As an upright member of society, Mine Host takes quiet umbrage at slants on his honesty and responsibility.
An example: the "roadside breath test".
An offence without a victim.
An offence with an arbitrary demarcation between virgin innocent and guilty as sin;
that demarcation is a blood alcohol content of .05%
and previously was .08%
and in parts of the developed world is .01%
An offence of which one is guilty of being impaired, but it not being possible to drink oneself into a state where your reflexes would deteriorate to the point that they would match those of elderly & inept drivers who freely tootle past during your arrest.
An offence where one must prove one is innocent, rather than the state having to prove one is guilty.
An offence where declining to prove your innocence automatically results in being guilty, and being publicly besmirched as guilty.
Notwithstanding that, Mine Host complies readily with the procedure.
Mine Host carries silently his umbrage at the indignity of the procedure and the automatic slight on his probity. This is a feeling shared by many/most of the population.
Mine Host is however, in a postion to assauge his umbrage.
Every time he is asked to provide a breath specimen, he will at his place of business, subsequently add a random extra $1 to the bill when a police officer buys a round.
Wickedly, when being breath tested, Mine Host often asks if the testing officer would like to "get a second sample".
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Border Control
Mine Host, at one stage in his pre-pub days, lived in a country which had a land border. Canada was this country, the land border was shared with just one other country, the USA, and some 6,000km in length.
As far as security went, this border was very lightly serviced. This was in contrast to Mine Host's experience of many other land borders.
Persons who crossed this border did not go through any exit formalities, nor even an exit border post. The first one saw of the border was the entry post of the country being entered.
However, Mine Host had a crossing experience which possibly is not being replicated in this age of terrorists and other nasties.
The crossing from Detroit to Windsor is a big high bridge, umpteen lanes wide. The border post is on the bridge (about where one would expect to find a tollgate).
3:30 a.m. and the bridge is deserted. Mine Host, crossing by car from Detroit to Windsor, coasts in neutral up to the immigration booth. The Canadian immigration officer is inside the booth and reading an unseen newspaper/book.
"How long in the states?" grunts the officer, without looking up.
"Three weeks" Driver and passenger confirm this to each other with a nod.
Still not having looked up from his reading material, the immigration officer jerks his head in the direction of Canada.
.... After a short awkward pause, Mine Host ventures "...er.. don't you want to see .. er.. paperwork & stuff?"
"You're Canadians aren't you?" (Still hasn't looked up)
"...Umm, no we're Australians"
"Your papers are in order aren't they?" (He does briefly look up, enough for a fleeting glimpse to ascertain if Mine Host has one head or two)
"....Er.... yes ..." (in the circumstances what other answer would anybody give?)
An indistinct grunt, possibly something like "well what are you waiting here for", or "well get going then" may have emanated from the booth.
The officer's head once again buried in the reading matter, jerks in the direction of Canada, this time accompanied by an impatient shrug.
Thus Mine Host, companion, and automobile, were all cleared for entry into Canada.
Without even being asked to state our names.
As far as security went, this border was very lightly serviced. This was in contrast to Mine Host's experience of many other land borders.
Persons who crossed this border did not go through any exit formalities, nor even an exit border post. The first one saw of the border was the entry post of the country being entered.
However, Mine Host had a crossing experience which possibly is not being replicated in this age of terrorists and other nasties.
The crossing from Detroit to Windsor is a big high bridge, umpteen lanes wide. The border post is on the bridge (about where one would expect to find a tollgate).
3:30 a.m. and the bridge is deserted. Mine Host, crossing by car from Detroit to Windsor, coasts in neutral up to the immigration booth. The Canadian immigration officer is inside the booth and reading an unseen newspaper/book.
"How long in the states?" grunts the officer, without looking up.
"Three weeks" Driver and passenger confirm this to each other with a nod.
Still not having looked up from his reading material, the immigration officer jerks his head in the direction of Canada.
.... After a short awkward pause, Mine Host ventures "...er.. don't you want to see .. er.. paperwork & stuff?"
