd refused them entry, and they'd given me some lip, and a bit more when they drove off past the bar. However, when a couple of older lady owners came up and said one of the lads had tried to assault them, I felt it best to call it into the security lodge, and so I got on the radio.
"Yeah, lodge... I've just had two 18-19 year old lads, probably locals, trying to get into here. I refused them entry, they gave me some abuse, and I've now had two female owners come forward saying that they tried to assault them. They've just driven off in a silver Volkswagen, new, either a Polo or a Golf. Can you swing the cameras down by the back exit and see where they go? Thanks."
A few seconds silence.
"Yeah, ADJ... what colour was the car?
"Silver Volkswagen."
"Yeah... was it red?"
"Silver Volkswagen."
"Yes, but what colour was it?"
"SILVER Volkswagen."
"Oh, sorry... I didn't hear you say silver."
Minutes pass.
"Yeah, ADJ... a silver car has just driven out of the complex."
"Was it a Volkswagen?"
Beat.
"No."
posted by Sheamus @ 10:00 am
You're welcome.
Thursday 2 August 2007
One thing I've grown to appreciate is when punters say 'thank you' when they leave the premises.
They don't have to do this, and not all of them do. But a surprisingly large percentage oblige, and it's a good thing. It's not as if, in most cases, you've done anything directly. You probably haven't even said one word to them. They're thanking you for being there. For being a presence. They're thanking you for keeping an eye on them, even if they are less than one-thousandth of everybody else - they know you're watching. And if you're not really watching them you're probably watching the people who might be.
And they're thanking you for not being a cunt because, of course, many, many people are.
"Cheers, mate."
As I said, it's the little things.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:00 am
I'm the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy.
Wednesday 1 August 2007
The usual whinges tonight - after initially being stuck with the A-team of Bilbo and The Lodge, I switched with Edmonson and willingly spent half the night down the lower bar. Believe me, it was the lesser of two evils.
I came in earlier and was informed that there had been seven complaints about the door team made today. Seven. I couldn't fucking believe it, especially when I found out that a few of them had come from a pair of owners who have always gone out of their way to be friendly towards Jabba and myself. After digging a little, I discovered that all the complaints were about other members of the team (and even most of these were complete fabrications of the actual events, because I was fucking there for all of them.) Still, I'd have been none the wiser if I hadn't actually, you know, asked. Everybody else just blindly accepted it.
It comes to something when you work for a company that doesn't have a single person in management that you can actually trust. #1 is a sound guy, but he's fed me enough 'promises' over the past few months to make me realise that he's essentially (a) powerless and (b) incapable of looking you in the eye and admitting he fucked up, when he does. What do you do when nobody above you gives a flying fuck? You look for another job, that's what, which, yes, I'm still doing.
But what I've learned, perhaps slowly, is that everything feels a lot better when you employ the favour system. That is, somebody does something for me, I do something for them. Vice versa, and so on. Etc etc. Nothing major - I ain't talking about trading eight-balls for blow jobs. Just the little things.
Those fuckers add up.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am