crockery collection
I worked for a long time at the Nags Head in Glebe, Sydney. Most nights, at the end of my shift i used to fill a bowel with chocolate cake and ice cream, cover with tin foil and take it to my girlfriends house in Newtown. Sometimes i took a piece of cutlery as well, or a small plate...

Anyway when it came time to leave, and get a new job, my girlfriend took me into her kithen and showed me the collection.

It was truly magnificent.

The china wasn't fancy, it was plain white, but chunky and nicely shaped. My favorite piece was the Stainless steel ice cream scoop. My girlfreind liked the cake slicer thing..
(uptonogood, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 21:25, Reply)

"By the end of this semester, we will have to use the extinguisher at least once. Don't let it be because of you."
Thus were the words of my teaching chef when starting the "meats and main courses" section of my culinary school experience. I attempted to heed them well, because our teaching kitchen consisted of the equivalent of a walk-in closet packed with enough open flame, scalding oil, and heated metal to easily cause anyone's demise. It was a "teaching kitchen," after all, so they didn't even bother having it up to the building/health/safety codes for actual restaurant work.

Unfortunately, my class was the one that wound up having to use the fire extinguisher.

Fortunately, I wasn't the one who wound up setting the ceiling on fire.

Now as you may know, seafood in lemon-butter sauce is a classic dish. It is made by taking lemon juice, wine, and herbs and heating them in a sauce pan, before then adding in massive quantities of butter until the cholesterol is thick enough to cause the sauce itself to congeal into a thin paste of deliciousness. It is made this way because as any deep-fat fryer demonstrates, fats don't boil - they just keep on heating until they smoke, and then later on burst into flame. Water and anything with water IN it, however, does. So if you instead do the sauce-making process in reverse, like my fellow classmate decided to do...

Large amounts of grease go in the pan. Pan is heated on burner flame for a few minutes, before water-based liquids are added. Water instantly flash-boils, spraying superheated grease everywhere. Classmate screams, drops pan into burner flame. Large amounts of grease splash upwards, while burner flame spreads to it.

Result: One very impressive pillar of angry orange inferno reaching from the tabletop "porto-range" straight up to the corkboard drop ceiling (did I mention the room didn't fulfill kitchen building codes?), which looked for all intents and purposes like it should be asking for Charlton Heston in regards to some forgotten commandments. Quite large. Rather awe-inspiring. Very holy hell the room's on fire! Class was surprisingly short that day. Louder than usual, too.

I'm still in the same classes with these walking deathtraps, though. What can I say? Everyone who wants to be a chef is a latent pyromaniac. Scorches are still there, too.

At least we're leaving our mark on the school.
(Drakkenmaw, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 21:21, Reply)

I had a job...
yes, yes, I know that in itself is surprising. I worked in a cake/pie/bread shop that was a local chain and kind of like an upmarket Greggs, except it wasn't.

The kitchen was cramped and crap - and we were oft wounded by the sandwich toaster which inhabited the corner, turned black every day no matter how clean it was at the start, and burnt you if you went within two feet of it. Oh yeah, it was also pretty rancid cooking so many sandwiches each day.

The worst, however, was the freezer. Sometimes an excess of food would be ordered, and I wouldn't be able to put it in the freezer until the second round of pastry baking at 11am (I started at 7am, twunts never paid me enough for it) so you can guess what happened on hot days. I didn't care cos I was never going to eat the cheapo pasties as I am a veggie. Then, one fine day, it pissed down and a drainpipe above the (outdoor) freezer broke and poured water into the machine, which amazingly didn't break or shortcircuit but did result in a week's worth of pies being encased in ice - and those that were just about unscathed being cooked anyway, despite the soggy boxes. Blessing in disguise in my opinion cos for a few days I didn't have to do much cooking and happily turned away surly builders with a cheerful 'sorry - freezer's broken'

I hated the surly builders
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 21:05, Reply)

Codmouth
so KFC do veggie burgers?
( HelloIamAdam and Adam is my name, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 19:37, Reply)

McDonalds Hot Log
After a few pints one night I stopped by McD's for one of their new hot dogs they were doing at the time. I'd had one too many, so I was swearing at the staff, complaining of the speed of service and my belly was demanding to be fed.

