Bar-ely legal: a cautionary tale
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Summer jobs - the perfect way for students to keep themselves occupied and to earn money during the uni "off season". However, whilst income is important, sometimes it is worth looking at the bigger picture and seeing just what you're letting yourself in for...
As we all know, being an unemployed student is basically a straight path into near-poverty, freezing cold nights (alone, or not - giggidy) and copious amounts of junk food and ready meals. So off goes the light-bulb in your head as you near the end of your first year. Two words: summer and job.
Why not get a summer job? Working minimum wage is all good as long as you have the hours, and it’s money coming in to spend on necessities such as food, electricity, alcohol, cabs out and cabs back. Sometimes you can even go above minimum wage – more money! Utter genius! Disposable income – the loan just becomes a cherry on top of this financial cake that you’re baking in your mind, all light and fluffy, undulating in the oven as you lick your lips in anticipation and appreciation of your own genius.
For anyone considering part time employment this summer, I thought I should share my experience with you, and let you decide for yourselves if it really is worth it.
One night out towards the end of the last term, a few friends and I were having drinks in a local bar, which had adverts up for those wishing to join their “family”, and to “grab an application form from front of house”, which I sheepishly got one of my friends for to do for me (I hadn’t finished my drink, sheesh, as if I’d interrupt that crucial process).
None of us had jobs at this point, I was the only one to show any desire to grab something as soon as possible – others were aiming for employment from mid-June onwards, but being fed up of being poor as hell and constantly having to pester my dear old mother for money bless her, I decided to grab this opportunity with both hands. I filled out the application form a couple of days later and returned it to the bar, satisfied that, along with my CV, it would do me enough justice.
Sure enough, the day after I got a voicemail from the owner asking me to give them a call. This was where the first issue sprung up – they had given me an incorrect number to ring. After having phoned this number, gee, about, seventeen times (told you I’m keen), I was politely informed by a rather brash fellow on the other end that “I don’t know who you’re trying to phone, but I’m not the right guy”, in a scene ever so slightly reminiscent of Taken.
Not to be deterred, I showed up to the place a couple of days later, asking politely for the manager, who told me not to listen to the man on the previous call, as he was just the owner.
He then continued to say a few choice words to me about just what he thought of him. I maintained some composure, being somewhat taken aback, but I left it, because hell, I needed a job, and if he has issues with his boss, that’s his trip, not mine. I just need the money.
I was invited for a trial shift, which went excellently, and was soon hired on full time hours. In my first week, I completed nearly 35 hours, the second week nearly 40. The night shifts were long, tiring juggernauts, and I would not be asleep until 3am, having to be at work at 12pm the next day. But I didn’t resent it as it was money, the staff I worked with were fun, and it was a good laugh.
I worked on the bar as a bar-backer initially, having been hired as a barman, but was informed that I would be trained up as soon as possible to learn the plethora of cocktails that they served. My duties basically involved collecting and washing glasses, then re-stocking them, filling up fruit juices, getting ice, cutting fruit, as well as pulling pints, making some drinks, and wines. I also helped to re-stock the bar, and clean it completely at the end of each night shift.
However, it was during my second week when, after having been told by the manager that he’d had four hours sleep and slept in the staffroom the night before, I found out that some staff were drinking after hours. I stayed out of this, as I had no interest in pissing off my managers, and just wanted to keep my job. This manager, despite this, was a really good guy deep down – he made me feel immediately welcome and I settled in well, having a good laugh with him.
Yet a week or so later, when I asked about being paid, they asked me who was filling in my hours, to which I replied this manager, why? I was then curtly informed that “he’s not coming back”, inferring that he had been dismissed from his post. I was initially somewhat shocked, then realised this made sense. The amount of alcohol consumed by staff members was well into thousands of pounds, which shocked me, but hey, it’s not my problem. I’m still slightly suspicious to this day as to whether I am owed some money or not from these seemingly unfiled hours.

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