Rats, Rickety Stairs & Cabbage

Somewhat typically I followed up another guarantee of regular blogging with the sound of silence.  However, my current circumstances make it easy to let myself off the hook.

I haven’t been myself in February and  I blame the flat search for this.  The buzz of being in a new country was already beginning to wear off on January 30th when Jon and I found a beautiful, big flat in Little Italy  on a tree lined street.  It was both the nicest we had seen and peculiarly also the cheapest.  We viewed it just one hour after the advert went online and had our rental application submitted by 10am the next morning.  Over the next few days Jon charmed the landlady with status report seeking phone calls and it looked as if we had secured the dream pad.

But the line went slack.  She stopped answering her phone and we were bewildered.  Some ten days later we finally got a negative response.  We weren’t best pleased.  We were still scouring the market during the waiting period in anticipation of our failure but found it really hard to get excited about smaller, dirtier flats for an extra $400 a month.

As we stretched further into February the chances of quickly finding a place dried up as landlords began advertising for March 1st starts.  The temptation to settle for any place we could get our hands on and resume a normal home life was kept at bay only by the dilapidated states of most of our potential homes.  We found a huge place at the heart of downtown but there were twenty reasons for why it was totally unacceptable without even mentioning that I fell down the rickety stairs.  Basements with prison cell bedrooms and apartments the size of a car backseat were par for the course by now.  On February 13th we arranged a viewing that involved us wandering through an area with enough crack addicts to inspire an Irvine Welsh novel.  When we finally arrived we saw barred windows, a crumbling rusted roof and smoke coming out of little cracks in the front door.  We walked away without uttering a word.

Not every place we saw was terrible though.  In fact, there were several nice options that we tried in vain to secure.  The lengthy application process was often our undoing as we didn’t measure up to our competitors due to our foreign backgrounds.  For the dream pad we were up against fifteen other applicants and by the time we saw any other nice place we were warned that there were already plenty of people swarming around it.

The initial intrigue of searching for a new place to live had long since been replaced by anger and disillusionment.  More unsuitable places came and went on a daily basis before the wait was finally made worthwhile last Sunday.  A huge, two-level place with a living-room-sized bathroom in Cabbagetown was to be our saving grace.  We said we wanted it and we got it.  No dumb ass application process, no 200 job referees, no bullshit.  A handshake, a cheque and it’s all ours.

We move in on Sunday and I cannot wait.  I’m looking forward to taking my life off of pause.  My own room, my own things and time to think with this weight off of my mind.  And if the temperatures rises a few more degrees then I’ll be back on the tennis court soon too.  Things are looking up.

Half A World Away

With no place to call my own maintaining this blog could prove tricky.  However, I have maintained a steady internet presence since I left for Canada last Wednesday so I really have no excuse to neglect it any further.

I arrived in Toronto on January 14th and after a brief wander around the city I hopped on a train to Barrie.  It certainly was strange to be back in the town where I grew up after eight years away.  The place has changed so much but at the same time it’s still pretty much as I remember it.

I spent the week visiting old friends and taking it easy.  Going out drinking with people who’ve never heard of Billy Connolly and don’t find temperatures of -25 celsius strange has certainly been hard to adjust to.

I’m now in Toronto to begin the job and flat search.  I suppose when I think about it I don’t really know what I’m doing.  But that’s all part of the fun.

Young Without Youth?

I spoke to my Dad on the phone on New Year’s Day and the contrast in our Hogmanay celebrations was quite striking.  He was nursing a hangover after a night out with his workmates in Amsterdam while I was feeling perky after a relaxing evening in with a beer and TV.

What’s going on? At 23 I’m already settling nicely into my slippers.

The Bartender Hates You!

After reading ‘The Art of Happiness’ by the Dalai Lama and Howard Cutler I’ve been trying to adopt a more calm and relaxed approach to the little niggly things that crop up in my day-to-day life but this post has been brewing for some time and needs to be let out.

My first start as a bartender was in early 2006 behind Jim’s Bar in the Queen Margaret Union and since then I’ve flitted through a number of different pubs and feel like I’ve dealt with every idiot, drunk and moron in the city of Glasgow.  As a result I feel that it’s time to go through the reasons why I’ve lost my cool on occasion.  Here they are:

1. You’re rude and uncourteous

Pretty much all of the reasons I’ll list here could be lumped under this heading but the general rudeness of some punters is truly startling.  ‘Please’ and ‘Thank you’ are your friends.

2. You have no patience

Particularly on weekends, bars can be very busy places.  A number of people will be waiting to be served and this puts the staff under strain.  If you think that shouting at us about how long you’ve been waiting will make your situation any better then you’re an idiot.  Keep it calm, we will get to you.