At the top of my voice I shouted "If I don't get my dog within the next 20 seconds I'm going to drop my draws and place my plonker on the counter". It was at this moment I could sense some bad vibes coming my way from the staff.

My order came, I opened it up. Some wise guy had placed a turd in a bun (complete with ketchup, mustard and onions) instead of a dog. I was too shit faced to remember so I didn't complain, but I was pretty sure I hadn't ordered that.

I smelt it...ate it...enjoyed it. Yep, the shit was defnitely human, but wether it had came from the customer toilet or from a member of staff was open to debate, my only thought at the time was thank goodness I hadn't stood on it.

To be honest I couldn't tell the difference between it and the normal crap I get from there, still, in the following days I had great fun in playing 'McDonalds dump or Lt Columbo dump, only you can decide' everytime I went to make a chocolate eviction.
(Lt Columbo, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 19:20, Reply)

Mum's Gone To Iceland
I used to work in the Stratford Upon Avond branch of said shop (long since closed since the rebuilding of the Maybird retail estate) and remember one Christmas that the manager had way over-ordered on the turkeys meaning that it was impossible to move around in the giant freezer when they were in there. As a result said turkeys would spend about 8 hours a day slowly thawing outside of the freezer, only to be shoved (and occasionally kicked) back in at the end of the night.

Also, although orders would arrive early in the morning, frequently stuff like ice-cream would sit around for hours and hours and hours before getting put into the freezer if the shop floor was busy.

And while I'm selling them down the swanny, I believe the manager there tried killing himself a few times, although obviously not as effectively as the chap in the Stratford Upon Avon branch of Haagen-Daz who went in for some refridgerated auto-erotic asphyxiation and karked it, only to be discovered the next morning.
(DrDerekDoctors, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 18:05, Reply)

Hot Kebab Action
Upon arriving in Manchester, I secured a job at a local Turkish Restaurant (bottom of Princes Street - "Topkapi"). After two weeks of swilling rancid lamb fat down the drain, interspersed with chopping onions, I was invited to accompany Mehmet and Altan for an evening's drinking. We started out at the local pub, to be greeted by the landlord gesticulating wildly and saying words to the effect of "you're not coming in here, you fucking snide bastards". Fortunately, Mehmet knew of a more welcoming establishment...after several pints of pissy lager in Piccadilly 21s, Altan pointed at a blonde lass on the dancefloor and whispered "cowfoot, get me that girl". My half-hearted refusal was countered by Mehmet pulling up his shirt and displaying a 9" bowie knife. I managed to get to the bar, bought the blonde a drink and persuaded her to sit down next to my two colleagues. Then I left, and signed on the next day.
( wotofco pissing in your swimming pool, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 17:24, Reply)

I used to work as a kitchen-porter
in the only Ipswich restaurant listed in the Good Food guide. It was not the most fulfilling job in the world, but it was made much better by my colleagues, who (for the most part) were a great laugh. In the three years I worked there, there were several "interesting" characters who passed through our doors, including among others Matt R, the trainee chef who'd turn up, burn everything and bugger off home; Ronnie, the world's slowest potwasher, nicknamed "Ronnie the Rocket", "Red Hot Ronnie", "Ronnie Sizewell B*" etc.; and Wilf, the (alcoholic) Mancunian potwasher who'd spend half of his shift talking shit in an entertaining sort of way (eg. "'Ey Sam-man! Guess how many thongs were sold last year!" / "No idea" / "Fookin' six milyin! Tha'ss a lot of thongs, man! It's like fookin' two milyin more'n last year!" etc.) and the other half putting on a fantastic turn of speed and getting everything done in record time.

But probably the character I remember most was Steve, a lad who was only a year or two younger than me (I was 18 at the time) but looked about 30 and was built like a brick shithouse. He was a nice lad, and he wasn't actually handicapped or anything, but he was a bit slow and had a mental age of about 10. If he was doing the evening shift, he often had to go home at 9pm because his mother wouldn't let him out any later, which was just brilliant when service finished and the entire restaurant's washing-up wound up in your sink. He had some kind of skin condition, and his hands started peeling and flaking when he put them in water for long periods; this was not hindered by gloves at all, and led him to the conclusion that he was "allergic to water". Riiight. He would also go up to the main-course section when it was in full flow and say to Stewie or whoever was there, "Ooh, that pasta looks nice!" in a pointed, enthusiastic kind of way. "Ahh, ahh, I'm feeling a bit faint - have you got any chips??" he'd say, and when a bowl of chips was sent down our way, he'd be all "Brilliant! How much do you want for them??"**

The finest moment of all, though, was at the end of the last shift I worked with him. He was getting his bike from the yard and asked me to hold his bag for a moment. I took it and almost got my arm wrenched out of its socket, as the bag seemed to weigh about 40 pounds more than I expected it to.

