Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Undergraduate University Students

Gone are the heady days of political protest, revolutionary rousing and experimental intoxicants in our universities. What was once a breeding ground for cutting edge ideas, social change and pioneer thinking has now been dulled to accommodate the breeding of tiresome uniformed fashion victims with a thirst for nothing but pop culture, being force fed tired old texts whilst digging themselves or Mummy and Daddy deeper into debt.

I speak totally out of turn here as I have never been to university myself. Having been in the music industry since the age of 18 it was more who-you-know than what-you-know, and I happened to fall into the right crowd. However I have been a door girl for all those years (10+ and counting – my, where does the time go…) and have been both shocked and appalled by the psyche of uni students today.

I know they’re coming before they’ve even entered the venue. It only takes one look at the sufficiently scruffy-but-styled, skinny-jeaned, lairy-shirt clad band to alert me that the undergrads are coming. And then they come full force, like an army of children dressed in old ladies clothes and 80’s knock-backs, donning fashion that screams ‘we don’t care!’ but parading around in it like a bunch of supermodels at a high-end houte-couture crack party.

Once they have been sufficiently seen and heard they make their way to me with a look of contempt and disgust.

‘Do we really have to pay?’

‘My boyfriend/brother/Mother/dog is in the band! I shouldn’t have to pay!’

‘Is there a student discount?’

‘Do we get a free drink?’

These the incessant questions of the post-pubescent waves of the future that haven’t tried to sneak their way past me without paying earning immediate expulsion from the show. Once informed there is no discount, no guests, they in fact do have to pay and it might be considered a nice thing to do to support a fellow student in their artistic endeavour, they then proceed to pay me in nothing more than silver coins and take ten years to do so. Once inside they buy one drink, sit on it for the night and ensure they there are again appropriately seen and heard, often taking no notice of the band whatsoever.

Though this demographical study is scathing and heartless at best, I admit that it is not all their fault. For years generation after generation of high school leavers have been forced into undecided and overpriced tertiary education which neither they nor their parents can afford. It’s not surprising that somewhere down the line they’ve all just given up, spat the dummy, stumbled their way through arts or communication degrees and thrown it back in our face.

Tales of an Australian Bar Maid: Creature Chameleons

THE DOOR BITCH

Of all the staff in all the venues all over the world there’s one person you don’t mess with, and that’s the Door Bitch. She has the power to turf you out at the drop of a hat, ticket or not, so you’d best be nice to her my friends!

Being the first point of contact upon entry all she has to do is take your ticket or your money and give you a stamp right? Wrong. Not only does she do that, but she deals with the lazy people who’ve yet to collect their tickets and then hold up the queue as they’ve forgotten their booking information, their ID, their credit card, their name and everything that proves they’re indeed who they say they are. And upon being told their word is simply not good enough they act astounded at the fact you don’t simply just trust them and let them in. All it takes is some basic manners and a little organisation on the punters part and you’re in the door, but you’d be surprised how hard those two things can be to some people.

And then of course there’s the VIP or guest list. A list of people so important they give anyone from the Dalai Lama to Barack Obama a run for their money. They can be musicians’ friends or relatives, fellow musos, record company goons, media moguls, cringeworthy critics or competition winners. But no matter who they are they’re all of the mind they are above it all as they are ‘on the list’. As many tickets as the nobodies like to put on themselves (excuse the pun), to a Door Bitch they’re the same as everyone else, if not all the more painful and way more fun to annoy.

And heaven forbid they’re not on the list! Organising and tour managing a show is a complete nightmare in itself without a bunch of tail-riding free loaders wanting to blag their way in gratis. And when a nobody who thinks they’re somebody is left off the list the fall out for the Door Bitch can be brutal, never mind the fact she has nothing to do with said list and is simply handed it at doors open on the night. They proceed to want to peruse the list themselves and if his names listed can become Stevie Wonder in the blink of an eye, despite the fact they’re white with ginger hair (denied). They drop a myriad of ‘names’ from a great height – none of which the Door Bitch has ever heard of – thinking it will part all seas (denied). They offer anything from dollars to drinks to invites to one of their most exclusive parties (denied). All to avoid actually paying and supporting their so-called ‘best friends’ artistic endeavours.

Besides all this there’s the steady flowing torrent of random questions the Door Bitch must answer repeatedly between all of the aforementioned: Where’s the loo? What time are they on? Who’s playing? Are there any tickets left? How much are drinks? What time does it finish? What’s the address here? Is Joe Blogg’s here? Why is the sky blue? What is the meaning of life??