"You're Canadians aren't you?" (Still hasn't looked up)
"...Umm, no we're Australians"
"Your papers are in order aren't they?" (He does briefly look up, enough for a fleeting glimpse to ascertain if Mine Host has one head or two)
"....Er.... yes ..." (in the circumstances what other answer would anybody give?)
An indistinct grunt, possibly something like "well what are you waiting here for", or "well get going then" may have emanated from the booth.
The officer's head once again buried in the reading matter, jerks in the direction of Canada, this time accompanied by an impatient shrug.
Thus Mine Host, companion, and automobile, were all cleared for entry into Canada.
Without even being asked to state our names.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Common Myths
Mine Host has often encountered in others some firmly held (but completely erronous) beliefs about running a business.
Mine Host is not sure which is the most ridiculous assumption.
1/. Myth: Pubs have very little, virutally zero, paperwork.
Fact: Hahahaha ha ha haaaaa!!! Amazing how widespread this belief is. Actually pubs have always been noted for the tremendous amount of daily paperwork.
2/. Myth: Being the boss (especially one's own boss) enables one to take time off whenever one wishes, to take it easy, & to not even turn up at all if one doesn't feel like it.
Fact: A business is a treadmill which is almost impossible to get off. One does not decide for oneself how many hours one works, or even how hard one has to work. Simple stuff such as a few days off in a row (eg, a weekend) can take more than a year to come to fruition.
3/. Myth: Pubs are a licence to print money
Fact: There is no business so lucrative that it isn't possible to stuff it up. When Mine Host entered the industry the average time of a licencee in Qld was 22 months, most licencees left by the back door, usually one step ahead of receivership, but often not. A large proportion of small businesses regularly pay bills by putting a cheque in the mail without having funds in the bank, depending for the funds upon sufficient custom whilst the cheque is in transit.
4/. Myth: You gotta be making it to pay it (tax).
Fact: Mine Host is able to categorically state that it is VERY possible to have a huge tax bill, without having ANY cash surplus for the year. Many businesses have to make installment arrangements with the tax office. You can forget about anything left over for owner's drawings!
Mine Host is often bailed up by people who have "read about" taxation, who declare the aforementioned is not possible.
Mine Host's accounant informs him that it a very regular occurrence.
Mine Host is not sure which is the most ridiculous assumption.
1/. Myth: Pubs have very little, virutally zero, paperwork.
Fact: Hahahaha ha ha haaaaa!!! Amazing how widespread this belief is. Actually pubs have always been noted for the tremendous amount of daily paperwork.
2/. Myth: Being the boss (especially one's own boss) enables one to take time off whenever one wishes, to take it easy, & to not even turn up at all if one doesn't feel like it.
Fact: A business is a treadmill which is almost impossible to get off. One does not decide for oneself how many hours one works, or even how hard one has to work. Simple stuff such as a few days off in a row (eg, a weekend) can take more than a year to come to fruition.
3/. Myth: Pubs are a licence to print money
Fact: There is no business so lucrative that it isn't possible to stuff it up. When Mine Host entered the industry the average time of a licencee in Qld was 22 months, most licencees left by the back door, usually one step ahead of receivership, but often not. A large proportion of small businesses regularly pay bills by putting a cheque in the mail without having funds in the bank, depending for the funds upon sufficient custom whilst the cheque is in transit.
4/. Myth: You gotta be making it to pay it (tax).
Fact: Mine Host is able to categorically state that it is VERY possible to have a huge tax bill, without having ANY cash surplus for the year. Many businesses have to make installment arrangements with the tax office. You can forget about anything left over for owner's drawings!
Mine Host is often bailed up by people who have "read about" taxation, who declare the aforementioned is not possible.
Mine Host's accounant informs him that it a very regular occurrence.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Biffo!
Rastis Toughman was feeling frisky.
He strutted everywhere.
All "respected" him.
None were bold enough to challenge him, he could do as he wished.
The Pugilist's Arms was home of what at the time was the premier nightspot in town, the Fisticuff Room.
A couple of nights previously Rastis had been to the Fisticuff Room and switched out the lights of one of the bouncers, putting him in hospital.
