Working in a Familiarly Unfamiliar Place

Most of my working life has focused around the service industry. I started out as a cashier at a small town grocery store, followed by a long six years at Panera Bread and then another six years at Buffalo Wild Wings. Retail has never been my thing. I hate sales. I hate holiday shopping (unless I'm the one shopping of course!) I hate folding clothes. But serving? Serving I can do. Talking to people, running food, taking orders, laughing and complaining with coworkers, working in a fast-paced do-or-die setting. That is where I thrive. 

Of course my alternative passion is writing, which is probably obvious due to this silly blog I continue to work on. I knew I wanted to write when I was 9 year's old, journaling in my pink Jasmine journal that had a lock and key. And I've been blessed with the opportunity to work in this field, both in print and online. My last job in particular was a wonderful place and I was sad to leave it for Edinburgh. 

Since being across the pond, finding work has been tough. I only applied to editorial/communications work, but so far the outlook is bleak. Desperation set in and I walked around our neighborhood with my husband, begrudgingly turning in CVs to anyone that was hiring. This wasn't what I wanted to get back in to. Serving means late nights, weekends, chaos, no PTO, no holidays. That life was fine in college, but I'm 30 and wanting that beautiful Monday to Friday, 9-5 sort of thing. It's end game. 

And Then This Happened

So where do I find myself? In a restaurant of course. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, and I'll take what I can get. But the story is in how I got his job and what happened next. 

I turned in my CV to a bar last Wednesday. They were looking for a full-time person. Sure, why not. Didn't think about it again. The next day, I received a call fairly early in the morning, asking if I'd like to come in for an interview at 3:30 and possibly stay for a trial shift. I said okay, then immediately searched online to what a "trial shift" entails. I had never had a trial shift, and obviously never been apart of one in the U.K. But essentially you work a free shift and they see if they like you. But that was only a maybe; first I had to get through the interview. 

It's pretty to say the least

Because punctuality matters, and that my walk took less than five minutes, I arrived fairly early. We sat down right away and got into it. Yes, I've worked with alcohol before, yes I can handle chaos, yes I've worked for the Timberwolves (it's a conversation starter every time). He asked how old I was (apparently you get paid more when you're older) and asked if I'd be okay doing a trial shift. Seemed fine enough. 

He brought me behind the bar and started showing me the beers on tap, where the whisky was (hint: there's a lot of whisky), where all the glasses were and so forth. He also mentioned that it'd be busy because there was a sold-out show. The bar is right next to a theater where they have plays and musicals. While they aren't associated with the theater itself, they have a good connection and many theater-goers end up in our bar before the show starts. 

And then... he told me to take orders. Just like that. Talk about feeding you to the wolves! I tried to help my first customer, and to say that went well was an overstatement. I'm still working on hearing the Scottish accent clearly. I'm pretty sure I pick up one of every three words. Maybe more if the person is younger and the accent isn't as thick. I think the man had to ask for his drink four or five times before I understood he wanted something with a car. Turns out, there is a beer on tap called Carling. 

That was the other problem. I don't know these beers. They surprisingly have Blue Moon and then four taps of Guinness, but after that, I'm in the dark. Pravha? John Smith? Tennents? Peroni? My favorite, Innis and Gunn. It's a local beer and people like it. But when they ask for it, it sounds more like "innigun" and I'm not sure if they are asking for a beer or some sort of mixed drink that I have never heard of. Knowing what's on tap makes it easier. 

Once I can conquered that, then it was remembering where on earth the taps are. The bar is essentially circular, so there are four areas with four taps in each area. And then each beer has a special glass. To top it off (haha), the head of the beer is supposed to be only 5% of the drink. In America, you need at least a one-inch head on that beer to be poured right. 

They also have five ales on tap, but these taps are different. I can't explain it so I'll show it: 

This is essentially what we have, only the nozzle touches the bottom of the glass (credit: Palmer's Brewery)

I have to use my whole body to pull it down all three times. It's a crazy contraption! It's possibly called cask ales? Not even sure. But people like them and order them frequently.

Okay. So yes, I got past pouring beers. And I wont even go into detail about learning the whiskies. There's got to be 40 different kinds. Let's just say: I don't know them. And some of them have crazy names that I can't pronounce, let alone have someone say it in their Scottish accent. Good luck. 

Then... it's time for them to pay. 

I'm lucky in the sense that 100 pence equals one pound. That much I know. And notes (bills) are colorful and have the number on it. Coins? So many coins! Why someone would want one pound coins instead of notes I can't quite figure out. But I'm still learning the look of 50 pence, 20 pence, 10 pence and 5 pence. I've managed to memorize where each coin is in the drawer, but if someone hands me a bunch of coins because they don't know what they are either, we're both lost. I continuously turn them over and try to find the number on them. I'm sure I look like a fool. But nobody seems to think I've shorted them money, so I guess that's a win. 

Anyway, the night was crazy. People were all around the bar, at lest four or five deep. It was one drink after another. Customers would rattle 3,4 or 7 drinks at me and I'd stare at them like they were speaking in code. You wanted a what with a what? You wanted a shandy beer? A Carling topper? a JD Coke? HELP! 

My shift lasted five hours. It blew by and my head felt dizzy. They asked me to come back and close the next night — I guess that means I succeeded? 

I got home and Justin said he was about to come check and see if I was dead. He had no idea where I was. I told him the story and he laughed and shook his head at the insanity of it all. Believe me, it was a sight to see. 

Present Day 

Since that initial first day last Thursday, I've managed to close Friday, open Saturday and cover a half shift Sunday night. I've learned how to clean the taps, wash a million and one glasses, polish the counters, pour the correct drinks and work in a pure chaotic situation. I'm officially on staff (although apparently I don't get paid until my national insurance number comes in) and I have my first real schedule this week. The people are nice, the work is good when it's busy and it couldn't be closer to home. The wage isn't amazing and tipping isn't anything like the U.S. It's not nothing, but I won't ever leave with $100 in tips from a good night's work. 

I must wear all black now that I'm a night life bartender.  Maybe it hides all the spilled drinks

Will I stay? Sure, for now. I'll continue the process of applying to editorial jobs, but this will pay the bills and keep it interesting. 

I would have to say that I now feel like I really live here. No more vacation life, I'm in it. And it could be worse... I could be in retail. 

Always, 
A