"Fucking hell Steve, what have you got in there - bricks??" I quizzed.
"Yeah, I have actually!" he said enthusiastically.
"..."
At this point he opened up the bag and revealed an irregular pile of masonry.
"They were knocking down a wall on the other side of my street, so I got some of the bits and put them in here!"
"Why???"
"So's I can strengthen my back a bit!"
"..."

Mad as a hatter.

* like Roni Size, but (like the Sizewell B powerplant) old, crap and didn't work very well.
** We often got given fresh odds and sods (including chips) by the more generous chefs, and were not obliged to pay for them.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 14:12, Reply)

Damn my conscience!
I paid my dues by working in a restaurant in my formative years, however I was always too chickenshit to actually mess with the food, and to my knowledge none of my colleagues did either, no matter HOW much the customer made us want to decapitate them with a butter knife!

The closest I saw was by one of the barmen, an odd, but thoroughly nice bloke who seemed to have his pick of the ladies no matter how he behaved. Or maybe because of it.

There was a hen night in our upstairs section where I was serving, lots of alcoholised girlies screaming and giggling. They ordered a bottle of Champagne that our hero took upstairs and opened with a flourish. He proceeded to pour, and when he'd done he was standing in front of a table with 6 glasses of Champagne in flutes. What do you think he did?

He whipped out his cock with as much or a flourish as he'd poured the Champagne and promptly stuck his dick in each and every glass. Put it away, bowed, said "Enjoy", turned on his heels and went back to the bar.

They loved it... Go figure...

Length? Girth? He had them both!
(Woodgie is back, but for how long?, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 13:09, Reply)

four styx
Good on you, mate. :)

Not got any stories to post, unfortunately. If anyone's slipped anything into my food I didn't notice in the slightest...

Reading this lot I'm getting paranoid about eating anything not prepackaged and cooked myself!
( Bats, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 12:57, Reply)

There it goes...
I was working as a waiter in a hotel about 15 years ago. We were just down the road from the TV studios where kids Saturday morning show "Motormouth" was filmed so had the guests stay on the Friday night before.

The majority of them were as nice as anything but one guy was such a twat that he inspired me to my one & only incident of being unpleasant with the food.

Lee Mavers of The La's (one hit wonders - "There She Goes") came in with his band. He demanded garlic butter with his bread roll. I explained we didn't have any & he starts getting very irate & pointed out that the snails we were serving as a starter came in garlic butter. I told him they came frozen in the butter so I couldn't seperate the two.

He starts calling me all kinds of names & even threatened to meet me outside after work if I didn't give him this f***ing butter. So I got the chef to defrost a portion of snails & I ate the snails myself. Bring him the butter in a pot & he accuses me of deliberately melting the butter to piss him off.

So I went in the toilets before he got his main course, got a serious dollop of knob-cheese & smeared it all over his burger.

I watched him eat every mouthful.

'ave that, ya fucker!!!
( four styx, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 12:25, Reply)

indonesian food, amsterdam.
The first time I went to lovely Amsterdam, my friend and I decided to try one of the multitude of indonesian restaurants. We ordered a mixed plate, which had whole squid.
I love squid.
However, we noticed when they said 'whole', they meant 'WHOLE'. No gutting, cleaning, nowt. Just thrown, complete, into a deep fryer.
My friend dared me to eat one, so I did.
I vomited solidly for two days.

The second time, my fellow traveller decided he also wanted to try indonesian food. Nooooooo, says I, but finally conceded. I played it relatively safe, and as there were no vege options on the menu, went for cod in some sauce.
I projectile vomited across the canteen tables in the Stedelijk Museum. The staff brought me a huge bin to carry on in. They were nice.

My Dutch cousin later pointed out how you never see your actual Indonesians in those restaurants, because for some reason the Dutch have taken a cuisine they don't understand or know anything about cooking but push on selling it to themselves anyway.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 12:23, Reply)

I fell off my bike
on Tuesday and shattered every bone in both my wrists. Will have big surgical scars up wrists (I'll look like an emo listener).

