Isn't life amazing? Such a claim may
seem like a great self-help book title, or that I've been watching
too many nature documentaries again, but its the only way I can
summarise my last week. I've gone from clueless and uncommitted to
stable and settled in. And I can't say that I actually had any
influence over the way things turned out. Merely showing up at the
right time seems to have worked again.
Laura had booked us into the same
hostel I hated when I first came to Hobart in February. I thought she
had a cruel sense of humour, but the hostels popularity was proven by
being the only place with beds available to us. This has more to do
with Hobart's virtually absent backpacker facilities, than the swarms
of travelers who just haven't shown up yet. Thankfully, my part time
lover Fate intervened before I had spent a week sleeping with all my
worldly possessions crammed in with me on a single bed top bunk.
Trev has quickly become my knight in
shining armour, of the safari suit variety. Not only did he give me a
room in his house, he gave me work at the bar that he manages.
Firstly though, the house. Battery Point is the historic part of
Hobart filled with artisan cottages that, by and large pre-date the
Charleston. Topped by a shining beacon that is the St. Someone's
cathedral spire, the suburb overlooks the lower class ranks that dip
into a valley then shy away before the might of Mt. Wellington. The
setting is picture book perfect, and successive sunny days have made
liars out of me, and a certain taxi driver. Our 2 storey pad affords
me a room almost twice the size of the eight bed extravaganza of
privacy at the hostel. It's a 5 minute walk to work in Salamanca
Square and a 10 minute skip, a far more interesting way to get
around, into Hobart's half a block CBD.
Squires Bounty is one of 5 'concept
bar's of James Squire's brewery that has forsaken better judgement to
offer me employment. I wanted a role that provided more social
interaction and bar work gives that out in spades. Interesting
conversations abound during the middle of the day business. Slurred
speech, blurry eyes and suspicious intent define the night time
clientele. Long hours of friendly enthusiasm eventually takes its
toll and pleasant chit-chat about the four seasons of weather in one
day ends up being “Here's your beer, shut your face!” by the end
of a 12 hour shift. By focusing on beer though, and not providing
shots or cocktails, we ensure the ambitions of the patrons rarely
surpass their ability. Serving suds is as simple as it comes and the
'fake it until you make it' stage would last a lot longer if we were
required to learn a long list of umbrella-garnished garbage.
The learning curve for this new role
hasn't been as littered with embarrassing and expensive lessons that
other jobs have been in the past; bar one notable exception. I showed
up to work with my sinuses feeling like my whole brain had moved
there for a holiday and my lack of concentration was proving all
higher functions were cancelled for the duration. 5 minutes after
arriving I punished 3 glasses for not remaining precariously balanced
on 2 fingers when the kitchen door slammed into my arm. A wine glass
soon suffered a similar fate when the bar's owner caught me watching
the cricket instead of working out ways to curtail my glass smashing
fetish. He, and his sharp suited associate, thought they'd keep a
closer eye on me by sitting at the bar. I rewarded their folly by
covering them in beer foam when the end of the keg spurted into my
glass like a water cannon. Other than demonstrating my strong
disregard for people who seem to think money some how makes them
better than other people, my flagrant distribution of beer keg
confetti earned me the rest of the day off before I could do any more
damage to the reputation of Squire's, bar staff and males in general.
My flu still lingers on, threatening to
garnish all the beers I pour with a unhealthy dollop of snot. All
good drinkers would continue to neck the amber fluids even if Satan
squeezed it out of a boil on his bum right in front of them though.
Thankfully, someone else just brews the stuff the traditional way and
I love that the barman's job is to be a positive facilitator to an
already enjoyable experience.
