#135

I’m listening to Kindness like it’s 2012 again.

1 Like
#136

It’s a false economy that, don’t fall for it. Unless you’re running a chippy and going hell for leather on the lashings of vinegar, you’re going to end up with vinegar eels.

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1 Like
#137

love this track, so replacements

2 Likes
#138

I am down a rabbit hole

2 Likes
#139

My eyes

2 Likes
#140

Fetch me a melon baller, I tire of my vision

4 Likes
#141
  • I would try a vinegar eel
  • fearful option

0 voters

#142

u wot m9

  1. is the worst by far, followed by 4. because you’re knackered physically/spiritually when you do it
2 Likes
#143

Wish I hadn’t seen that picture before bed :scream:

#144

Best to just deal with it before it reaches its final form, really.

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#145

that’s just a man in a poorly knitted jumper

1 Like
#146

Aren’t we all Ruffers, aren’t we all.

6 Likes
#147

For fucks sake this thread

7 Likes
#148

best pub job is pouring/making drinks for your pals when they’re in, closely followed by changing a barrel

#149

:smiley:

#150

The Rise and Fall Of The Intellectual Dung Beetle.

#151

The trick is to get a job in a really shit wet-led pub, the shitter the better. The above tasks don’t exist in these places.

1 Like
#152

i enjoy mopping, and cleaning the toilets is another solo job away from the public.

#153

Think I’m a bit knobbed

#154

The mop is a noble thing.

When I worked in McDonald’s, things would get hugely busy during the afternoon rush on a Saturday. Weekend divorced dads with their kids, students finally fighting off their hangovers, teenagers in town for the day with nothing else to do, fallout from the rugby stadium just around the corner: they would all converge for their weekly sermon at the altar of Ronald McDonald at round about the same time.

During the rush, it would be all hands on deck - everybody knew their role and the importance of getting those meals out fresh, hot, and with as little contact with the floor as possible. Then there was Alan.

Alan was wise to the shouts of “quarter grill no shit on”, “chicken sarnie no mayo”, “chicken nine” and so on. Alan grabbed a mop. Like a scout in a warzone, Alan moved diligently but largely undetected throughout the kitchen and the chaos, adding to the noise to simply blend in.

Alan used to stand around with a mop shouting “TEA TIME!!!” to fit in amongst the cacophony, doing absolutely fuck all while the rest of us toiled. He’s a solicitor these days.

2 Likes