We wear a black long-sleeved shirt, long black pants, black pumps and an orange apron for the place I work. During the winter, which is most of the year in England, it's great, it's nice and warm and snug for the harsh weather, it's the perfect winter uniform until it becomes summer and the uniform is changed to accommodate the weather right? Wrong. It never changes. 20+ degrees outside and you're working in a sweat box for up to 6 hours at a time. I wanna die every time. 

This is where your fellow runners and the chefs are. The Chefs, well they come in already stressed out from the thought of coming in in the first place, so your stress only begins like an hour or less into your shift, these guys are already past that level so their stress just builds. And who gets the backlash of that stress? Hello. 

The worst thing about the kitchen is seeing where the food comes from. We're a flamin' grill so our meats are fresh, however the sides... Do you have any idea how many coleslaws I have to dish out from the gross industrial tubs every time I do a shift? Do you know how many times I get that shit on my hands or in my hair? Do you know how bad it smells? Do you know how much I hate coleslaw? I used to call it cold sore when I was younger. 

Getting food down you comes with the job to be fair, you've gotta scrape people's leftover food into two separate bins, and got help you if you put a wooden burger stick thing in the wrong bin. Or if you don't scrape the coleslaw out of the tiny side cups before dumping them into the soaking bath with the knives and forks. If the pot washer gets any carrot on him he will annihilate you. Every shift, EVERY GOD DAMN SHIFT, I somehow get my hair dipped in something, usually coleslaw or sauce. My apron looks like I've been treating fallen soldiers every single time a shift ends. Also, the most annoying thing is when your fellow runner slacks and doesn't scrape their plates before leaving them for the pot washer, because they ain't gonna do it, they've got better shit to do so baby it's all yours, as well as the ones you've already brought in. And if they yell "Food over here!" bae just drop everything you're doing and run the food before their stress turns you into a punching bag. 

Dear sweet customers who almost never tip no matter how nice you are to them or their kids or their dogs, you probs aren't getting a tip, sorry. You've also got the odd grumpy old dude who comes in and says "Will you tell that lot to be quiet?!" and you're like... It's a pub so no I can't, but you can't say shit you just have to smile, apologize and then walk off to seethe with a smile. The best one I get often is when I say the compulsory line "Was everything okay with your meals?" and the guy/girl says "No it was horrid", but their plate is licked clean, plus sides. What I want to say is "It's horrid but you still ate it all you fat bastard" but what I have to say is "Oh, I'm sorry about that do you want to see the manager about it?". Odds are they'll complain and get something knocked off their bill, because in this industry the customer is always right unless they do some stupid shit like actually place food into your hand. This has happened to me before, and it's disgusting. 

The worst is when you get a football presentation in so there's like 30+ parents and their darling angels in your smallish pub. Some have managed to bag some tables but the rest are standing near the bar in the middle of the pub, so when you're walking through that crowd with heavy af wooden plates with a read hot skillet resting on it and they won't move because they're too busy talking about the football on the tv you forgot your pub even had whilst your wrists are actually breaking it's a tad annoying. And rude. And ignorant. But this is the food & drink industry so you just smile bitch, smile. 

Their kids are the worst, when you've just finished setting up a hella messy table and you've perfectly placed everything and replaced the salt & peppers and the menus are arranged in the right order, you've sprayed and wiped down the table so that thing is shining brighter than your chances of ever leaving that job in the future, some parents send their kids over to 'play' so they can carry on getting pissed. That child destroys your work, and you need to go lie down before you have palpitations at the sight of your table. 

This is fuckboy territory. They come in with their mates with their hair gelled, strong with the Hugo BOSS or David Beckham, their single diamond earring, and the cheapest watch that Rolex stock, so still expensive but doable to save for so you can still walk around with a Rolex. You can get some pretty good banter with these kinds of customers, but one always goes a step too far. 

"I'll give you a tip, leave your boyfriend and come home with me" 

"I only have to flash my Hismiles at a bird and she'll come home with me"

"Wanna bang?" 

These are real life examples people, I wish It was just a crappy attempt at being witty, but sadly it's not. That was though. 

I mean honestly it's not all that bad, you get to chat and meet some interesting peeps, and interact with adorable kids and dogs, and the kitchen/bar banter is tops. You also get discounts on food and drink, so if you ever wanna get pissed on a budget with a steak as a plus, you know where to go. The stress just comes with the industry, just breathe and keep your eye on the clock, that's what I do. It also helps that our manager who lives there owns an adorable rescue dog called Frankie, so if you're feeling too far gone you go to the back and sit with the pub doggo. For those of you who don't have a pub dog, I'm sorry, stay strong soldier.