A Pint of Sick, Please!
A few years ago I had the pleasure of attending a University in the rolling countryside of West Yorkshire. While I was there, I had the pleasure of living in the UKs smallest city – Wakefield.

The three years of University had come and gone, and the newly lettered DiT had an option. Move back to London, or stay up here for a little while longer to be with the woman who (at the time, anyway) I loved.

As with many things, Love won the day. I rented a house, and got myself a job in one of Wakefield’s premier drinking establishments. It was on the bullring, and its name was ‘Juice’. And God, I hated it there. Such a meat market you never did see. A small building crammed between a sports shop and a bank, part of the Westgate run, and on a Friday night you could barely move for Neanderthal idiots sinking pint after pint of Wifebeater and girls advertising their sexual availability by wearing the smallest clothes imaginable, bearing acres of pink, blotchy flesh and drinking blue WKD like it was going out of fashion.

In short, it was horror. The owners decided that it would be a good idea to spread the carnage over two floors, and opened a nightclub in the basement. I never worked down there, even though it came under my area of responsibility, after I threw a guy out for taking coke off the bar. The owner told me that he was a ‘good customer’ who ‘kept people happy’, and I was forced to apologise.

A week later, then, and it was the Friday night late show. I had closed up the normal bar, and sat having a couple of quiet beers. All of a sudden, in a flash of hotpants and bikini top, one of the Tequila girls (I did mention this was a classy joint, didn’t I?) came in to the bar.

“Quick, DiT!” she cried “Someone’s been ill!”

Shit. Happy Friday, mate. I walked downstairs, to find a very sheepish guy sat in the corner. In front of him sat a pint glass that was full to the brim with vomit. In that moment, I was gruesomely impressed – he had not got any sick on himself, the table, or the surrounding furniture.

“What’s happened here?” I said.

“I’ve been sick,” spake he “and that lot won’t clear it up.” He waved a hand at the several barmaids who worked in the club.

And suddenly, I remembered who I was talking to – it was the cokehead who I’d thrown out a week before.

“Well, it’s not their job, is it? Why don’t you pick up that glass and get rid of it?”

He eyeballed me, and picked up the glass. In that moment, all of his defiance was gone, and he turned green again as he crossed to the sink behind the bar, dumping his vomit in to it. He tried to rinse it away, but the chunks of his sick blocked the plug hole.

I was beginning to enjoy this.

“You’re going to have to unblock that.”

“What? No way! That’s fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Listen. You were sick. You threw it in the sink, which is now blocked. You clean it.”
Dejectedly, he gingerly poked a couple of chunks around in the slop that now filled the sink. “Can’t do it.” He muttered “It’s gross.”

I handed him two bin bags. “Here,” I said “put these on and get stuck in.”

He was nearly crying as he gloved up with the bags, pressing his hands in to the cold, sicky mess he’d created, pulling out the lumps and transferring them to a bucket. He cast me looks that begged for me to just throw him out, but he was, to coin a phrase, shit out of luck.

A few minutes later, he was finished. I grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt, marched him up the stairs, and dropped him on the pavement.

“And don’t,” I said “come back.”



EPILOGUE: The next day, I resigned my position, and went to work the bar at a lovely restaurant called ‘The Three Acres’ in Shelley. If you ever find yourself up that way, have a go. It’ll be a treat.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:23, 8 replies)

I read the title
in Eddie Izzard's voice.

*click*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:29, closed)

Cleaning sick is never fun!
I had to clean out a blocked sink in the ladies in yatess, (I worked there...I don't just go around cleaning up sick for fun) a few times.
The most memorable being when someone who I can only assume was a very classy lady indeed decided to drink several vodka rudbulls and spew up her chicken kebab all over the place.
The smell was so bad it made me sick aswell which meant I then had to clear up a double whammy of half-digested delight whilst sweating slighty and convulsing.

I no longer drink redbull.
( wanderlust, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:33, closed)

*click* Like it
Do you know, I've been in Leeds for three and a half years now and I've never ventured to Wakey. Sounds like I haven't been missing much.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:39, closed)

Similar bar sicks
I'd a weasely looking guy come to the bar and ask for a cloth. Thinking some one has spilled I happily hand over some blue roll. He comes back about 5 mins later "do you have a bag, a bin bag to put the cloth in?". There wasn't that much cloth, put it in the normal bin I say. He gets very insistent that a bin bag is required. Okay, I'm going to have to see what's happened. At this point he forcibly stops me from leaving the bar. Quick push past, go to his table on the mezzanine and find a girl lying on the floor in a pool of sick. Both out on their ear.

Last person sick in our bar was the newly appointed Assistant Manager he lasted 4 hours in that job.

Idiots. I too jacked it in but it was only a P/T deal, an aside to this office job.
(cannonfodder fodder for cannons on, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:41, closed)

Why
did I have to read that as I was eating my lunch?
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 5 Sep 2008, 12:19, closed)

Mmmmmm
Sick :0=

Pedant note, St David's in Pembrokeshire is the UK's smallest city ;)
(Speshal, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 2:02, closed)

...Wakefield
I worked in the chav breeding ground known as quest. i lasted 3 days.

Rule #1 that they told me was; "it doesn't matter how drunk they are, if they can still pay then serve them.
( Snorty McBumhole YouTube.com/MinistryOfGeeks, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 2:32, closed)

Wakefield...
It's a rubbish place, but I still love it. There are a few nice pubs dotted about, definitely worth at least one visit. Plenty of the bars are indeed wretched hives of scum and villainy, but PARADISE compared to Ponty or Cas.
(slotbadger, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 16:56, closed)