I've been fairly lucky with jobs
At least I thought I had. But there was one. The summer before I started uni I worked in this country pub just outside the village where I lived.

It was run by this mental South African ex-military type and his chavvy partner. They weren't too bad. He had a tendency to motivate staff by bollocking you once a week for whatever reason presented itself, but you got used to it and he was fairly harmless. He also regularly challenged you to push-up competitions and had a worrying obsession with Rocky Horror. But I digress.

The main problem with the job was not the staff but the clientele. It was set up as a gastro pub so I was effectively a waiter rather than barstaff, and was paid accordingly (but without tips - cos it was a pub).

During the week it was usually fine but on Friday nights and the weekend the world and its sister would descend, with everyone wanting food. As it was set up as a pub you ordered food at the bar. Therefore if a mistake was made in the order it wouldn't be discovered until I brought the food to the table, and thus reflect badly on me.

The main barman was a Mackem. Nice bloke but thick as the proverbial. Mistakes of this nature were common particulary in busy periods. Most customers were pretty understanding but there was always the odd wanker/chav (we are talking Kent here) who'd cause a fuss and try and get something free out of you for the most innocent mistake.

Still I was happy enough, got a couple of free pints at the end of the night, and since I was only there for a couple of months didn't mind that I was earning a pittance.

That summer was the hottest one on record (2002). One day it was so bad that we had to close up as two of the chefs fainted. Patience was gradually wearing thin.

Things came to a head about 3 weeks before i was due to finish. It was Saturday night and a party of 8 came in, bit drunk, estate agent types with their partners. One bloke obviously trying to show off in front of his mates and gf was deliberately finding fault with everything, trying to get free drinks, free starters the whole shebang. It was boiling, I was stressed, sweating like a paedo in a primary school, and when hurrying to bring the mains I tripped on the step and accidentally flung his carbonara all over his lap.

He! Went! Mental!

I was apologising like crazy. My bar manager came over and tried to calm him down. He was threatening to sue me, the landlord, the chain. Even the people he was with were starting to look embarrassed.

Finally he paused for breath, looked me in the eye and said "You're a disgrace to your fahking profession".

To which I replied "Well you're a disgrace to your fucking species!" There was a stunned pause... "And your hair's shit too!" (I was on a roll).

I turned on my heel and stormed off. I then sat out back having a smoke and waited to see what would happen. Eventually the landlord and bar manager came out. I apologised and while they weren't angry they suggested it might be an idea if I didn't come in to work any more.

They then paid me for the next two weeks as in fairness I'd worked my arse off for them over the last few months.

This is longer than it was in my head. Oh well.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 23 May 2008, 11:33, 1 reply)

Good on ya
Fair play to you there I think. Who did the estate agent type think he was kidding? What bar/waiting type would be worried about being a disgrace to their profession?
(muzzvsworld, Sat 24 May 2008, 4:30, closed)