drinking on the job

For those of you who are slow on the uptake (or have the entirely rational response of tuning out most of what I say): I have the world's most boring job. My post shouldn't really, how shall I put it, exist and as such there are large periods of time where I don't really have that much to do with myself. (Seriously, a few weeks ago I got highly excited by the prospect of cleaning sinks as it was the most interesting thing I'd been given in months. I'm so very glad that my biochemistry degree from, woah, the third ranked university in Europe (how did that happen?) is going to good use)... As such I have to amuse myself by blogging, reading webcomics, inventing drinking games and learning about whatever random topic takes my fancy. The internet is a marvellous timewasting tool. But it hasn't always been that way. Oh no, every job I've ever had has been dull as hell (I'm a slacker, it's just the way I roll) but I haven't always had the glory of the interwebs to fall back on, I've had to find other ways to entertain myself.

Now, I hated working retail, I sold video games on pretty much the most expensive high street of London This meant spoilt kids with entitlement complexes and women who care so little about their husbands' credit cards that they don't even notice being overcharged by the price of one PSP (that happened to me not once but twice, and yes both times were accidental - what on earth do you people think of me?). But still my particular sector had its advantages, these mainly appeared in the form of demonstration models and DVDs. Our store TVs were supposed to play a DVD of upcoming video game trailers on some kind of endless demonic loop. You know what works really well? Replacing the DVD player with a gamecube. Fun fact: wavebirds work even if the console is on a separate floor. Good times.

But that's not the point of this post. Oh no. It's entitled "drinking on the job" and, because I am planning on doing just that this afternoon, that's what I'm here to talk about.

During my first year of Uni I worked at a cocktail bar alongside the ex Mr. TheOdd, it started off slowly, I covered his shifts while he was off shooting at things (oh yeah: he was a pretend soldier, don't think I've mentioned that before), but pretty soon (after getting someone fired - my, I am revealing my inner bitch today aren't I? Don't worry, it was justified) I was a fully fledged member of staff. Now, this particular bar was a weekend kind of a place, we'd be literally empty during the week (a typical night would see one, maybe two customers) but during the weekend we'd be packed solid on both floors (especially with one particular DJ playing) and rushed off our feet.

On the empty nights it was a pretty cool place to work, none of the "well I don't care if there's nobody in the bar you can go and check if any of the empty tables have magically spawned dirty glasses or ashtrays in the three minutes since you last checked" mentality that is rampant in a lot of places. No, on the slow days the ex Mr. TheOdd and I could sit at the end of the bar and do coursework if we had any, there was scrabble to play, food from the Greek restaurant next door (the lovely people delivered) and the TVs were hooked up to Sky so if we got really bored we could always watch extreme sports.

The most fun I ever had on that job was one random Tuesday evening when a group of bankers wandered in with some clients and decided to take us up on our "special offers". Our "special offers" consisted of £1 shots of Jager, butterscotch schnapps, sambuca and tequila that was probably meant to be used as an industrial solvent but somehow just got mislabelled. As they were the only customers in the bar they, of course, got my full attention. As I was the only female in the bar they, of course, bought me drinks.

Bar policy was that if a customer bought you a drink you damned well drank it.

Who am I to fly in the face of policy I ask you?

(I must state now that one of my most over used phrases in this kind of situation is "Well, it'd be rude not to.." it applies to everything I over consume: food, alcohol, boys, shoes...)

And so I drank with them, they insisted on buying me a shot and a drink for every round they had. Although I'm a teeny tiny little thing I am very capable of holding my own drinks wise so it didn't seem like that bad of a plan... Let's just say that I didn't manage to finish my shift. I have no idea how I got back to halls or why I had a bottle wine in my bag when I woke up the next morning on the floor of the ex Mr. TheOdd's room. He would have been mad at me for waking him up at some ungodly hour had he not stumbled in from one of his shifts the week before at 4am bursting through my door with the immortal words:

"Alex (dramatic pause) I ate (further dramatic pause with triumphant finger wagging) th' Scorpion (satisfied grin)."

And, as it turns out, indeed he had.

That being said, it's 12:30. I'm off to the pub.