Friday

When I was a kid and had even less idea about the ergonomics of the world than I do at this moment, I wanted to be a space princess and wear tight clothes, have big breasts and wear high heeled thigh length boots. This is all the reasoning that was behind my career choice.

More recently, I have decided to put all the blame for my reluctance to find gainful employment on this. I mean, what if I have a real job, start at the bottom of the ladder, start climbing and start being less bothered with the dull beginner stuff, and then the intergalactic princess spot comes up with a vacancy?

Exactly. Thank you.

So for the time being, I am working in a pub. This is thrilling, as I was high at the time of choosing.
"Are you high?" the guy behind the bar asked me.
"If it's not Thursday," I said, leaning on the bar and flashing cleavage, "I'm totally trashed."

I got the job. What I didn't get was any idea of what kind of pub it was, what with it being a spur of the moment decision caused by the fact I've forgotten how to write a cheque and a temporary chemical imbalance.
It's, like, totally an old man pub. And there are only so many times I can smile and laugh when someone adjusts their teeth and says, "If I were fifty year younger, I'd so ask you out." One man asked me if I was 'doing anyone'. I actually shuddered, so hard I spilled half a pint.

"Hey, how you doin'?" he asked. "You know you walk like a model?"
"Does that line work on anybody?"
"I can see its working on you," and he sort of leered at me through his eyebrows, when one of his drinking compatriots stumbled into him, delivered his speech, then threw up.
"Hey girl, he puttin' the moves on you? You should do 'im! I used to live in the flat opposite 'is, and I could, like, hear 'is wife screamin'. Through, like, the walls."
"Do you know him?" the first pensioner asked me.
"Oh yes, of course. I figured more *guys* would hit on me if it looked like I had friends, so I hired him." Long pause. Overwhelming urge to ruin the sarcasm with clarification. "Look, I'm bored now. Excuse me, I have pints to pour."

I'm not coping terribly well with people the same age as my own grandparents perving at me and asking me out. I was bitching about my more recent trails and tribulations to a mate who's been barmaiding for many a day.
"Well why not?" she said.
"Why not what?" I asked, utterly utterly lost.
"It's not like you care if you get fired, so why not do one of the guys in the bar?"
"Because they're not guys. That's the whole point. I'm not sure where they boundary is, when they stop being guys, but I'm pretty certain its a fair while before they start getting fitted for false teeth. And anyway, did you not get the part where I said they were all at least sixty?"
"Well what can I say? Stud muffins with no teeth turn me on," she said.
I copied her usual concerned disapproval. "Are you high?"
"Are we role playing? Oh, god, I'm channeling you." Long pause, accompanied by a sudden swatting gesture with both hands. "I don't want to be you!"


Never underestimate teeth. Teeth are very important.