So next time you enter a show spare a thought for the Door Bitch as in real life hours she’s not a bitch at all. But no matter how organised, on time and polite you may be there are ten people behind you who have no tickets, no money, no ID and absolutely no clue.

Tales of an Australian Bar Maid: Creature Chameleons

The main stayers as far as venue workers go are bartenders and security guards as you’re either running to them or away from them. But there are many other facets to working in a venue or nightclub, giving a Creature of the Night various faces. In Creature Chameleons we will explore these many faces.

THE CLOAKROOM MASTER

One of the less glamorous jobs in a venue some people like cloakroom as its not always busy and you can hide under a myriad of bags and coats when hung over. However the cloakroom can be, depending on the weather, either very boring or very busy, and is often used as a form of punishment if a staff member is always late, slow, annoying the manager, etc.

In the beginning the cloakroom is tolerable as punters filter in, receive their numbered tickets and entrust you with their belongings. The middle of the night then consists of pleasant visits from crowd and staff alike chatting and checking up on you as you may be about to die of boredom. This mid-show lull ensures you either bring a good book or are hopefully paired with someone interesting or it can turn out to be a very long night.

And then they come. The end of show advance of thousands of inebriated revellers all wanting their things and all wanting them now. Reinforcements are brought in, as the little room that was once so orderly now becomes a flurried mess of discarded coat hangers and coat check ticket http://sistersin-creaturesofthenight.blogspot.com/s. You become a machine, grabbing tickets in exchange for belongings. But take heed the poor souls that lose their tickets. Should they remember the ticket number and item they cloaked they escape a look that could kill and a good dressing down. But if they lose their ticket and can’t remember the number there’s a slight pang of sympathy as they’re told they must wait till the end of the flurry to recover their goods.

Once the queue is up and the ticket losers have pleaded for mercy and collected their lot the clean up of tickets and hangers begins, along with the cataloguing of items lost or left behind. This is always my favourite part of the cloakroom, as those things not collected within the month are then seized by staff, and I must thank the people of Sydney and London for some mighty fine wardrobe acquisitions over the years.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Metalheads

You can see the fear in the eyes of pedestrians and drivers alike when a metal or goth crowd descends on a venue. With their flowing black locks, metal studded clothes and jewellry, evil looking t-shirts and pasty white skin your average person tends to run for the hills. But as the old adage goes, never judge a book by its cover my friends.

Metal music is loud, aggressive, abusive and can sometimes depict violence, but in my experience their crowds do not follow suit. They may look the part, talk the talk and walk the walk, but Metalheads are usually those nerdy kids who never said boo in high school and usually got beaten up, or a down to earth tradesman that looks like the Hulk due to lugging materials all day long.

For starters they hardly drink. If you’re a bartender who doesn’t like metal working a metal show you’re out of luck as you ain’t going to be busy. At the risk of generalising here, Metal crowds are usually from the outskirts of town so they always drive. They may have a couple in the beginning but once the bands come on there only be time for head-banging and fist-pumping. The rest of their time is spent detangling hair from aforementioned studs, searching for lost clothing and shoes and smoking outside.

And as the music is so loud and aggressive they must get all that out themselves whilst head-banging as they can be the nicest people in the world. Always amped for the show, always in high spirits and always yelling ‘Yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!’. So next time you get caught in the pre or post-show throws of a metal gig don’t be scared. Unless its that band I saw from Europe once that had pigs heads impaled on their mic stands and animal blood all over them. Stay away from them, that shit was weird.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Kids

There’s much musical entertainment on offer for kids these days, which is great. From The Wiggles to rock bands to top name DJs there’s something for everyone whether it be toddlers, teens or in between.

A kids show such as Hi5 or The Wiggles can be nothing short of mayhem. Excitement and blood sugar levels are high and parents are panicked. After stowing their prams safely in the cloakroom with another 5000 prams the mission begins to get child to seat without losing or hurting them, and without spending your months wages on merchandise and sweets. Once in the seat just sit back and relax to the sound of 3000 happy little voices clapping and singing their hearts out. Until it’s time to go and they throw the tantrum of a lifetime because they didn’t get to physically meet Spongebob, Dorothy or whatever inanimate or extinct object has been animated that month.

All Ages or your older kids shows are a lot easier from a parents point of view as their job usually only consists of dropping off, picking up and being suitably silent and invisible as to avoid parental embarrassment of any form. However this is where a venue workers job gets hard. 3000 teens being let loose in a public space with sugary drinks and treats for sale is always asking for trouble – and that’s not even taking into account what they got into before the show or what they snuck inside.

