When the fun stops, STOP

If you’re wondering where you’ve seen that before it’s the “Gambleaware.co.uk” caveat on TV advertising for on-line bingo etc. Not that I use such services, I’m far too long in the tooth to imagine that there’s any realistic chance of winning with internet gambling, or any other sort of gambling for that matter!

No, in this case when the fun stops, stop applies to working behind the bar in the Cricketers Arms. I was being rostered for short shifts, last week just three hours in total, and it’s not going to get any better because they have taken on more staff to spread the hours even thinner.

The landlord says “the customers want to see pretty girls behind the bar.”

 (His gender descrimination, not mine.)

Three hours a week, at less than the statutory National Minimum Wage, is not worth the effort because I walk to and from work so my time taken to earn those three hours pay is actually over four hours. Add another half hour getting ready (shave, shower, etc.) and the fact that I spend money on beer when I go to work in the pub and I’m better off staying at home.

The final straws were on Sunday night when the landlady asked me to stay on for an extra hour, at ten to nine when I was set to go home in ten minutes time. OK, so the extra pay would have helped, a bit. Four hours instead of three. Big deal. But by this time I wasn’t prepared to stop because I’d already decided that I was going to quit.

Then the landlord asked why I’d stopped doing the midweek cellar cleaning job.

Sorry, this has to be said and if the truth hurts then that’s just tough.

I was willing to put up with working for less than National Minimum Wage on the bar but the going hourly rate for cleaning is at least £6.50, as laid down by the law, not the £6.10 being paid for bartending and certainly not the two pints of beer per hour that I was getting for scrubbing the cellar.

To save you doing the maths, 2 x £2.80 = £5.60.

In fact it cost the landlord considerably less than that because the price that the beer comes in at is nearer to £1.50 a pint. Would you work for three pounds an hour?

Furthermore, I wonder if the “pretty girls” that the customers apparently want to see behind the bar will be expected to pick up the dog muck in the alleyway when there’s a delivery due?

I was.

Still, equal opportunities for equal (though inadequate) pay and all that.

Anyway, back to the post’s title. When you cease enjoying a job it becomes a chore. This soon spirals because when a job is a chore your heart is not in it and you begin to dislike it even more. When you’re doing a job because you like it you can put up with meagre earnings but when you don’t you begin to resent being underpaid…

And that’s when it’s time to give up.

That’s why the regulars won’t be seeing me behind the bar again, but if you’re still there after reading through this tirade, thanks!

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About Bob Hughes

Ex railwayman, life long railway modeller, lover of real ale and spicy food. Divorced, three kids, one dog.
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