Working Girl

I have a job now – it’s not glamorous, but it’s not McDonald’s either. It’s as bar staff in the Student’s Union. Not quite some swanky cocktail bar, or even a gay bar, but the pay is pretty good, and the hours not too shabby. I can just about reach the spirits, and I’ve already done my first 6 hour shift. Yes mummy, I was in the presence of drunk people and loud music for a full 6 hours, and I actually kind of enjoyed working.

The pervy part of me is looking forward to the hot tub party later this term. That should make up for the fact no one warned me about the cleaning up afterwards. The amount students drink is quite frankly amazing, and more amazing is the amount they buy and don’t drink – spilling it on themselves, on the floor, down the stairs, or just abandoning a full pint on any flat surface. Yes, cleaning up afterwards wasn’t as romantic as pouring pints and the like. However, at least no one was there to see me prancing about with a bin bag and a tub I called ‘Tubby’.

More importantly, I’m still as stubborn as anything. I took a kind of strange delight in telling my mother that I had a job, and then the next day I regaled her with tales of how late I was home, how drunk men oogled me, and how I was held at knife point until I poured the perfect pint of Snake bite (well, maybe not the last one). She hates the idea of it, I know. But even if I was getting my full allowance, I now want something to fall back on. It’s not much, but I don’t have to justify what I spend it on. My money, my life.