…bygones

Ok, wordpress just ate my entry. ATE. Hope it tasted rotten, ye “%$£%” ….

So, I’m back at work again, and for the first two days, absolutely miserable and annoyed.

‘There’ve been a lot of people getting in who shouldn’t be,’ Boss2 gravely remarked on Saturday night. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to need you to do weekends for the next few weeks.’

Sigh.

So, that’s what I’ll be doing for the next couple of weeks. But what needs to be done is what needs to be done.

Meanwhile, my friend Wee Jo has been made redundant just today, I’m afraid. I feel very badly for her, she’s very good at her job. Having been tipped off to the possibility of job devastation last week, she contacted me about getting a couple shifts in the pub. I’m doing what I can for her, and Boss2 is, too. But with her and ClairePepper, and the other Wee Joe (who just came back from holiday), I don’t think I have enough hours to go around.

We’ll try though. Boss2 is very sympathetic, and is not above making room for new staff where he can. Bless.

I hope we can help, I really do. That’s all I seem to ever want to do lately.

Well, it’s that time of year where the bosses, who haven’t learned their lesson from last year, go on holiday again. At the same time. Again.

Last year it was just a mistake; and I was left to deal with the pubs myself. I fretted and moaned but I eventually made my way through it intact.

So, it would stand to reason that they’d try to co-ordinate their holidays so they’re not away at the same time again. Nope. They’ve done it again; and this week Boss1 flies off to Europe with Boss2 following closely behind to a destination of his own.

I thought it was just a mistake…again. But now I think that I did too well last year when they were away that they’ve decided it’s ok to do it again.

Well, it’s not ok. And I don’t know how to make them see that without making myself seem totally incompetent; so once again, I don my armour to ward off stress and ulcers and hold down the fort.

Again.

I’m putting out fires all over the place. And my resolution to clean up my new pub has resulted in me chucking people out on a regular basis.

After our staff meeting on Tuesday; a staff member, Pete, said to me, ‘Can I tell you something? But I don’t want to get the sack…?’

Go for it.

‘I think we need a strong male figure in here. This place is getting out of control.’

I smiled. ‘I’m it. I’m your strong male figure.’

He hesitated. ‘You know what I mean…someone to send a strong message to the riff-raff. Get this place back to being a friendly and non-violent place.’

‘Watch me.’

So, last night I cleaned house. The regulars are all impressed and happy with me; and if I’ve earned a small modicum of respect from the other staff, then I’m happy with that.

The result being that I’ve duly stamped the pub with my resolution of ‘Rat-catcher’. The regulars know I mean business, and hopefully word will get around that this is no longer the place for you to go if you’re barred from everywhere else.

This new reputation could go one of two ways, as I said to Fee yesterday. Either 1) The undesirable punters will get the hint and stay away or 2) The undesirable punters will start streaming in to see if I actually mean business.

Hey, Undesirable Punters! I actually mean business.

Hopefully, they’ll choose option 1. But what I can say so far is that some of the old regulars who had left because of the undesirable punters are starting to creep back in again. So at least my new reputation for the pub has gotten around to the right people.

The bosses seem happy, but interestingly, that means less to me than the opinion of my regulars and my staff.

Bring it. It’s game time, let’s go.

Life’s pretty mundane around these parts lately. Kev’s been on tour for the past month, and though I get him for more than 24 hours this week, when he leaves again on Thursday, I won’t see him for a further two weeks straight.

At work, I have been very wary of becoming too close with the staff, like I did in my other pub, but it seems I don’t have to try too hard. Some are still a bit put out that I’m there. I don’t really care, actually, because I’m there to do my job, not to make friends. It sounds harsh, I know, but at the end of the day, it’s a career.

The upside, if you really want to see it, is that both The Bosses are very happy with the work I’ve done in the pub. The punters are very happy with me, as well, and I carry a lot of respect and clout with me. No one wants to fall out with me, and that’s a very good position to be in.

