New jobs often suck

So I started my new job with all the flair and hope that one starts any new undertaking. Although this job is simply a means to an end (paying off a stupid phone situation, and saving up for the return to my man) I hoped to enjoy myself while I did it.

My first mistake: Accomodation. On the day that I came for my interview, there had been a farewell party the night before for the member of staff that I was to replace. This meant that everyone I met was hungover. Including the manager I was interviewed by. This was fine by me. I like a drink or seven when a good party is an excuse, and I was assured that this was not the normal state of things. However, when I asked to see the accomodation offered (pub jobs in the UK usually come with accomodation. It means you cant pull a sickie), I was told that the place was strewn with drunk people, but assured that the accomodation was above average and that I would have my own room. I figured that after living in a tent in the dustiest and most disease ridden country in the world, that I would be able to manage. I was sorely sorely mistaken.

The day I moved in I lugged my belongings from London out to the countryside, and arrived ready and full of a certain hopeful cheer. I knew I was going to hate it when I walked up the stairs to the accomodation. Imagine a teenagers bedroom. Got it? Now imagine that the teenager has been sharing his bedroom with 10 other teenagers for the last 4 years, and that they had occasionally decided that a bonfire INSIDE the house was a good idea. Not to mention the belongings of several past members of staff that they couldnt be bothered to take with them on their next adventure. At the top of the stairs is a landing that has to be negotiated with a certain amount of nimble footedness to avoid the old shoes, the random dirty glasses (some broken) and for some bizarre reason, a packet of ready sliced cheese. I am still sure that the cheese turned to watch me pass.

I made it relatively safely to my room, a little concerned for my health, and was in for yet another disappointment. My room is tiny, has a single bed that I choose not to know the history of, and has one small window, which I choose to keep closed because the heating doesnt work and the air outside is frosty. At some point it was part of a bigger room, and has been subdivided, using standard corner cutting chip board of the cheapest variety. They never plastered, or painted, over it. Also, it is directly above the bar, and not only can I hear the music downstairs, but I can actually hear the conversations of the customers as they sit at the bar on their 20th pint of the day.

At this point I almost walked straight back out again. However, I liked the people and figured if I could live in Sudan, I could live in this. Until that night. I wasnt shifted to work for that first night and so I sat at the bar and had a few drinks. Both my man, and my Dad, called that evening to ask how I was doing, and I assured them that the pub was great, the staff nice people, and that I was looking forward to my job. That rapidly changed when it reached 3am and the staff were still going strong on the drink. At this point I wanted to cry. The all night drinking is, in fact, a nightly event. As are the drugs (which I avoid as much as is possible). I woke the next day with a feeling of dread but was determined to give it a shot. I worked my first shift with a hangover, and was astounded when a staff member I hadnt met yet arrived for her lunch shift half an hour late (to no comment from management) and immediately poured herself a double gin and tonic. By the time she finished her shift 5 hours later she was hammered. I asked the manager if this is normal. 'Oh yes,' he says, 'she does this most days.'

I hate it. I hate the accomodation, I hate the staff who drink solidly, I hate the supervisor who gets too drunk to count the tills in the evening, and I hate that the only quiet I have in my room is somewhere between 3am and 9am. I am staying until the end of next week, I shall collect my pay, and run with my tail between my legs back to London. Dear god, what a place. Beautiful pub, beautiful location, and the most derelect and insane staff I have met for a while.

I am DEFINITELY too old for this shit!