Just thought you'd like to know.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Sat 22 Jul 2006, 10:28, Reply)

Mmmm....mayo
Back when I was a student living in an isolated hall where the food was notoriously crap, it was alleged that one of the abbatoirs that supplied the College had been shut down due to the discovery of abscesses in the meat.

Yum. Take a nice big bite and check out the 'special' sauce.

At the same college, one of the hairier 'live off nature's bounty' types regularly collected mussels to cook up a nice dish of moules mariniere.

I really should have pointed out that (a) the reason he kept finding pearls was because he was collecting them about 20 feet from a sewage outfall and pearls form around bits of shit that matey mussel can't squirt out;

(b) allegedly Hep C contamination had been found in the water locally which may allegedly be related to the local hospital allegedly chucking clinical waste down the wrong pipe. I really hope that one was an urban myth.

Don't eat a lot of shellfish myself...

And *almost* completely off topic but still involving a kitchen /food: going to Dubai with company. Get home the night before to discover that then GF (now Mrs) has been a little fluffy star and done all my laundry, ironing etc that I needed for the trip, all crisp and immaculate. And had hung it, crisp and immaculate, in the kitchen. Then she cooked a lovely 'ta for a few days' meal. Roast Pork.

So all my kit STINKS of dead pig, and I mean stinks. And I'm going to a Muslim country... I had visions of getting pulled at customs, sniffer dogs snapping at my knackers, as the idiot infidel gets a thorough beating for insulting the country.

Alright, a bit paranoid, but this was a few years ago, and my Dad had just got back from Saudi where they are a bit OTT. Got through there OK, and once at the hotel spent a good hour spraying my posessions with deodorant to try and disguise the porky aroma.

Once I get to the bar, reeking of eau de pig, what do I find? Pissed up Arabs. I am then informed that UAE is fairly relaxed. Arse.

There may have been a point in there somewhere...
(osok Rebel without a clue, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 10:23, Reply)

Human Hair, Part II
As a follow on, was in a curry-house in Amsterdam a few years back. Small, looked ok, so we went in. Ordered drinks and poppadums, then the mains. Whilst munching on the popps, I picked one up to find a huge whorl of grey and black hair, kind of what you'd expect to find in a gypsy's bath plug-hole. We freaked, royally, and the staff tried to fob us off by showing us the sealed popps package. We weren't having it and decided to leave. Then the head honcho comes out and starts stalling us, with no word of apology, all the while glancing towards the kitchen. We figured he was trying to stall us long enough to get the mains out, as they were already being cooked. Fuckin cheapskate. Paid for drinks and left.
(Codmouth, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 9:26, Reply)

Human Hair in food
Ok, ok, so I don't work in a food outlet, but had a scary experience in BK a coupla years back. Driving down to Bucks from Scotland, a colleague and I stopped at a service station near Lancaster. He wants KFC and I don't really do these places, but was fuckin starving, so opted for veggie burger, large fries, small shake. Nibbling away at the fries later, I saw what ws obviously a long, black pubic hair! I hadn't noised them up, so can't understand why I got it. Most unlike me, I didn't complain, cos I was so amazed at finding it.
(Codmouth, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 9:19, Reply)

Signature Dish
Whilst I, like many others no doubt, worked for that famous american company I will leave them to regale you will the tales of maggots crawling out the drain, how "it's OK we have a filter between the syrup tank and the dispenser that would have prevented anything getting into the soda" or what you did to the burger of some poor punter who dared ask for a "special order".

Instead I would like to propose a game.

Next time you are in that exotic holiday location where they serve the local delicacy along with a random piece of green for presentation...... sign that lettuce leaf and see how many times it comes back, or for the more adventurous put a telephone number and see who you meet.
(Copraphag, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 6:22, Reply)

Supermarkets
many a friend works in a large supermarket that rhymes with Horrisons (yes yes) as stated fruit and veg are awful there, some of its days/weeks old but covered in preservatives, the hot chickens on sale are foul. From having a family member work for the dept. of agriculture and food, i can tell you that Wrights Pies arnt all that they say they are
((((InfraSound))) SUNN0))) > YOU!, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 6:05, Reply)

a (sort of) OT handy hint
not directly related but someone mentioned about getting the best fruit and so I thought I'd help out my fellow browsers with a tip...