Red Bull, Coke, lollies and red cordial shots become the order of the day. The rest of your time is spent developing an eventually life-long back spasm from leaning over the sink pouring out free tap waters. If it’s a rock show the kids pile into a sweaty moshy mess between schooners of coke and sneaky trips outside for cigarettes. If it’s a dance party they attach glow sticks to anything and everything on their person and chew gum and suck lollipops for all the right reasons.

Either way they’re fun to watch and often your best customers as they’re sober and polite. And if not you simply yell at them and they’re running scared. Good times.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Ravers

One day a long time ago a computer nerd created a game called Pacman. Pacman ran around in circles to electronic music munching on tiny white pills and avoiding demons. Pacman may be long gone as far as computer games go, but nevertheless his actions live on in today’s dance music community.

Dance parties are a joy to work depending on the music. The only 2 dance parties I want stripped from my memory are Hard House Academy’s 9th Birthday and the Swedish House Mafia. The former consisted of a spattering of old ravers reliving their heyday by taking stimulants that made them eat their own faces, dancing to what sounded like a hammer repeatedly smashing a brick whilst wearing fluro clothing, fake dreads and furry leg warmers. The latter consisted of people from Essex donning their shiniest bling and fake tan, yelling, vomiting and stealing whilst dancing to not so bad music.

Apart from those 2 experiences dance party crowds usually provide a good night at work. Their euphoric state and loved-up attitude make them pleasant customers who love to chat, flatter and who drink considerably less than other crowds, making your job that much easier. If you can look past the sweating, chewing, stuttering and wandering eyes they’re a joy to serve, especially when they’re so wasted they tip in excess or just leave their change behind altogether.

And if it’s a gay dance party you’re working your ship has come in. Double income, no kids, money to splash and the most designer of drugs ensure your night is full of flattery, fun, tips and extra special treats such as lollies, ice creams and loads more.

Theres much stigma around dance parties usually pertaining to the underlying drug culture which exists within them. While there are indeed heightened dangers and risks dance party crowds are noticeably happier, nicer, less confrontational and fun. The only people they are hurting in the end are themselves, however the bulk of them take intoxicants recreationally and responsibly. And so long as they’re happy, I’m happy.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Fellow Bartender

THE FELLOW BARTENDER:

• Always polite, always pleasant, always waits their turn
• Always gives their occupation away by rolling their eyes and being utterly disgusted by annoying, drunk or abrasive customers in front of them
• Can also give their occupation away by making derogatory comments about said annoyance or drunk when placing their order
• Always has their drink order ready
• Always has their money ready
• Is more than understanding when your keg runs dry or you run out of anything
• Never asks for a glass of tap water
• Tips depending on how many tips they received that week
• In the event of inebriation, regales you with stories of the bar they work in and any annoying customers they’ve had
• Again, if inebriated, can start pushing their way to the front and asking for drinks on the sly due to trade comradeship

SUMMARY: No muss, no fuss, a pleasure to serve – just don’t get them drunk

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Musician

THE MUSICIAN:

• Always looks cool – isn’t always actually cool
• Mentions the fact that he’s a musician at every opportunity
• Likes to list influences, likes and dislikes in intricate detail
• Provides a running commentary throughout any musical performance noting where and when they went wrong, what they should have done and what he would have done
• Asks of your musical influences and gig’s you’ve seen and can almost always top all gig’s and shows you’ve ever seen. Ever
• Shamelessly promotes his own shows
• Is always ‘rehearsing’ and ‘about to lay down some tracks’
• Is often between bands or looking for a singer/drummer/bass player
• Always gives you a show flyer as a parting gift and encourages you to bring your friends

SUMMARY: Always talkative, often self-obsessed, always a Mummies boy

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Drunkard

THE DRUNKARD:

• Slurs, leans, spits, sweats, dribbles, yells and has often lost all grasp of the local language
• Can’t stay upright under their own power and needs a chair, a bar or a friend to stand up
• Notorious for ordering drinks and not paying for them, leaving them on the bar and walking off without them or spilling them before drinking them
• Often accompanied by a more sober and very annoyed cohort who has gone from friend to babysitter
• Often cannot find money, get hands in their pockets or afford drinks, to the disgust and financial detriment of aforementioned babysitter
• Ends the night on the floor, toilet, ‘dancing’ wildly with possible loss of clothing and/or being turfed out by security
• Lights cigarettes at the wrong end