I have to admit, as well, that after so many months of being on the wrong side of Boss2, I’m glad I’m finally His Girl again. I think that our worst problem was trying to do the same job at the same time. He is back to uttering encouraging phrases like, ‘..when you get a pub of your own…’. One particularly hairy position, however, in which I’ve been put in, is that Boss2 has been letting slip a few unhappy comments about Boss1. The two of them, together a force to be reckoned with, have always stood as One, and never before have I seen cracks of disagreement on either side.

Though I do feel like I’ve been paid a compliment from Boss2 for allowing him to confide in me, at the same time I’m very aware that it’s a slippery slope from here; and ‘the middle’ is not exactly where I want to be. I’m glad he has confidence in my discretion, but I’m very afraid that it might put me in a precarious position.

So, I keep my mouth shut and let him talk, and pray that I never ever let slip anything he has said. I suppose the upside to not having anyone around to talk to, is that I won’t be repeating anything which shouldn’t be repeated.

Things in the new pub have been going well. The punters are glad I’m there to oversee things; as are the staff. I get the feeling that while things were running ok without a manager everything was just that: Ok.

My first week there was the best week takings-wise that it had had in many many months. Boss2 and I would like to think it was because of me, but I think it was due to a few different factors.

At any rate, aside from ‘cleaning up the pub’ in the punter and staff sense, we’ve got some other cleaning up to do. Namely some new residents we have in the cellar.

The cellar scares me anyway. There is a hatch in the floor behind the bar, which opens up to reveal a set of very steep stairs; nearly steep enough to be a ladder, really. I’m not fond of hatches; I’ve never had to work in a place which had them, and admittedly for my first couple of shifts, I refused to even stand on the hatch door when it was shut for fear I’d fall through. That fear is gone, but still, those stairs are deadly. There is no negotiating them at speed.

The cellar itself is a catacomb; a maze. Dark curvy hallways and mysterious nooks (and a set of stairs that leads nowhere). It’s a huge place, larger than the actual square footage of the pub and a likely location for a horror movie.

The staff had all been informing me of our new residents….rats. I’m not surprised actually that they’d built a nest there…it’s the perfect penthouse suite for them. And until this week, I hadn’t seen any of our long-tailed friends and, tempting fate, made a snarky comment on Tuesday about it. ‘I haven’t seen any…I think you guys are just making this all up to scare me.’

Well…I had to open my big mouth, didn’t I?

That afternoon, one of our wee pals made it up the stairs (we’d hoped we could contain them in the cellar), and was hiding behind the bin. Of course, when my till blinked off, I followed the cord to make sure it was plugged in, moved the bin, and there he was.

I let out a yelp, jumped back, and tried to laugh at the questioning looks from the punters at the bar.

[Them] What is it, hen?
[Me] (nervous smile) Nothing…?

I assumed Mickey had burrowed back into the hole out of which he’d come, but unfortunately, I was wrong.

Later that evening, as I sat enjoying a bottle of Becks and chatting away to the punters, Bernie and Mick working in the bar; I refrained from telling them the story. I admit that I kept it from them because I wanted them to gut the shelf and the hatch of all crumbs and rubbish where I’d seen Mickey. If I’d told them, they wouldn’t have even attempted it.

Well, Mick set himself to cleaning the shelf, and to everyone’s surprise, Mickey hadn’t burrowed into the hole out of which he’d come; he’d just camped out on the shelf.

I’ve never seen a grown man jump so high and scream like a girl in my life.

Bernie climbed up onto the bar, yelping and everyone at the bar, including me, was on tippy-toes peering over to catch a glimpse of the wee bastard.

There he was. Trying to squeeze into the hole I thought he’d disappeared into earlier.

Now, let me explain something about me. I don’t like rats. I don’t like spiders, or anything which is wild and dirty and potentially harmful. I get the creeps, just like anyone else, and would have gladly run as far as I could to get away.

However, that natural protective instinct I have (and the desire not to look like a spineless scaredy-cat in my own pub) took over and I jumped out of my seat, grabbed a clear plastic cylinder and plonked it down over Mickey.

Trapped.

Sliding a shovel underneath, and with the help of a regular, we took Mickey outside while curious punters looked on.

