Thursday, March 14, 2013

Working Girl

I arrived at the pub (let me clarify that basically any drinking establishment in Australia is a pub or a hotel, even if there are no rooms to rent and it is clearly not a hotel at all), barely on time for my trial shift thanks to some parking lot confusion ie. me, driving around the parking lot, confused. I was slightly nervous but there was something else that was a bit odd. I ran a mental checklist. Hair and makeup were done, closed-toe shoes were on (I've taken up the local habit of not wearing shoes whenever I can get away with it. I first found this practice alarming and upsetting, but now I enjoy it immensely), I was wearing black pants as per my instructions. Suddenly it hit me! I felt weird because I was wearing pants! I started thinking about it and after all my years of on-again-off-again serving work I had never, not even once, arrived ready to go on the floor in clothes that covered more than 67% of my body. Except that time I wore leggings and thigh high pleather boots...Anyway. My trial went well, despite my nerves and slight struggles with pouring pints, and I was offered a job. Along with that job offer I received an apron and a shirt that fits and buttons up and I am not expected to cut it or tie it up in any way. Amazing.

Some readers may know this, but in certain parts of Canada and America the bar industry is for people who are 'hot'. The first, and by far most insane, place I worked was a nightclub called The Back Alley. My previous experience with nightclubs included wearing a black dress, hot rollering my hair, pre-drinking as much gin as possible and then dancing (sometimes pashing) with my friend while we pretended not to notice people staring at us. She taught me not to accept drinks from strangers and to ignore any man who had the gall to talk to us (I say us, but it was really her). So I stepped in to my new place of employment, lovingly referred to as The Alley, without a clue. I was given $350 in cash and over $500 of alcohol in pre-made shots, a beat up tin tray that looked as if it came from an auto shop, and was told to 'sell everything, don't steal anything and if you lose it you pay for it'. I remember walking around with my tray, silently praying for a fire or some other disaster that would give me an excuse to run away.

Of course, I caught on eventually. I learned that I would sell more by drinking with the patrons, which often led to me counting my cash out three or four times (I'm not the quickest with math on a good day). I became quite skilled at walking in 4 inch heels with my tray balanced on my head, to win bets with people on slow nights. Eventually I got promoted to beer tub, which was easier because I could wear flat shoes and there was a barrier between my body and the friendly hands of strangers. There was a time when it was fun, when it felt good to know I was desired. But it quickly got old. Theme nights that required ridiculous costumes, wearing two push-up bras to compete with the girls who had implants, tension with boyfriends over why I had to dress/dance/flirt/smile this way. The sense of empowerment faded and a disdainful attitude of grin and bear it settled in.

I quit and worked in offices, which was somewhat boring but much better for my liver and self-confidence. Every so often a job would come up, bottle service, cocktail server, etc that would tempt me back to the industry. The money is amazing, the work isn't demanding, the hours are flexible. Until you're actually working and your manager is trying to sleep with you, the other girls are bitchy and you're scheduled every weekend. I know that not everyone has experiences like this. My brother has been bar tending for years and loves it. That said, I'm pretty sure his boss has never bought him a shot and leeringly complimented his legs.

Hence my utter elation with my new place of employment. There are proper training programs, the computer is alphabetized, and they don't hire beautiful girls who ask what's in a rum and coke. I'm quite excited to work in a place where people frown at me when I screw up an order, because I look like everyone else and they are here to hit on girls on the other side of the bar.









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