SUMMARY: Disgusting, confusing, amusing and entertaining all at once – a real all rounder

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Show Off

THE SHOW OFF:

• Always in a large group
• Always offers to pay for rounds
• Always asks for expensive beers and spirits knowing full well you don’t have them
• Always produces a ludicrously large wad of cash from his pocket and proceeds to flick though it in front of you, and eventually pays with the largest note available
• Always smartly dressed and covered in some form of bling, fake tan and too much cologne
• Always tells you to ‘Buy one for yourself’
• Always tips to further project their wealthy status
• Always apologises for their unruly mates
• Winks at you at every opportunity

SUMMARY: Friendly, fun, can be a wanker but great for tips!

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Girls Night Out

THE GIRLS NIGHT OUT:

• Consists of 4+ females wearing too much make up, too little clothes and a lot of fake tan
• Shoes are too high, skirts are too short
• Attract an amazingly high level of male attention and love it
• Spend the majority of the night in the bathroom
• Dance around handbag’s on the dance floor
• Tale too many photo’s and text constantly
• Squeal - a lot
• Most common beverages include: Shots, Doubles of Vodka, Archers, Midori, Malibu or Bacardi, Champagne, Cocktails, Wine Spritzers, Wine with Vodka in it, Snake Bites or Cider and Black
• Start off immaculate and become more dishevelled as the night wears on
• Fall over breaking heels and nails
• Night can often end in random pashing, shagging, vomiting and/or tears
• Any of the above can happen anywhere: bar, toilet, bus, alley, cab, garden, park, house

SUMMARY: Fun in the beginning but always end up too shrill and sad – unless you’re a guy on the pull, then your ships come in

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Historian

THE HISTORIAN:

• Is always of a mature age
• Has always had one too many
• Always takes forever to order
• Can often share traits of The Complainer
• Has seen every band they’re about to see numerous times before and is happy to list where, when and with whom
• Has often worked in the very same establishment you are now working in and begins to list all the differences between then and now, all acts they saw throughout the duration of their employment and various anecdotes of former colleagues you’ve never met and never will
• Has questionable dress sense and hair styling
• Often leans, slurs and/or spits
• Always holds up queues and forces those behind them to tutt and roll eyes
• Always looks slightly hurt when you state you do in fact still work there and should get on with the job at hand

SUMMARY: Totally harmless, sometimes entertaining, often boring and annoying.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Flirt

THE FLIRT:

• Stares at you just that little too long and continues to eye you up and down throughout the whole transaction
• Starts the order off politely but, depending on level of confidence/drunkenness, will come out with one of the following: ‘You’ve got the best job / I bet you get to see all the bands / Having a good night? / You’re so beautiful / I bet you make loads of tips / What are you doing later? / Can I have your number? / Can I buy you a drink? / What’s your name? / Where are you from? / Do you have a boyfriend?’, etc
• Again, depending on confidence versus drink quota, the end of the transaction may also be finished with a hand shake, continental kiss on the hand or large tip, and is always ended on a cheeky wink
• He will then position himself either near your bar and attempt to talk to you all night regardless of how busy or annoyed you may be, or keep returning to you constantly for every item he decides to purchase
• The more drinks The Flirt is served the more confident becomes his approach, and the more plentiful becomes your tip jar
• If still insistent at the end of the night he will most certainly return for one last try, and if refused can go one of two ways: He can roll away drunkenly professing his love for you, reiterating how lovely you are and how he’ll never find another like you; or he’ll take it very badly, have a screaming tantrum, call you every name under the sun and have to be removed by security

SUMMARY:

All in all a harmless case - excellent for the ego and lining of the pockets.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Character Study - The Complainer

When working at night you come across many different types of characters. People change when the sun goes down. They let loose, discard their inhibitions and let their inner night creature emerge, no matter how scary they may be. As part of this series I will be doing regular studies on not only the demographics that come out to play but the types of creatures you have to deal with on a regular basis. Some are pretty, some angry, some lovely and some straight up crazy, but rest assured, all are entertaining.