A friend of mine told me that he worked in an egg packing factory and every single brand of eggs come from exactly the same batch of chickens. So he was boxing up Asda Smartprice egg boxes next to M&S egg boxes and they were exactly the same eggs going in.

the ONLY eggs that are different are the free range eggs because obviously it would be against the law... but the moral of the story is...

BUY CHEAP EGGS!!!!!
(bitchman contains mild peril, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 2:30, Reply)

My job in a coffee shop
I used to work in a Costa coffee...

The shop was basically just smelly and dirty. Our manager was such a tight fisted bint that she would sell the expired cakes and pastries just so her waste levels weren't too high.

The place was in the center of town so we constantly had druggies going downstairs to use the toilets. At the end of the night we were expected to clean up roach heads and burnt tin foil from the toilet cubicles...

and if you ever thought that women were innocent creatures with poo that smells like flowers... forget it! The nasty shit they used to leave in the women's toilet will scar me for life

The problem with the shop was that everything was served in front of the customer which made sabotaging cunt's drinks quite difficult. Thankfully you could get around this by walking into the back to 'get a clean cup'. A quick rummage in your boxers and a smear around the rim of the cup and you're all set :)

The other thing to do was that there was always a dishcloth around to wipe up the spilt coffe on the counters, so if some guy really annoyed you you could quickly wring out the dirty dishcloth into his drink while you had your back turned to pour it. The taste of coffee disguises anything so it wasn't difficult to do.

That said sometimes we did some fun things at work... I used to take my amplifier and portable CD player and jack into the sound system that played an endless loop of easy listening pap. We got to listen to the delights of post hardcore while we worked, much to the dismay of the customers.

The shop makes this crushed ice drink mixed with syrup, so we experimented with mixing in anything in the blender we could get our hands on to try and create the perfect drink. The best one we made was a chocolate muffin ice drink... the worst one was the tea flavoured one :S The thing was we blended up so many solid objects we kept breaking the blenders. When the shop got onto it's third blender in so many months they started to get suspicious
(bitchman contains mild peril, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 1:51, Reply)

Kitchens are funny...
but to be fair, they are dirty, horrible places. I currently work in the kithens of a local pub as a chef (which is laughable in itself) and the stuff that happens to that food before it goes through them doors is horrible.

Everything is generally pretty dirty where it's been used for something else but thought to be clean enough in an "it'll do" type way, because usually its easier to pick up the dirty tongs to throw the food at the nearest plate than wander around with a hot tray in your hand and burning the ends of all your fingers! I used to work in another kitchen which was in the midlle of nowhere and that was much like the afore mentioned "vice dens" whith the head chef taking god knows what and doing god knows who in the cellar!

In every kitchen i have worked in there is a universal rule, the "if it doesn't bounce more than twice its safe to go on the plate" rule, although 90% of the time if it bounces more than twice, it still goes on the plate! (It's easier than cooking another!)

All in all though, its usually fun working in the kitchen. The general public don't get to see what you're doing, so messing around is very common, within reason. I once had a fish head thrown at me in jest, but the chef didn't realise i had a knife in my hand (even though i was chopping carrots) and when he shouted "THINK FAST" i swung round and sliced the fish head clean in half, with half landing in the bin and the other half in the sink.

It's a dirty job but someone has to do it (even if it is only temporary!)
(YouSmellLikeBroccoli and not the good kind, Sat 22 Jul 2006, 0:15, Reply)

Fruit 'n Veg
Folks - always buy your fruit and veg from the corner shop.

Why? Because I worked for a Fruit and Vegetable wholesaler for a couple of summers during college.

The best stuff goes to corner shops because they drive the hardest bargains and can always switch wholesalers.

The next best stuff goes to hospitals, works canteens, small cafes etc..

The very worst, most rancid stuff you can imagine goes to supermarkets and hotels.

Example one - one of our vans broke down during a very hot summer. Two weeks later when we got it going again we realised that someone had left a crate of plums in the back which had been scoffed by wasps. It's quite possible to smooth the skins of plums over to conceal insect damage. They went to the local Asda.