The owners of the Pugilist's Arms, Mahmood Al-Revenge and his son, were not the sort of people Mine Host would cross. Rastis clearly did not share this apprehension.
"This blighter needs taking down a peg or two" mused Mine Host to the Coca-Cola delivery lad.
"It won't happen!" corrected the delivery boy, himself no stranger to street-level methods of settling a score. "He's too tough, flogged six shades of manure out of a bouncer, nobody'll be game to touch him. Especially as he has lots of cousins in this town, haha, who'd be silly enough to cross him?"
Indeed, Rastis himself was of this belief, strutting tall, showing deference to none and consideration to nobody.
Mannerless at the best of times, Rastis was now exhibiting human nature at its very worst. Cravenly, many of his ilk sought to ingratiate themselves with him, hoping by demonstrating servility they would escape the random thrashings Rastis was dishing out, much as lesser men scratched an itch.
He was an exemplary physical specimen, a showpiece of hybrid vigour . The specifics of his paternal genes were unknown, but originated somewhere in the forward pack of the Rugby League premiers of the year prior to his birth.
Being sired by competitive genes meant Rastis sought to establish physical supremacy over all (Rastis was bred from the best of a large natural selection pool, seed from every team member was given equal opportunity to fertilise the egg which 9 months after end-of-season became Rastis)
Rastis and several Rugby League players were cavorting in the public bar of the Wayside Tavern.
Further down the bar, facing away from Rastis & crew, stood a quiet and inoffensive patron, Mr. Polite Son, a worker at the timber company. Never one to draw attention to himself, Mr. Son was a good 20 years older than Rastis (aged 19 and at his peak)
In the mood for sport, Rastis advanced toward Mr. Polite Son, eyeing him in a predatory manner, he drew back his fist to strike.
Mr. Son was leaning on the bar with his left elbow, his right hand holding a glass of beer, about to be caught unawares on a quiet Monday night.
Rastis coiled like a cobra, then struck swiftly and savagely with his best King Hit.
The half dozen or so football players accompanying Rastis, big boys all of them, advanced behind Rastis, to prevent him from doing too much damage to the unsuspecting Mr. Son. Their faces a smirk, they anticipated a front row seat to what was to them humorous sport, the unprovoked beating of an "old codger".
Before Rastis could land the second punch of his planned lightning combination, Mr. Polite Son pivoted anti-clockwise, smoothly putting down his glass and, as he came to facing Rastis, made a short jab with his left.
As if his legs had been swept from under him, Rastis dropped bodily to the floor. The landing on the tiles was hard and not one Mine Host would care to emulate.
Mr. Polite Son stood over Rastis. Callouses, wrinkles and smattering of grey hair contrasting with the smooth complexion and youthful full mane.
Rastis was out like a light.
His friends took a step backward, followed by another. Nobody wanted to be the next man down.
Mr. Polite Son eyed Rastis' group malevolently. None met his gaze.
Mr. Polite Son then turned to the bar, quaffed his glass and apologised profusely to Mine Host. Sponsored by the XXXX brewery to compete nationally and overseas in woodchopping, Mr Son explained that it was a condition of his sponsorship that he not be involved in "trouble in a pub", thus much as he would have liked to "teach the bugger a lesson" by "making it last and cutting him up a bit", he unfortunately had been obliged to "end it straightaway".
Putting down his empty glass Mr. Polite Son quickly exited the pub and went home, as his mother would have dinner cooked by now anyway.
Rastis lay unmoving, only the whites of his eyes showing, the pupils rolled back into the socket.
Rastis' friends still had not moved. Eventually they took him by the ankles and shoulders, carried him out into the street. They got him awake enough to groggily stand between two of them, and slowly tottered out of sight.
He strutted everywhere.
All "respected" him.
None were bold enough to challenge him, he could do as he wished.
The Pugilist's Arms was home of what at the time was the premier nightspot in town, the Fisticuff Room.
A couple of nights previously Rastis had been to the Fisticuff Room and switched out the lights of one of the bouncers, putting him in hospital.
The owners of the Pugilist's Arms, Mahmood Al-Revenge and his son, were not the sort of people Mine Host would cross. Rastis clearly did not share this apprehension.
