The Past Few Months.....

It has been much too long since I have written on this blog. In the time missed, I have gone to Canada with the boyfriend and returned to my new position as a bartender in the south of England.

Dartmouth....town of 5,000 souls and 10,000 seagulls. To be a bartender here means sometimes witnessing people at their angriest, goofiest, and well, simply worst. The locals that frequent this pub are all well-known to each other and most are friendly. There are many people that I know before I even meet their acquaintance, due to the quick word of mouth and some feel as though they must prepare me for impending disasters that are sure to come.

This town is determined to maintain its mystique, as there are no chains (save for supermarkets), just random kitschy shops, and dozen art galleries (proof that it is no longer a town for the locals, but rather a town catering to the bourgeoisie holidaymakers). We are well known around the town now, and are frequently bombarded with waves of hello as we wander around. Every pub we enter now, we know someone. It is rather unsettling to this city girl, as I am more comfortable in my anonymity when I please. I am rather nonplussed when people know of my business, which is why I try to keep my lips sealed.

This town is a place where everyone knows everyone's business. A death of a local in the town was carried so fast, that within one hour of his death, it was no longer necessary to tell people about it.
The death of the local, Bruno, was one of immense sadness felt by most people in town. He had grown up in this town, and his family had been in this town for generations. His wake, appropriately at our pub his haunt for many years, was crowded and rather joyous given the occasion. He will be greatly missed by all.

As I learn more and more about the town and its inhabitants, the more I realize that the class struggle in Britain is not just a myth. The stories I hear of the lives of the young and the middle aged is that of shock and dismay. Grandfathers raping granddaughters, mothers letting their boyfriends rape their daughters, physical abuse to the nth degree to women and their children. In all of my years in Canada, I have failed to hear so many personal stories of such....... I have no idea what word is appropriate here.


This place frustrates me in many ways. I am know I am stating the obvious, but I am a white Canadian woman. I do get shit from some locals about "us fucking foreigners" stealing British jobs.  I can only imagine what it would be like to be an Indian, Pakistani or Nigerian. Some British purists think that all jobs should automatically go to British people. I work hard, and I am good at what I do. I am on my way to be an amazing bartender, and I do think I deserve to at least not to be castigated for "stealing" English jobs. I find that there are a significant number of young people around these parts are unwilling to work hard or unwilling to "lower" themselves.

Racism is an issue that permeates this town. It is always at the surface, taking a breath. One of my favourite locals calls the Chinese restaurant "That Chinky restaurant", I know I know. I shouldn't be so favourable to a racist. But like I said, almost everyone here is racist and if I was shitty to everyone that was racist, then I would almost never talk to a soul. My favoured locals tend to be those who are friendly, make mostly pleasant banter, and do not cause me grief.  The pleasant banter isn't even required. One would think that those qualities are really simple, but alas, my dear readers, they are not.

The other night, I was in the Indian restaurant waiting for our food, whereupon one of locals came in to order food. Firstly, he grabs a stool and sits at the order desk sprawled across the front of it. He starts out with a half smile and accuses the Bangladeshi workers of being illegals. One of the prior employees was deported for being illegal (or as the UK Border agency calls a lot of them clandestines, oh you Brits:P) and he was accusing the rest of them of the same "crime".  The look of either terror or discomfort was smacked across the face of all of the workers that were there.

Weeks ago, I saw something worse in the Chinese restaurant. A group of locals (the restaurant's waitress knew them) were harassing the older Chinese woman, asking her why she didn't speak proper English and stretching their eyelids and "imitating" her accent. Then one of them "fell" into my crotch. Stay classy.

I've had my confidence increase since working behind the bar. It must be my bar. My bar. My rules.
I have to put up with words of racism. I get a bit upset every time I bite my tongue, but it is an uphill battle and I must pick and choose.


We have had a revolving door of managers at this point. Kevin, Rachel, Richard and now the wonderful Trish/Bloddwyn ( and I am not just saying that because she is on my Facebook).

To work in a pub here requires much dedication. I live in, work in and breathe in the pub. My whole life revolves around the time in the pub.

I am working part time in another pub in time. The oldest pub in Dartmouth, that dates back to the 1320s. In no uncertain terms is it a classy pub, I rather affectionately call it a dive.

Let's call it an imbalance of humours, but this town is really doing a number of me.