(Bob Hunter)
Glass in hand I look at the barmaid
Alone on the bridge of this ship of fools
She commands and demands respect
From this crew of the lost and lonely men
I am content for I am at home far from home
amongst these mindful wanderers
Each of them has a story to tell, of lives lost
And not redeemed for that is to come
For some
The others will leave but a small wake as they pass
There is happiness here too
with these men and women whose lives
Have had the contrast turned up full
So the dimly blinding barlight limits the horizon
To small easily encompassed spaces
Talk is low and wandered, searching
Full knowing that now vital things
Will be forgotten by morning
As dawn fogs the mind
---
It was on a quiet Monday evening, I was left working alone behind the bar; midnight was approaching and the only two lonely locals in the pub had just changed their pints of Guinness to a big pot of tea – just because they couldn't take any more Guinness, and just to keep me company, and to keep the pub open, I guess. Anyway, it was on that moment when I first felt that I had been accepted as a valid Ardfernian, that I was perhaps a bit more than a person behind the bar who pours everyone's drinks.
I turned the music and the lights down a bit, and in this romantish set of dim lights, quiet music and cups of tea, Bob, a local yacht skipper who lives on a rather fancy boat in the marina and who had walked in to ask for some milk two hours earlier, recited one of his poems. It was written about the Galley of Lorne (or the Valley of Porn as the locals call it) and in my opinion describes the place quite accurately (I do have the permission to publish it in my blog btw)...
Working in a pub has never been my dream job really; mainly because of the fact that it involves communicating with people and, erm... more people. In fact anyone who really knows me has said that I should be locked behind some closed lab doors doing beneficial experiments for the rest of the mankind or something; and I think I actually would excel in such things, but where's the fun in that, ha!?
I remember on my first few days working in the Galley I was thoroughly scared of every person I had to meet, even if it was taking just a few drinks down to their table on a tray (what do I say? what if they ask anything? what if...?) To make matters worse, one of our chefs decided to escape the premises on the second day I was here, so there was a massive delay for every single table in the restaurant.. Consequently, in addition to being scared I had to walk around with a very apologetic face and swallow all the criticism with a huge smile on my face. They said there would be training but I was really, really thrown in at the deep end.
I am overreacting a bit, really. I have the most wonderful set of co-workers ever who did nothing but encourage me and show me around and explain about how to do things. Even our boss, whose main activity is to walk around with a grumpy face, gave me some reassurance that I'll be just fine.
Why am I here? Well they say our boss has a tendency to employ good-looking girls, and considering I had no previous experience in either bar or restaurant work but I did have a good picture of myself on the Workabout website, I think that might be the case :P Personally, I liked the idea of working in a Scottish country pub as something every shy Estonian girl wouldn't do. I've been here for two and a half months now and have been loving it. At least I'm not afraid of the locals anymore :P And on a good day, if I don't think about it, I am also completely able to hold up a professional, interesting conversation with anyone in the restaurant; with customers mentioning me to the owners as they check out. Most of the rest of the time I'm just concerned about how I perform...
I hope by now most of you have realised that my way of describing things is through a weird sarcasm towards myself; I am actually perceived as a normal person with no apparent mental problems, true story! (or at least as a "normal" Ardfernian, I hope :P)
to be continued, maybe..
