Friday, July 18, 2008

The Full Moon OR How I earnt $10 of Hatred

I’m posting in my blog at 4am to tell all of you out there in blog-land about my worst shift at work ever.
As interesting as my workplace is, I don’t like posting about it too much. I’m sure everybody’s sick to death of reading about work rants in blogs as it is anyway. Anyway, I usually have a good time at work. Some day, I plan on writing a book about my misadventures, the history and culture that goes on at the pub I work at because it truly is fascinating. But that won’t be until I have well and truly stopped working there and when I figure out how to publish the most interesting bits without getting sued or arrested.

Anyway. The worst shift at work ever. I figure that posting about this and cracking a few jokes would be much better catharsis than bursting into tears and wailing “I JUST HAD THE WORST NIGHT EVER” to Dan (who is asleep).

My manager, Nathan, mentioned that it was the full moon and people had been a bit weird lately. He wasn’t wrong. The night started off consistently busy – enough to be constantly serving, but not so insanely busy that my head would explode. However, I always take this as a sign that it will just get busier and I’ll end up being completely exhausted quickly.

I was right. It got progressively more insane as the glasses piled up and I bounced back and forth between the bar, the bottleshop and the gambling facilities. Damn understaffed-ness.

At around nine or so, we got a group of drunk men. Fantastic. After they downed some shots of Drambuie – which is a very disappointing way to drink a liquor that should be savoured – they proceeded to piss me off by stealing a beer. I had began to pour the drink then realised the keg needed to be changed. When I came back, Drunk Dude #1 was holding it and saying that he had no idea where it went.
I like to think that I have a lot of patience. But who needs patience when you have a security guard?
“Can I have rum and coke?” asked Drunk Dude #2.
“Hell no, I’m kicking you out,” I said, as I brought the security guard over to them.
“I hope you feel proud,” slurred Drunk Dude #3 self-righteously.
“I hope you do too!” I replied as he was manhandled out the door.

A co-worker of mine, who wasn’t on shift that night, brought her ex-boyfriend and his friend over for a drink. Said co-worker of mine is lovely. Her ex-boyfriend, however, needs to die a slow and painful death.
He whistled to get my attention. After I jokingly told him that he’d mistaken me for a puppy, he said, “Puppies don’t respond when you whistle. But dogs do.” His friend high-fived him. I fantasised about punching them both in the face. I don’t even care if my co-worker reads this. Actually, I hope she does. Dude, he’s a douche and has a bad moustache. Stop hanging around with him. And by “stop hanging around with him”, I mean disembowel him.

Yep, my patience was not only gone, but it had hopped on a spaceship headed straight towards the sun, never to return again.

“Can I have a Jack Daniels and Coke?” asked Burly Dude.
“Sure,” said I, and poured it.
A millilitre of Jack Daniels splashed out of the glass as I poured it. “Look, you spilt it!” said Burly Dude. “Could you give me a bit more?”
“Um, no,” I said. “But you can pay me $6 for that.”
When he did this the third time, as though sincerely believing that I would give this extremely rude man more liquor, my response was different: “Shut the fuck up and pay for your goddamn drink.”

The co-worker who was rostered on with me tonight was complaining about a fellow who was very rudely yelling “GIVE ME SHOTS” at her while she was hurriedly serving other people. To relieve her, I went over to give this man his shots. “Hey babe!” he screeched after I handed him his change. “You gave me the wrong change.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, giving him the right money. “By the way, if you call me babe again, I will break your spine.

It was 1am and everybody was pissed. “Be careful about intoxication,” warned my manager.
A group of rowdy men wandered up to the bar and took about 10 minutes to slur that they wanted a beer. “You’re all cut off!” I said diplomatically.
I actually said the professional thing, which was, “Because you’ve had too much to drink. But you can have a glass of water.”
“Oh! Okay,” said one.
Apparently, one of the men in the group was quite offended and decided to accost me as I was stacking up chairs at the end of the night.
“I’m talking to you!” he snapped at me suddenly.
“I said hello.”
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”
The irony of this is that out of all the people I swore at tonight, I didn’t actually swear at him.
“I didn’t hear you. God!”
Hell, this dude was beyond wasted, and having fun with wasted people is hilarious. “My mighty heart is breaking!” I cried, swooning dramatically.
“YEAH… WELL… IT BETTER BE!” He dug into his pocket and retrieved the ten dollar note. “HERE, HAVE THE TEN DOLLARS, BUT YOU HAVE A FUCKING ATTITUDE-“
“Woohoo!” I grabbed the note from his hand and skipped over to the bar, leaving the security guard to deal with him.

I’m not sure what to do with the ten dollars. It is the ten dollar note of pure hatred. I feel like whatever I buy with it will bring me bad luck, or that I only have to buy something diabolically evil with it. All I know is that some drunk guy yelled at me, then gave me money. Amazing.

Before you think either, “Wow, she sure KICKED SOME ASS!” or “What a self-righteous bitch!”, I must say that I’m not proud of how I responded to those people tonight. I have a short temper that really should have no place in the hospitality industry and really need to deal with things like that more calmly and in a more mature fashion (ie. Not provoking drunk people).

And it’s not always that bad at work. In fact, I mainly enjoy going to work because I’ve become friendly with the regulars, most people are generally sociable and fun after a few drinks, and I usually get to see cool bands. It's usually a fun place full of love, dancing and giggling over beer.
But tonight was different. It was the worst it had ever been.
And it was all because of the full moon.


Peter Taggart said...

I think you should frame that $10 note. I am deeply superstitious though.
And I am impressed that you actually told customers to fuck off. I tell people I tell customers to go fuck themselves, but it never quite works out that way, no matter how bad I am abused. Then again the only awful thing that has happened to me at work recently was when an eighty-something pensioner called me "fucking slow" because I wouldnt walk 4km to deliver her a missing TV guide.
"how can I watch my stories when I dont have my guide?????"
how indeed?

Anonymous said...

There was a police officer who went through my justice tutorial at Uni with me. He used to reckon that the full moon made people crazy too. He used to have to deal with really bizarre things whenever it was hangin' up in the sky.

Katey said...

As an ex aged care worker in dementia, I can vouch for everyone being a spazzo on a full moon.
Happens aallll the time.

Jaz said...

Lmao as an abi/mh/aged care nurse I agree with Katey, full moons do indeed make people spazzy - sucks for people like me who tend to work on them =P

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