"This blighter needs taking down a peg or two" mused Mine Host to the Coca-Cola delivery lad.
"It won't happen!" corrected the delivery boy, himself no stranger to street-level methods of settling a score. "He's too tough, flogged six shades of manure out of a bouncer, nobody'll be game to touch him. Especially as he has lots of cousins in this town, haha, who'd be silly enough to cross him?"
Indeed, Rastis himself was of this belief, strutting tall, showing deference to none and consideration to nobody.
Mannerless at the best of times, Rastis was now exhibiting human nature at its very worst. Cravenly, many of his ilk sought to ingratiate themselves with him, hoping by demonstrating servility they would escape the random thrashings Rastis was dishing out, much as lesser men scratched an itch.
He was an exemplary physical specimen, a showpiece of hybrid vigour . The specifics of his paternal genes were unknown, but originated somewhere in the forward pack of the Rugby League premiers of the year prior to his birth.
Being sired by competitive genes meant Rastis sought to establish physical supremacy over all (Rastis was bred from the best of a large natural selection pool, seed from every team member was given equal opportunity to fertilise the egg which 9 months after end-of-season became Rastis)
Rastis and several Rugby League players were cavorting in the public bar of the Wayside Tavern.
Further down the bar, facing away from Rastis & crew, stood a quiet and inoffensive patron, Mr. Polite Son, a worker at the timber company. Never one to draw attention to himself, Mr. Son was a good 20 years older than Rastis (aged 19 and at his peak)
In the mood for sport, Rastis advanced toward Mr. Polite Son, eyeing him in a predatory manner, he drew back his fist to strike.
Mr. Son was leaning on the bar with his left elbow, his right hand holding a glass of beer, about to be caught unawares on a quiet Monday night.
Rastis coiled like a cobra, then struck swiftly and savagely with his best King Hit.
The half dozen or so football players accompanying Rastis, big boys all of them, advanced behind Rastis, to prevent him from doing too much damage to the unsuspecting Mr. Son. Their faces a smirk, they anticipated a front row seat to what was to them humorous sport, the unprovoked beating of an "old codger".
Before Rastis could land the second punch of his planned lightning combination, Mr. Polite Son pivoted anti-clockwise, smoothly putting down his glass and, as he came to facing Rastis, made a short jab with his left.
As if his legs had been swept from under him, Rastis dropped bodily to the floor. The landing on the tiles was hard and not one Mine Host would care to emulate.
Mr. Polite Son stood over Rastis. Callouses, wrinkles and smattering of grey hair contrasting with the smooth complexion and youthful full mane.
Rastis was out like a light.
His friends took a step backward, followed by another. Nobody wanted to be the next man down.
Mr. Polite Son eyed Rastis' group malevolently. None met his gaze.
Mr. Polite Son then turned to the bar, quaffed his glass and apologised profusely to Mine Host. Sponsored by the XXXX brewery to compete nationally and overseas in woodchopping, Mr Son explained that it was a condition of his sponsorship that he not be involved in "trouble in a pub", thus much as he would have liked to "teach the bugger a lesson" by "making it last and cutting him up a bit", he unfortunately had been obliged to "end it straightaway".
Putting down his empty glass Mr. Polite Son quickly exited the pub and went home, as his mother would have dinner cooked by now anyway.
Rastis lay unmoving, only the whites of his eyes showing, the pupils rolled back into the socket.
Rastis' friends still had not moved. Eventually they took him by the ankles and shoulders, carried him out into the street. They got him awake enough to groggily stand between two of them, and slowly tottered out of sight.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Sooks and Sissys
Two separate videos of an event show no reaction from people in the room, prompting Rachel Lucas to ask was the incident real, or faked for the cameras?
A workplace incident, inside a room (presumably a large corporate office) a person exhibits excessive aggression, smashing equipment and striking co-workers.
Recounting an anecdote of a similar incident at her own workplace, Rachel recalls a more vigorous response from onlookers, in contrast to the events in the videos.