THE COMPLAINER:

• Is of the general mind that you are a complete moron who is out to rip them off on behalf of ‘the establishment’
• No matter how fast you serve them you’ve always served the person before them out of turn and they’ve been waiting too long
• Their drink is always too warm, small, has too much ice or too much head
• Of the 50+ drinks you have on offer they like none of them and proceed to ask for everything you don’t stock
• When it comes to paying it is always too expensive, and apparently berating you and alerting everyone around them to the fact that you personally are ripping them off is going to make it cheaper
• When given their change they are always unimpressed with the amount of coins given (this of course may have been done on purpose, with intent to annoy)
• They will then complain their way through the crowd at the packed bar moaning about spilling their drink, where to stand, there’s too many people, they can’t see – and so on and so forth
  
  

SUMMARY:

Always there, always annoying, always alone. I wonder why?…

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study - The Golden Oldies

At a recent Kenny Rogers concert held at Hammersmith Apollo a Mother (60+) burst past me through the theatre doors sans ticket to which I questioned ‘Sorry, do you have a ticket?’ – not because I thought she was sneaking in, but because a lot of people don’t know (or pretend not to know) there’s a difference between a downstairs stalls ticket (good view) and an upstairs circle ticket (bad view). Following closely behind was her daughter (30+) yelling ‘Mum, wait! They need to see your ticket!’. The Mother then turned to me and quipped ‘I do apologise! You know us old people, when they let us out we run riot. We’re worse than the kids!’. And never a truer word has been spoken.

This Mother/daughter combo were polite, funny produced their tickets and were on their way. Unlike most they actually listened to my directions to their seats and obviously found them as I didn’t see them again. But sadly this story is one of few like it. Working at a venue that doubles as a theatre means you get all manner of clientele depending on the entertainment on offer, and believe it or not an older crowd can be one of the worst. As far as they’re concerned their age gives them wisdom, experience and the right to complain about anything and everything. Chances are they’ve been to a show or 2 previously so a little knowledge of how it all works is implied and vehemently touted by said demographic. They have a tendency to strut around like they own the place, and in fact have lived there their whole lives, so heaven help you if as an usher you try to direct them to their seat or the toilet.

Being on the bar is an entirely different kettle of fish. No matter how fast you serve they always have to wait too long… ALWAYS. It wouldn’t matter if you had the 8 arms of Vishnu and beer taps for fingers, they’d still stand in front of you tutting, clucking and bitching to each other like you’re a deaf mute. ‘You just don’t get good service these days / I’ll probably die of thirst before I get a drink / She won’t even look at me / Do they know how hot it is in here?’. No, not at all, as we work our butts off running back and forth for over 4 hours. Then you must endure the actual ordering phase of the transaction. The temperature of the beer, air, lack of snacks, gassiness – or lack thereof – of the soft drinks and the price of everything on sale down to the ticket and merchandise are entirely your fault. You yourself came to work early solely to overprice everything, turn off all fridges and build extra stairs in the stairwells just to make their lives a misery. Because hearing them complain is like music to your ears. It’s the very reason you get up every day.

So never underestimate the Golden Oldies crowd as they’ve seen and done it all before. They don’t need directions, they don’t need any help and they don’t have to be polite. That is of course until the show begins and they come slinking back nice as pie with a newfound limp or sympathy strain confessing that they in fact can’t find their seat, ask you where the toilets are and to get them a drink as they’re so thirsty and old and frail. And you dutifully assist them as you should do, as they’re old and have paid their dues, and they’re now making you pay yours.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Day vs Night

As noted in another of my Blogs (http://sistersinsays.blogspot.com/) I have recently acquired my first ever office job, complete with desk, staff pass with lanyard and water cooler. I love the job – it’s interesting, fun and my co-workers are better than I could ever have hoped for (and they could certainly give the Creatures a run for their money in the interrelations department). Being a veteran Creature of the Night this is an entirely new experience for me and I never thought I’d enjoy it as much as I do. It also pays very well and therefore begs the question ‘Do I need to work nights anymore?’. Plus I am still met with the ‘I don’t know how you do it!’ comments from my new colleagues. Truth be told I don’t think I’ll ever cease to work nights. I’ve done it for so long now I find myself restless and bored when at home, especially now there aren’t as many shows on. The fact that I actually can go home after work these days is strange to me and I’ve developed a rather unhealthy UK soapie obsession as a result.

Nothing quite compares to the rush of being a Creature of the Night. I feel it provides certain satisfactions and a social side that a day job simply cannot posses. Take for example my current job: I get up the same time as everyone else and don the appropriate office get-up (except on Friday’s which I think is universally known as ‘casual day’). I squeeze myself onto the tube/bus with book/Metro/Shortlist/Sport in hand so as not to have to make eye contact or speak to anyone, stand single file on the right of the escalator - or if I’m feeling energetic or running late, leg it up the left - and eventually park myself at my allocated desk, just like everybody else. And that’s about it really. Aside from the occasional lunch outing, inter-departmental office wander and chat, external meeting or game of rolled-up-Guardian-bat-and-stress-ball-office- cricket match, there’s not much else going on. I organise my boss, answer emails, forward funnies, print papers, fulfil my H&S responsibilities by ensuring no-one is close to or in fear of dying, then squeeze back onto the tube and make my way home reading my book or London Paper (no London Lite, don’t like it), just like everybody else.