We tried dumping him on the sidewalk a little ways from the pub, but Mickey, with his built in homing device, immediately scurried back in the direction of the pub. My regular scooped him back up (in an impressive display of bravery and skill) and took him to the courtyard of the church across the street. ‘We’ll give him to Jesus,’ he said with laughter in his eyes.

When I re-entered the pub, I got a standing ovation and a new nickname.

I think that, as the new manager, I’ve made myself pretty clear: any rats, either of the four-legged or two-legged variety, will be personally escorted off the premises by yours truly.

For I am The Rat-Catcher.

So, we finally (I say ‘finally’ when in fact it was only one day I had to wait) had our staff meeting at the new pub, whereupon Boss2 announced that I’m the new gaffer (that’s ‘boss’ to you colonials).

The reaction was lack of surprise. I thought that I’d have more of a stiff, shocked silence at the announcement, but it seems to me that a couple of key members of staff, who I thought would have a problem are actually quite keen to work with me. Mainly, this is because they have a lot of ideas for the pub, but never see them through to fruition because they’re either scared to just *do*, or they’re still waiting for Boss2 to point them in the right direction.

After the meeting, I spoke to them seperately, and they’re eager to finally have the means to do what they want with the place. ‘I’m a do-er’, I replied, ‘I don’t ask permission, I just ‘do’.’

They all seem relieved. But also, they’re ready for me to come in and sort out a mess which has been brewing between a member of staff and a customer, which, frankly, after only 24 hours there, I’ve noticed is bringing down morale. I txted Boss2 later in the evening, knowing he’s aware of the problem, and he’s agreed that it needs to get sorted soon. The sooner, the better, I think, otherwise this dark cloud will keep us from accomplishing anything we want to do.

So, with a heavy sigh, I plan courses of action in my head; strategise how we can resolve this so that the staff and punters don’t feel they need to choose sides.

Meanwhile, I feel a bit blue on a number of issuses…kev is away, I’m working in a new place which is alien to me and I miss my bar. I feel like I’m in some transitional limbo, and uncomfortable with my surroundings.

I’m sure it’ll be ok. Boss2 seems happy with my ideas and what I’ve acheieved so far (and it’s only been 2 days); this is comforting, but not enough. I’ll feel a lot better when I start seeing some results.

I’ve been thinking a lot over the weekend about this shift to the other pub. I’m still not overly happy about it, but I’ve had a lot of anticipation about what it’s going to be like, what I may change about the place.

Mainly, I have the very strong feeling about wanting to succeed. My plan is not to go in and start changing everything around. I know that there are changes which need to be made, and in time, that will happen. What I have mostly been brooding on is a single question: Why do I, or why have I always disliked this pub?

There’s no one answer, no one undeniable reason why I dislike the place, but every excuse or reason that I come up with boils down to one idea: I wouldn’t want to drink there.

I think that on one hand, I (or anyone) would have a hard time trying to do up a place they disliked. There’s no motivation there. Not like with my bar…I loved that place, I wanted it to do well, and the effort I put into it was purely motivated by the fact that I had such a strong feeling of attachment to it. So the question becomes, will I be able to put that same sort of effort into a pub that I dislike?

On the other hand, if this is not a place I would ever spend my spare time, then I need to find out what needs changed to make it into a place I would like to go. Chances are, if I don’t want to spend time there as customer, then other people won’t either. And I have a suspicion that this is exactly the case.

How do I make it a place I would want to frequent? Ideas are running through my head; the more I think about it, the more anxious I am to just get started already, to plunge in and get to work. So, in a way, it’s possibly a good thing that I didn’t get a lot of time before the transfer took place. Otherwise, I’d either be chomping at the bit for a week until I could get started, or I’d be spending a week at my old place, moaning to whoever would listen that I don’t want to be transfered.

So, let’s get started already. Because I know what type of person I am (and Boss2 knows it, too): I refuse to fail.

Bring it on.

Afterthought: I have been thinking about the staff as well, and I appreciate your comments. I’ve come to a conclusion about them. Fuck ‘em. If they’d been doing the job, I wouldn’t be there. I’m sure I’ll win them over, but at the end of the day, I really don’t care. They can either fall in line, or they can make their way to the job centre. Their choice.

