exhausted 30 minutes later. The pub was filled with hungover bikers and I was a conveyor belt: pour a pint, take money, pour a shot, wipe the bar, pour a round of drinks, eye roll, sigh, pour another pint. By midday, the beginning of the Sunday roast service, Gemma and I were at stress level 10. A few sly shots of rum got us through the day, but by 4:00 pm I was knackered. Finally, I thought, it’s over. “I’ll see you in an hour. Selena’s gonna be in the kitchen prepping for tonight if you need anything,” Gemma said as she left. Why they would run evening meals on the busiest day of the year was beyond me. When all was said and done, I’d spent 11 hours in an inferno full of sweaty, leather-clad men. Gemma and I sat down to a free alcoholic beverage of our choosing. “You deserve it. You did well today,” Gemma said as we cheered on empty stomachs. That was the moment that changed my mind. If I could handle the busiest day of the year and not end up having a cry in the cellar, then I could handle anything. By the end of the fortnight I’d worked 88 hours. Now, on those days when the gin bottles aren’t quite in the right place, or a customer gets a bit too forward, I reach for a Rich Tea biscuit and a Yorkshire Brew and remind myself it doesn’t matter how many times you clean the shelf and reposition the bottle, it will be dirty again tomorrow. Like managing stress, my relationship with alcohol and with my father is still a work in progress. When he comes into the bar, he gives me a stilted greeting before talking casually to the other barmaid as if I am just another employee taking too long to serve his drink. At least it doesn’t hurt as much as it once did.
( If I have to be the bigger person and exchange pleasantries with his new family while serving him the same Carling that destroyed mine, then so be it. ) That’s another fundamental rule Brits live by— always take the high road. Given all this, it comes as no surprise that the majority of my stories now begin with “So I was at the pub….” I used to question people who claimed, “My job changed my life!” Now I’m starting to see the truth in that statement. ( ) Full Moon Ruby Hopkins
Non-Fiction
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