Yet gearing up for a night shift is a whole different ball game. Depending on your day job situation and the day of the week your journey to work is never the same. You could be rushing from one job to the other looking not unlike Michael Bourne being chased by the CIA as you take escalator steps 2 at a time, narrowly skim through beeping tube doors, duck and weave your way through tourists, families and old people in a desperate attempt to make it to work on time. Or it could be a weekend evening which means there’s an entirely different buzz in the air - people finishing work and readying themselves for the weekend, looking at each other, maybe even talking and laughing with each other on the tube or bus. It gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling to know that you’re heading to work to serve some of these smiling faces, maybe even chat and flirt with them, and hopefully add to the plethora of happy memories they’ll have of their evening should they be able to remember anything in the morning - all the time safe in the knowledge that you’ll be working but also earning and socialising. They’ll be waking up with little to no money, possibly wallet-less, maybe even clothes-less, and definitely worse for wear.

Your uniform may consist of a compulsory branded shirt or apron but other than that you can dress to impress, and the actual work part of the deal is never the same as the shows and crowds differ every night. You’ve lucked out should it be a theatre-style show, comedy night or older person’s affair as attendees are almost always boring and NEVER tip. But should the evening involve a quality rock band or better yet a DJ or dance party you’re home free! The drinks will be flowing, the tunes cranking and if the DJ’s spinning you can rest assured there’ll be plenty of intoxicants about which means more one-night-only friends, chat up lines, classic conversations and lots of lovely munters leaving their change behind!

Your journey home is dependant on the night’s occurrences. Staffies as you know are more common than not so if your nights been hellish you can let off steam with your co-workers, or if heavenly you can spend your newly acquired bounty on any number of fancy beverages. And whether it be a walk home or public transport expedition at the end of it all you’re sure to see some interesting sights, especially at the weekend. It may be a hilariously profound and in-depth drunken conversation that none of the participants will ever remember, a girl puking in her hand bag, some bright spark putting a bin through a bus window, people falling down stairs and aisles, or a highly sophisticated Essex girl losing a heel/top/dress/skirt – all of which I have witnessed, by the way – your journey home is sure to be full of wonders and surprises the likes of which ye have never seen and would never expect. And as you finally climb into your warm bed after a hard nights work you can sleep sound in the knowledge that you’ve helped contribute to all that fun, all those hangovers, all those drunken slobbering kisses and forgetful one night stands.

Ah, the beauty of it all…

Confessions of an Australian Barmaid: Customer Relations

You may recall my previous blog on interelations in the work place and how dating fellow collegues can be fun but fickle at the best of times. The same can also be said for taking an interest in your ever-thirsty clintele as it can raise all kinds of issues in regards to ethics, conflicts of interest and general customer relations.

As a bartender you are constantly getting hit on, and whilst this is flattering and excellent for the self esteem it can become extremely tedious, especially when said flatterers are sleazy and intoxicated or old and crusty. Even if the customer in question turns out to be both attractive and amicable you have to remember, the more you're seeing of them the more you're serving them, which means they're getting more and more inhebriated. You can learn a lot about a person by plying them full of alcohol and robbing them blind for both drinks and tips whilst you yourself are totally sober, let me tell you.

And the above is not the only ethical hurdle you can encounter. As far as hourly wages go bartending barely lines the pockets so tips become an essential part of life. And while chatting, flirting and serving the occasional over-pour can make for a very lucrative night is this really how you want to start a relationship? Performing a service for money whilst using persuasive techniques to make a little extra on the side?? Bartending is one of the world's oldest professions, but can become akin to another old and well known profession when the above techniques come into play.

In saying that you always meet lovely and interesting people when working, it's one of the best parts of the job. Should you see one of these people at your local after work or randomly out and about one night (which does happen: 'Don't I know you from somewhere?','You served me at...!') it's entirely possible you could strike up more than just pleasant conversation. And should this person be content to live in a relationship where you hardly see each other - and let's face it, that could be a good thing - you can most certainly become ensconced in a semi-normal fun and loving relationship. If you're both working different hours and not seeing each other on a regular basis this can be highly beneficial, making each time you see each other all the more special and exciting. However this is only the case should your new found friend be OK with leading separate lives; day vs night; light vs dark.

