Not so much blowing bubbles as pumping
The first week of working for a city wine bar. I don't think I was suited to the job & was a bit too laid-back to handle the pace of it. My manager was always trying to make me work faster, even though I thought I was working at top whack.

End of the first or maybe second week, the industrial dishwasher runs out of salt. I'm sent out to the storeroom with instructions to get a bucket full of salt (to make the water soft, I think) out of the clear plastic bag. This store room is down a long stretch of converted cellars so takes me about 10 mins to get to.

Problem: There are two clear bags, right next to each other, both containing white granules. I knew I wouldn't be popular if I mooched all the way back empty handed so made a snap decision.

Turns out filling the salt dispenser with washing powder isn't the best idea. Cue floods of bubbles pouring out of both ends of the machine as it was a conveyor belt system and all over the floor.

In my defence, putting the dishwasher near to stairs down into the cellar where the beer is kept in wooden casks wasn't the most forward-thinking of ideas either. I believe the cases of vintage port also fared rather badly.

I managed to keep my job but wish I hadn't. By the end of the 3 months before they sacked me, I was spending nearly an hour taking the rubbish out as this was the only job they trusted me with so I threw the rubbish one box at a time into the compactor & watched as each...individual...box...got...crushed.

I should have known it wasn't the right job for me when the job interview concluded with the area manager inviting me to take a drink to sample their fine ales but expected me to pay for it.

Fuck Davy's Wine Bars and fuck city-boy pricks (although at least they could hold their beer - the ladies toilets after a big celebration was positively Biblical)
( four styx, Mon 29 Oct 2007, 21:00, Reply)