Example two - the top chef of one of the Lake Districts finest hotels rang one morning twittering that he was a punnet of strawberries short. I personally delivered his missing punnet, made up of strawberries we'd found lying about on the loading dock in various crushed states.

I could go on. Don't EVER wonder about what happens to bananas between the South American jungle and your fruit bowl....
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 23:56, Reply)

Ick ick
Never will I eat in a KFC after I put in three years in the hellhole.
We had a right fat bastard that worked in the kitchen. Sweat used to literally piss out of him so he had this grotty towel which he hung on the kitchen door handle. URGH!
Don't eat the gravy! (as pointed out by somebody else) It's made with the shit that is scraped from the filters of the fryer each night!
I did some terrible things to the food of Steven Gerrard who used to come in as a 17 year old no-mark flashing his money around. Fillet burgers 'accidentally' stood on, cheese wiped in all the sink scut and chicken guts. Don't piss off a minimum wage monkey!

Also...if a bloke ever hears the cashier shout to the back "Cheese on Till 1" and you're standing at said till...she thinks you're a bit fit and is shouting the female kitchen staff to perv at you through the hot cabinet!!
(thingymebobs, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 21:55, Reply)

heartspark
Nope.

www.snopes.com/horrors/food/mcdshake.htm
(snopesthetruth, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 21:18, Reply)

Pretty sure this is an urban myth but
I heard about a chef who worked in a local restaurant who was banging one of the waitresses. One of his sex favourites was to smear whatever foodstuffs was to hand on her ladybits before giving her head, therefore literally "eating her out".

All was well until the day he used tuna mayo.

Unfortunately, some of it remained lodged deep inside her love tunnel which after some time became so rancid that maggots hatched inside her.

Lovely
(Hoopla, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 21:08, Reply)

Quite a few moons ago
I worked for a large supermarket firm which had an instore bakery.

The dough was prepared by the bakery staff in advance, and little rolls and loaves were left on trays in the back up chillers until they were needed.

Out of sight of the cameras, these squidgy little parcels made great playthings for us bored students.

Cricket, tennis, football, you name it they were used for it.

We also used to "knead" special fillings into the dough balls.

DO NOT BUY anything from Morrisons that claims to have bits of onion in it, I can guarantee, it 'snot.
( Scary Mary The D'oh Fairy, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 20:49, Reply)

I worked for a summer in East Midland's Airport restaurant
One of my jobs was to scrape the stale cream off trifles every morning, and re-cream them.
Some trifles had been re-creamed 10 times or so.

I became known as 'the professor' because I changed a fuse.

Every Wednesday everyone from the restaurant would jump in the company van and take it in turns to do handbrake turns for the afternoon at the rubbish dump. Every morning we would spend 1/2 hour phoning in to the airport to page 'Mr Igotacoff' etc.

The chef was a violent bully, but I gained his respect when I put detergent in his coffee, which almost killed him.

Another kitchen assistant threatened to kill me with a knife for looking at him funny.

Ahh, fond memories.
( MartinH, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 20:48, Reply)

Most of my memories of bar/nightclub work can be covered under the
"what happens in the club, stays in the club" mafia stylee thing... but.. some of them I shall mention anyway ;-)

One place I worked in, I would be in early (as i usually had some programming to do on the lighting and video computers) and walking in the back doors, I used to wonder why I never actually saw any empty smirnoff bottles in the bottle skips in the back yards.... plenty of the cheap stuff though... strange, as they had rows of smirnoff vodka bottles and optics behind the bars...

yup you guessed right... they were decanting the cheap vodka into the smirnoff bottles. and quite openly as well... the bars had a high turnaround of staff, quite a few leaving under a cloud (caught drinking/fiddling etc) so why none of them ever reported them for doing it was beyond me.. oh.. hang on.. i rememember now, the door staff were all from south armagh. ;-)

One night we had 3 new girls start as glass lifters/cleaners and usually these girls were aged around 16 or so, doing part time work to earn a few quid in the summer before heading off to Uni, and one of them took a shine to the head barman (who was 48)
they were caught shagging out the back by the chef, who just happended to be the girls uncle, and who mentioned the fact that she had lied about her age to get the job, and she was in fact 14.
the look on the bar managers face was a picture... and for some reason neither of them came back to work.

more later....... :-)
( TBL I posted this on, Fri 21 Jul 2006, 19:28, Reply)