Say you do find a keeper through work one night: depending on how and where you work your new crush may be very proud of the fact they're dating a creature of the night, so much so that they brag about it constantly to all their friends and start propping up your bar on a regular basis along with all their best friends. At first it may be just them and a friend or 2 - they get to know the other creatures, maybe even the locals - and as a consequence you might give a free pint here and a sneaky shot there. It's at this point that word spreads like wildfire. Their friends tell more friends and before you know it they're taking up an entire side of the bar, getting drunk and rowdy and generally annoying everybody that crosses their path. Well-connected significant others can sometimes feel they have some kind of immunity or VIP privelige which can in turn make them arrogant and turn them into, well, a right twat.

The other down side of this scenario is that your work and personal life now become one. What was once a kind of safe haven from everday life, people and pastimes now has your new squeeze encroaching on it's boundaries. Needless to say this puts a strain on the relationship, not to mention your tip jar. An ever-present significant other majorly hinders the flirt-for-cash scheme as well as the flirt-for-fun factor. It is a well known fact that all bartenders - single or otherwise - engage in frequent flirt-for-fun activities whilst at work; another perk of the job. And let's not even go into what happens when he/she sees you being admired fro afar by another customer as there's no good way for that to end. Bring all of this together with the often annoying fact that they're having fun whilst you are working your butt off and you've got yourself a bonifide tried and true recipe for disaster.

So to be cliche, literally, never mix business with pleasure. As business - although it is business - can often be pleasurable. So you then have to decide: What pleasures you?...

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Interbreeding

There are a thousand and one reasons for not dating or sleeping with your fellow work mates: flirting that interferes with work performance, favouritism, love triangles, and general awkward working conditions - especially if it all goes pear-shaped. But being a creature of the night makes it quite difficult to date outside your own kind, as your work and sleeping patterns are usually the opposite to most, especially if you're a full time bartender.

You wake wearily in the mid-afternoon, shower, eat 'breakfast' and watch a selection of bad afternoon TV; maybe surf the net and reassure family and friends that yes, you are in fact still living, breathing, and haven't dropped off the face of the earth. Then begins the nightly ritual of donning your uniform (or not, if you're lucky) and making your way to work - just as most others are making their way home to the one's they love and their couch, or even to your establishment for a bevvy. 'But what of the others?' you might ask. 'Surely you meet single, eligible humans whilst working'. And this is a valid point. But dating the clientele, well, that's a whole nother blog post.

The real worry here folks is your colleuges; your chums; the steady crew of people you see every single night and spend more time with than any of your family or friends. Every night you're together, hour upon hour, trapped in an area no larger than an aeroplane toilet, serving, chatting, bitching, joking, laughing, playing... accidentally bumping into each other... brushing up against each other... 

And so it begins. The taunting, the teasing, the flirting - bringing a new and raw excitement to the workplace which inevitably carries over into the staff room, then on to the iconical 'staffies'. Staffies - aka staff drinks - happen mostly everynight, or sometimes just on weekends. They can happen at your work with a few cheeky pints on the sly, or move outside to the nearest late-opening local. But no matter what, staffies is a breeding ground for the formation of work romances and one night stands. One drink turns to two, then a few, and before you know it bottles are bought across the counter at closing time and taken back to some unsuspecting co-workers house for an impromptue house party. Their house is warm and cozy, everyone's tipsy, there's couches, there's beds - you can pretty much guess the rest. Sometimes it takes only one staffies, sometimes it takes a few. But no matter how hard you try you cannot escape the nocturnal naughtiness of the after-work drink.

Then comes the aftermath.

Even if you actually remember the events that took place this isn't going to ease the nervous tension that comes from the fact that you know everyone at work knows exactly what happened - and they sometimes remember even better than you do. When your next shift comes around you hopelessly try to avoid discussion of the subject at all costs (except with one best friend and confidant - we all have one), and the prying eyes and stares. It's about then that reality sets in and you ponder the following critical questions that strangely alluded you earlier:

• Do they have a partner?
• Does everyone at work like them, or did you just sleep with the person that everyone secretly hates?
  
• Does someone else at work like them, and are they at this very moment plotting to kill you?
• Are they in fact 'doing the rounds', and have you just become one on a list of many?
• Does this person actually like you?
• Do you even like them?
• Are you going to live happily ever after, or are they going to ignore you, avoid you, and request never to be on the same bar as you again?