3. You order one drink at a time

Some customers really do seem to lack basic common sense.  In a busy environment it’s much better for both of us if instead of asking for a jack and coke, waiting for me to make it and then asking for a vodka and lemonade, waiting for me to make it and then asking for a Guinness it’d be much nicer of you if you just asked for all three at once.  I know you think I’m an idiot because you’re a high flying stock broker and I’m a lowly server but trust me, my memory is better than yours.

4. You whistle at me or snap your fingers to get my attention

I’m a bartender, not a dog.  Chances are I’ll have made a mental note to never serve you again after such a dumb ass mistake.

5. You haven’t bothered to check what we sell before asking for something we don’t

If you can’t see something behind the bar just ask me if we sell it.  I’ll tell you and we can move from there.  Don’t come to bar and ask for a pint of Carlsberg, which I’ll then tell you that we don’t have, then a pint of Stella, which I’ll tell you we don’t have before finally sighing and wandering off.  You probably should’ve checked the menu at Pizza Hut first before sitting down and asking for fish and chips.

6. You expect me to fish money out of your filthy palm

I tell you that it’s £6.50 for your drinks and you hold out a handful of coins and look at me.  Excellent.  As much as I’d like to touch the hand of a sweaty, drunk stranger I’d much rather you just engaged your brain and counted up the right amount before handing it to me.

7. You place your money on the bar top instead of in my hand

I just want a happy medium from these people.  The bar top is dirty and often wet.  I don’t enjoy picking your money off of it when you could have just as easily handed it to me like any normal person.  I always make a point of returning the favour when giving change back to the customer to really hammer home why this is a stupid thing to do.

8. You wave your money at me

Excellent.  I now know that if I don’t serve you in the next two seconds that the world will end.  This display has jumped you to the front of the queue of people waiting to be served.

9.  You think that you’re smarter than the bartender

It’s amazing how many colleagues I’ve had behind the bar that hold degrees.  I’m sure it’d be a frightening statistic for the government to mull over.  If I’ve given you a drink with lemonade that doesn’t taste quite right the correct thing to do would be to tell me and I’ll change the lemonade and get you another one.  The wrong thing to do would be to call me an idiot for putting in soda water instead of lemonade and cause a fuss.

10. You make an unnecessary mess

Obviously in bars there is some mess that will be unavoidable.  But there are some things that will do nothing but irritate the bar staff.  Putting your chewing gum in your glass and ripping up flyers and putting the remains everywhere (especially into half finished drinks) are two of my personal hates.  Drinking yourself to the point where you’re actually sick in the bar also deserves a mention.  Just last week in the Solid a group of people decided to stack their glasses in the middle of the table until it eventually toppled and shards of broken glass went everywhere.  Excellent work guys, thanks a lot!

11. You make no effort to get out of the way

I’m carrying an armful of empty glasses or a case of beer or a bin bag and need to get past.  We both approach the same busy section of the bar and you compassionately step aside and motion me to go first.  No, of course you don’t.  You barge through, bump into me and cause uproar for everyone around us.

12. You expect me to wait for you

a) While I’m getting your drinks your phone has went off and you’re mid-conversation by the time I get back.  Of course it isn’t courteous to expect me to wait for you to finish your conversation before you hand over the money or ask for more drinks!  Idiot!

b) I tell you how much it is and you grab your wallet and begin counting the money in the slowest fashion imaginable.  Have it ready, please, did you forget that you were going to have to pay for these drinks?

c) I ask you what you would like at which point you turn around and beginning asking your mates what they want to drink.  If there are other people waiting to be served don’t expect me to still be there when you turn around, chump.

13. You expect me to know your “usual”

I have to serve a large number of different customers on any given night.  There’s no need to look shocked or angry when I can’t remember that you’re the particular punter who enjoys Budvar 85% of the time.

14. You talk absolute bullshit

I am paid to serve you drinks but I do have to draw the line somewhere.  For the most part I really don’t want to hear you slaver on about mediocre bands or how it all went wrong for you.

I’m stuck putting up with this sort of thing for quite a while yet but if I can make one customer change their ways then it all will have been worthwhile.  The youtube clips are from Will Ferrell’s funnyordie.com.  Amusing, aren’t they?

A Merry Christmas to One and All!

I hope you’re all having a very merry day and that you and those around you are thoroughly enjoying themselves.  It’s been a good day for me today but somewhat sombre because spending time with my family just now serves as a reminder of what I will be leaving behind.

The flight to Toronto is now only twenty days away and it’s coming on faster than I ever could have imagined.  While it is no doubt an extremely exciting prospect, I also recognise the potential pitfalls.  Last week I was in Inverness to say goodbye to a few folk and that word certainly leaves me with a funny feeling when I have no idea how long it will be before I see some of my best friends again.  Still, they say that nothing worth doing is ever easy, don’t they?  The time to get my head down and make sure I leave things in the right place is most definitely now.

A blog about what I won’t miss and one about the downside to bartending will be with you within the week.