Sacked

20 April 2011

West London

I finish my night shift, this one feeling like the longest and most arduous of all. I’m told to come downstairs and then told straight up that I’ve got to be let go.

Surprising? Not at all. Was BBC news broadcasting this evening? Yeah, about that much surprise.

I grab my things for the last time, shake hands and smile as usual, and get on the final tube of the day. This journey feels much more relaxing than any before it, because my only responsibility is now, back to actually enjoying myself overseas, rather than pissing time away in a traditional English pub pouring pint after pint with that perfect amount of head. At least, I can enjoy myself overseas just for a little while, then I may get back to work in somewhere more ‘trendy’. Had to start somewhere.

Thinking about it now, I’ve barely recounted anything of the 104.5 hours I spent in the pub. Why? I’ve barely had a moment between working and commuting from the North-most reaches of London.

There were lots of interesting people, if that’s the right word for it. What can I say about them here? Here’s some:

The African guy who always asked for “a ping of cold Guiness, please”. We both knew who each other were when I had a chance to talk to him. “Yessss, don’t worry about names. We know who we are.”. He has the typical friendly African nature; the nicest nature I can think of.

The builder who was a complete cockney and couldn’t help but to call me a promiscuous female’s genitalia whilst hitting his glass of a perfectly poured Stella Artois on the table accusing it of bad quality. This complain would come every two days.

The 18 year old who met this builder, thinking he was God’s gift. For those two, it would have been like looking through a time separated mirror. Never seen so primitive, yet so similarly natured people!

The Germans who tipped so greatly. One trio tipped Ł2 as it was their last night in London. Another duo tipped at least Ł3 because it was their last in London.

The Irishmen who complimented me on several different accounts on my serving of “a perfectly poured pint of Guiness”. Now that’s something.

The nine or ten blonde Danes who were unsuccessfully chatted up by my Greek colleague.

Speaking of colleagues: The over 50 year old Scottish man with long red hair, who owned a night club and occassionally DJed there, yet worked as a bartender in a pub, five days a week. No sense.

The Irishman and French woman who invited me over to their table for a glass of their Ł46 bottle of red wine. In a moment of ignorance and utter boredom, I accepted and talked about trains, sailing and demographics (swapping statistics). Almost lost my job, but I didn’t care because I finally found a use for some of that weird info in my brain, and I got a break from the wasteland that is a very quiet pub in the early afternoons.

There were more. They were all different. Doing what I was doing just isn’t what I should have been doing in Europe. I feel I could have been anywhere in the world; I really could do the same back in Australia and earn at least twice as much. It wasn’t like I could save any more money than I did before my trip than I had done… thanks HSC.

Perhaps I could just travel from now on. No more work until 2012.

What a thought!

Going back down to Bournemouth to think things over.

Copyright 2010-2020 Oliver Lowe. All rights reserved.