And so on and so forth. I think we can all agree this type of paranoia is unhealthy in any situation, especially in the work environment. But alas, this is what becomes of creatures of the night when interbreeding takes place. Don't get me wrong - I know of many instances where workmates have hooked up and gone on to live very happy and normal lives. But sadly I feel the relationship graveyard that lies beneath every bar and pub claims many more lives than it spares - so beware...

Confessions of an Australian Barmaid: Life on 'The Other Side'

I've always worked at night, mainly as a means to fund my overseas journey's. But as I grow older and comments such as 'I don't know how you do it!' and 'Don't you miss going out?' become more and more common, it's become clearer to me that I actually like, even prefer working at night. Besides the obvious fact that I'm earning and saving money whilst still being in a social environment, I've been recently enlightened to the fact that I am so used to being behind the bar that it is difficult for me to happily exist on the other side.

Let's say I head out to a bar, pub or to see a band - one of my most favourite pastimes, hence why I work mainly in venues. Getting a table, a seat or seeing the actual band is only one element of your night. The rest is spent queueing for the toilet and for drinks - and if not at your or your fellow creature's place of work - paying full price for them as well! We creatures of the night get used to preferential treatment after a while. At our frequent haunts the unspoken code allows for cutting in line, free drinks, shots, and stashing your belongings in the staff room. But on the other side - no, that'll be 2 pounds per item thanks!

And then there's 'seeing' the act in the literal sense. In a venue of any size odds are you're not going to be the tallest person in the room. In fact, it's more likely you're going to have to push your way, ducking and weaving, trying hopelessly to get to the front, all the while spilling your overpriced drink and receiving lethal stares from all in your path. That is, of course, unless you get there before the masses, in which case you have the choice of standing tall and staking your claim but give up all hope of ever going to the bar or toilet - as you and I both know, they'd just as soon jump in your grave.

A friend and collegue at my previous day job scoffed when I said I got to see bands for a living and snorted 'Yeah - all the way from the bar!'. Yeah - all the way at the back of the room on a risen platform full of personal space and alcohol, with perfect sight lines and a lockable gate should anyone try to jump in my place.

Who'd want that eh??

Confessions of an Australian Barmaid: Introduction

It takes a very special person to become a bartender, and by gosh, there are a lot of us. Some are in it for the money, saving their menial wage and tips to get them through university, or to don their backpack and escape the ho-hum of reality, or to simply keep the backpack on their back in a foreign land. Others like the social side, meeting new people and perfecting the art of alcohol peddling, be it in a pint or with fruit and umbrella on the side. But the most important thing to remember is that no matter the reason for becoming a bartender, we are all still human... or are we?...

A collegue of mine once referred to himself as a BSU - a Beer Serving Unit - and at times it is a little like that. When there's a constant sea of thirsty faces staring at you, eyeing up their drink of choice while secretly critiquing you on your skill, style and speed, it does become a little less 'How's life? Love? What's your poison?' and a little more 'Have your exact order and money ready so we can make this as painless as possible'.

Of course this all depends on the type of establishment you're working in. As most of my experience comes from live music venues and busy cocktail bars service needs to be prompt with at least a hint of a smile. However if it's your local watering hole, pub or sports bar we're speaking of, a drink order is less of a transaction and more of a friend-making exercise. An alcohol-fuelled social experiment if you will.

Either way the bartender will rely on his or her secret powers - more of which you will learn of in coming blogs - to tend to the customer without fuss, without fight, and hopefully with the never obligatory but always endeavoured 'keep the change' at the finish line. It is true, we can be rude, impatient, impersonable, even condescending at times, but there are numerous and varied reasons for this - all valid, and all experienced almost every single night. Not to mention the fact we're most likely tired, hung over and in need of a drink ourselves.

Now depending on said establishment the bartender may have a drink hidden somewhere under the bar, behind the till or already in their blood stream. It's these little tricks of the trade that keep us going, keep us coming back for more.
And then, of course, there's the lifestyle.

The behind-the-scenes.
The afterhours.
The underbelly of the nocturnal few and the secrets only they share.

For behind the taps and glasses, the uniforms and smiles, the nip pourers and ice buckets, is a world of lies, lock-in's, love and torrid affairs that make Melrose Place look like a Hillsongs convention.

In this series I hope to give you a unique look into the hidden world of bartending and afterhours culture that lies beneath every city.
As all is not what it seems.
And it seems there is a lot more fun to be had at work than there should be...