This is the third time I’ve tried writing this entry, and I don’t know why, but I don’t really know how to say what I need to say.

I’m just going to blurt it out (if one can blurt via prose), and I’ll expand on it later.

Boss2 has decided to transfer me to one of our other bars, to be manager. I’m not very happy about this, I don’t want to go and I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter.

I know that it’s a compliment to me that he trusts me to do this for him, and that he has confidence in my abilities; ‘Do there what you did here,’ he’d said to me.

But I don’t want to go.

Kev’s over the moon about it; the other bar is closer to where we live, it has more sociable opening hours so I won’t be having to work until 3 am.

But I don’t want to go.

Boss2 says it’ll only be for a couple months and then he’ll bring me back, but I think that’s a lie. I think that if I do well there, then there’s no way he’s going to take me out of there.

Plus, I have another worry about the place: The staff in there have been running things themselves for a couple months. And there’s one or two who think of themselves as being ‘in charge’.

They’re going to hate me.

There is a part of my job that I love…Customer Relations Officer. I get to give out free drink or whatever to whomever I like…the kind of customers we want to keep. I’m an Angel. I’m the ‘Nah, I’ll get this one’ kind of girl. People love me. I do love giving things away…people never expect it and then are so grateful about it. No one’s ever given me a free drink in a pub just for being there, it’s nice to see their happy faces light up.

Today, I got a chance to reap the rewards.

I had decided today that I was going to treat myself to a curry. I’d been craving one since my birthday so I went on to a local Indian restaurant, where, I’d heard, they have a ‘quick menu’ for £6…curry, rice, pakora, pompadoms. I was on my own today, with my current reading material in tow (Obama’s book Dreams from My Father if you’re wondering). I’ve got no problem eating alone in a restaurant, and today I was looking forward to a quiet meal with my book.

After I finished my lunch (which was satisfying and delicious), I asked the waiter for my bill and he said, ‘It’s taken care of already’.

In response to the question mark on my face, he nodded toward one of the other waiters…a regular at my bar, who smiled at me and approached my table.

After a brief chat, and promises to see him in the pub tomorrow night for the Arsenal match, I inquired about my meal. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied with a wink, ‘I’ll take care of it.’

Hey, that’s my line.

I know I’ve stopped blogging so much about my work. I don’t feel you, Dear Reader, have missed all that much. It’s basically the same thing week after week, with little bits of drama smooshed in between. Since our last arguement, Boss2 and I have been getting along better; and dare I say, better than we had been before our first argument. And, without going into any great detail here, I will say that I had rather surprising evidence this week that Boss2 does care a lot about me, even personally, ‘like a big brother’ as Laura put it.

That being said, we’ve been having a problem with That Guy again. I had refrained from saying anything further to Boss2 about That Guy, simply because I recognise that That Guy is a huge suck-up, and he’ll do just about anything to:

1. Not do any work
2. Curry favour with Boss2

Because I recognise this rather unattractive trait in That Guy, I usually try to ignore his smugness at being what he considers ‘the boss’s favourite’. I like being the boss’s favourite because I do my job well, I don’t consider ’sucking up’ to be the sort of personal talent that I can put on my C.V. (In fact, I’m ridiculously bad at ’sucking up’ for exactly that reason; and, I don’t really have any desire to be better at it).

I have also refrained from complaining to Boss2 about That Guy because I think that Boss2 might be tired of listening to me about him. Though Boss2 did try to bait me about That Guy, and I refused to play, and on that occasion it was because I was tired of listening to me complain about That Guy. Plus I felt a bit like I was trying to fight an uphill battle on rollerskates with Nerf balls instead of weapons.

At any rate, every once in a while, I find it necessary to educate (for lack of a better word…’brief’ maybe?) the boss on That Guy, shattering the illusion that he is a good worker, and actually cares about doing his job.

The conundrum this week? Well, Emma (who, to her credit, has climbed (no, clawed) her way back from a seemingly career devastating fall-out with Boss2; which almost never happens) finally got herself one of the Golden Egg shifts. The shift is the longest shift available since they’ve redone the pub availability. It means one can work less days, but the same amount of hours, and since the availability had been changed, Emma longed for the Golden Egg shift, to which she is entitled, but which had been reserved for me and That Guy.

