If I could throw your drink in your face, I fucking would.
So let me get one thing straight, I can’t tell you where I
work or I could very well lose the job I so clearly love. What I will say, is I
work for a bar that’s country-wide, starts with a W and ends with Brexit. The
point is, everything I’m about to say is experienced first-hand, unlike my
previous two posts. The fact that I know how to even set up a blog should be
all the evidence you need that I wasn’t around when the IRA were initially a
threat, and I heavily implied in my transphobia post that I’m not trans. I do,
however, get paid minimum wage to serve the moronic 60% of the nation while
they continue to treat me and my colleagues like shit on their sling glasses.
I don’t like whining, and this isn’t what this is. I’m going
to get the moaning out of the way right now so that I can help you. Industry
secrets and all that, I may not be old enough to have people phone the
anti-terrorism hotline when I order a pint of Guinness, but I have spent a good
few years on the wrong side of a bar. First of all, I don’t care what you
order, I don’t get paid extra either way (which for those in the know means I
definitely don’t work at the aforementioned UKIP hangout hotspot), so
overcharging, underpouring, whatever else, it’s not resulting in me getting
extra dollar at the end of my shift, or getting a nice little pat on the back
from the bossman. The only thing that would happen to me if I got caught doing
that is a quick firing and a guarantee I would never work in the easiest
industry to access ever again, and as a thick piece of shit with no life
skills, being blacklisted from bar work would spell the end of my bank
statement not having a big old ‘-‘ at the start of it.
Adding to this. You’re drunk. I’m not. In most bars I’ve
worked at. I know the drinks. You don’t. In most bars I’ve worked at. I know
the prices- look, you get the idea here; my judgement is usually right, yours
is almost always wrong. Fortunately for me, my current position doesn’t involve
giving stupid people nice things, I get to sit in a neat little room with my
only friend as a dishwasher I’ve nicknamed Daisy.
Okay, so let’s kick into the solid advice, that’ll
definitely get a real publisher to hire me. I’m about to give you some solid
does and don’ts for coming into a bar, ordering a drink, and leaving without
making me want to drown myself in my only friend. I’ll start with the thing
that angers me the most, especially at the minute. You don’t need the ice in
the bottom of your glass, I know times are hard guys, but really? If I’m trying
to collect the glasses off your table and you scream at me because there might
still be enough liquid in there to give a flea a bath (if you try really hard),
you’ve ruined my day and I think you’re a twat. As do the people who overhear
you. I don’t think anyone finds being a dick to service staff attractive, short
of actual fascists.
But this does bring me onto my first non-personal point. If
a member of staff makes a mistake, and we do, we’re not perfect (well, I am,
I’ve never fucked up in my life), address it calmly and with smiles all around.
If someone serving you seems annoyed with this, it’s potentially two reasons.
Reason one) they are pissed off that they’ve made a mistake. We’re busy. A cock
up wastes your time, our time, and potentially company money, which leaves us
in trouble. We aren’t angry at you, we’re angry at ourselves. Reason two) we
haven’t made a mistake and you need to be drinking from a sippy cup, see my
original point about my judgement being better than yours. If you’re going to
complain about the amount of ice in your mojito, I’d rather you either looked
up what you’d just ordered or didn’t breathe the same air as me.
The next thing is trying to get served at a busy bar. You’ll
struggle to find anywhere that isn’t understaffed to high hell, if there’s even
a single row of people at the bar, odds are, we don’t have the staff to clear
them quickly, especially when you’re ordering a mixture of cocktails and hot
drinks. Do you really need that hot chocolate at 10pm on a Saturday night? Or
are you so sadistic that the hand you’re not paying with is stroking your dick
through those Primark trousers you’re passing off as suit pants? Either way,
stand, wait, make eye contact, and smile. Don’t click, whistle, wave me down
with a bank note (I’m no stripper, bitch) or repeatedly ask “are you serving?”
while I have a pint glass in my hand, pouring a drink. I will look at you like
Medusa trying to craft a squid dildo. Honestly, aggressively trying to get my
attention will just put you to the back of the queue in my mind. I can’t keep
track of who was there before or after you, I don’t really care, but I also don’t
really want to deal with pricks, so if there’s someone next to you waiting
nicely, they’ll get served before you.
Guaranteed.
Finally, some of us aren’t trained. Some of us are still
basically kids. Let’s get personal again. I’m not physically gifted, I have a
crippling addiction to nicotine, and my mental and emotional health died of
malnutrition well before I stepped foot behind a bar. I’ve learned to deal, but
the amount of staff I’ve seen walk because they can’t cope with the constant
stream of bullshit that they have to deal with is far too high. I’ve had close
friends cry on my shoulder because one person too many treated them like shit
on shift, and all you’re doing is creating a staff vs customer mindset that
doesn’t need to exist. We’re still human, with our own personal problems. What
we can brush off one week, we can’t brush off the next. Just recently a very
personal problem led to me having a full-on cry and breakdown and asking to be
sent home, just because I broke a pint glass.
I’ve always been a
fan of the ‘be more kind’ mentality, and if everyone was, we’d all, well, be
more kind. You know what career has the highest rate of suicide? Service staff,
I’m not shitting you. You know what age/gender demographic has the highest rate
of suicide? Of course you do, you’ve been on social media and seen people
bitching about it, but there’s a very, very high overlap. Men aged between
18-35 probably make up the bulk of the service industry by a good amount, and I
ain’t forgetting my girlies here either, love you guys.
I’m gonna go back to whining again. Do you really have to be
a dick? Is your Saturday night truly made so much better by making some poor
kid feel like shit for something that probably wasn’t even his fault? Sometimes
we are wrong, sometimes we could do better, but we would want to do better if
it felt like that was achieving something. All we want, at the end of the day,
is to do our job, get paid, and go home. Same as you. So next time you head off
for a pint, or some post-races cocktails, remember that by biting your tongue
and being a decent human being, you’re probably preventing someone from having
just, the WORST day.
Oh, and remember to tip. If you can.
Don't worry, a post on this whole Brexit bullshit is coming, very soon.
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