So, she gets the long shift (her first notion that Boss2 has finally forgiven her), and she’s happy about it. However, it means that That Guy comes in for the short part of the shift (a measely 5 hour shift, compared to the Golden Egg’s 10 hours), in which case Emma has to pass on any orders from Boss2 (or Boss1) about the responsibilities for the evening. This includes cleaning, PR work, online work, etc; basically the things we do in the pub to promote any events upcoming, and general maintenance of the place.

Of course, this ruffles That Guy’s feathers a bit, as he’s used to being the one in charge of a shift (unless I’m on, of course).

So, Emma says to That Guy, ‘Boss2 wants you to take these posters out and put them on lampposts, etc’.

And That Guy says, ‘Nope. Not gonna do it.’
Emma: ‘But that’s what you were asked to do. Boss2 wanted me to have you get that done tonight.’
That Guy: ‘I’ll just tell him you forgot to tell me.’

Now. Emma doesn’t think that’s necessarily right and she says so. Basically, That Guy wanted to blame Emma for the posters not going up partially because he didn’t want to do it, and partially so that Boss2 wouldn’t think (no way!) that That Guy hadn’t done his job.

Emma tells me all of this the next day, and I advise her to tell Boss2. Pronto.

But she doesn’t want to because she doesn’t want to be ‘mean’.
‘It’s not meanness, Emma’, I say, ‘You have to protect yourself. It isn’t right that Boss2 would dig you up for not telling That Guy, if you did tell That Guy, and you need to tell Boss2 before That Guy lies to him and makes you look bad.’
Emma still decides to say nothing.

Again, yesterday, I tried to persuade her to tell Boss2, and she wavers a bit before declining again. ‘Ach, it doesn’t matter anyway,’ she says.

Then, today, it happened just like I said it would (I sometimes hate being right all the time):
Boss2 asked That Guy why the posters weren’t up, That Guy said Emma forgot to tell him to do it, and then, Boss2 told That Guy to have Emma do it when she got in.

So basically Emma gets punished by having to do it herself.

Obviously, she’s now raging about it, but still unwilling to tell Boss2. She’s…well, she’s not happy about it, but I suppose she’s resigned to just ‘let it go’.

Of course, I can’t live with this. I think Boss2 deserves to know. Not necessarily because I expect him to do something about it; I don’t. But simply so that he knows and can be aware that this is how That Guy is; and if anything crops up in the future he can be aware.

So, I have to be the one to tell Boss2. And, in fairness, I told Emma that I would be speaking to him about it, and she’s ok with it. However, she’s unwilling to tell him herself because they’ve been getting along so well…she’s finally back in his good graces and she doesn’t want to ruin it.

Therefore, tomorrow, I get the grand responsibility of calling Boss2 and, of course choosing my words and tone very carefully, brief him on the events.

I have slight misgivings about this conversation, simply because I don’t want to be a ‘tattle-tale’, but as far as I can reason, I can only conclude the following:

1. Boss2 wouldn’t know about it, unless I told him
2. He needs to know
3. I’m not telling him with the expectation of any negative recourse to That Guy.
4. It is part of my job to be the ‘diplomatic go-between’ for the staff to the Bosses.

In regards to number 3, I don’t really care if Boss2 decides to dig up That Guy about lying (which I think could be a major issue with Boss2) and blame-shifting. If Boss2 decides to do nothing about it, then I’m ok with that. I just feel that Boss2 should be aware that That Guy will stop at nothing to make himself look good to Boss2, even to the point of lying about it and blaming someone else; plus I feel that Boss2 should be aware of this sort of fabricating going on without his knowledge.

Ok, so this has ended up being a longer post that I intended; but here I finally end it with a single thought. This, I feel, this situation and my handling of it, will be what I am good at as a manager. Or maybe I’m good at other things as well. But I am not willing to stand by and let someone suffer the penalties of another’s crime; injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere, I believe someone famously said. At the risk of annoying Boss2 with my Anti-That-Guy chat, I feel I am justified.