From his all too much experience of being present when a public display of violence is bunged on, Mine Host will state Two things:-
1/. Video evidence and personal recollections are often in disagreement.
2/. Not only the general public, but people well known to you (eg co-workers) will stand like statues and watch a unprovoked frenzied physical attack upon you.
A workplace incident, inside a room (presumably a large corporate office) a person exhibits excessive aggression, smashing equipment and striking co-workers.
Recounting an anecdote of a similar incident at her own workplace, Rachel recalls a more vigorous response from onlookers, in contrast to the events in the videos.
From his all too much experience of being present when a public display of violence is bunged on, Mine Host will state Two things:-
1/. Video evidence and personal recollections are often in disagreement.
2/. Not only the general public, but people well known to you (eg co-workers) will stand like statues and watch a unprovoked frenzied physical attack upon you.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Bills great & small
When a booking is made via a travel agent, the Travel Agent collects a 10% fee from the supplier.
With accommodation the Travel Agent will make the booking, the guest will pay at checkout, and the agent sends the hotel a bill for 10%.
Mine Host recieved one such bill from a Travel Agent, carefully listing;
the name of the guest,
date of the guest's stay,
cost of the room,
and a request for 10%.
Hmmm,.. Mine Host privately grumbled, unsure if he is obliged to pay this 10%.
Never before in his life had he received such a bill.
Never had he entered into agreement with a travel agent.
According to the guest register, for the night in question and several days surrounding it, the only guests were regulars and long termers, and well known to Mine Host.
The bill was bogus.
So Mine Host ignored the bill. Every month the travel agent invested in a 45c stamp and an envelope, printed an itemised bill, and posted it to Mine Host. This continued for almost a year.
Every month Mine Host ignored the bill. (bogus bills are not a rarity in the pub trade)
$25 per night for a room was what Mine Host charged at the time.
The bill was for $2.50
With accommodation the Travel Agent will make the booking, the guest will pay at checkout, and the agent sends the hotel a bill for 10%.
Mine Host recieved one such bill from a Travel Agent, carefully listing;
the name of the guest,
date of the guest's stay,
cost of the room,
and a request for 10%.
Hmmm,.. Mine Host privately grumbled, unsure if he is obliged to pay this 10%.
Never before in his life had he received such a bill.
Never had he entered into agreement with a travel agent.
According to the guest register, for the night in question and several days surrounding it, the only guests were regulars and long termers, and well known to Mine Host.
The bill was bogus.
So Mine Host ignored the bill. Every month the travel agent invested in a 45c stamp and an envelope, printed an itemised bill, and posted it to Mine Host. This continued for almost a year.
Every month Mine Host ignored the bill. (bogus bills are not a rarity in the pub trade)
$25 per night for a room was what Mine Host charged at the time.
The bill was for $2.50
Saturday, May 24, 2008
The Golden Rule
The core business of the Wayside Tavern is Victuals, Accommodation and Gambling.
The delivery of this core business is carried out by Barmaids, Chefs, Bottleshop Attendants etc.
Administration is always kept just below that point at which it begins to cost more money than it saves.
Thus Mine Host gazes with bewilderment upon the government department known as "Queensland Health"
The core business of Qld Health is to make well the sick people of the state.
Mine Host assumes this would be carried out by Doctors and Nurses.
Fat chance!
Currently Qld Health employs more office staff than doctors or nurses.
Hmmm........
The delivery of this core business is carried out by Barmaids, Chefs, Bottleshop Attendants etc.
Administration is always kept just below that point at which it begins to cost more money than it saves.
Thus Mine Host gazes with bewilderment upon the government department known as "Queensland Health"
The core business of Qld Health is to make well the sick people of the state.
Mine Host assumes this would be carried out by Doctors and Nurses.
Fat chance!
Currently Qld Health employs more office staff than doctors or nurses.
Hmmm........
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Not as easy as it looks.
Some years ago Mine Host had the dubious pleasure of being at the epicentre of an international incident/event of international importance. Some readers may recall the outbreak of SARS in Canton in 2003, which became news when Hong Kong residents who had been in Guangzhou (Canton) for CNY returned ill to their home city.At the time Mine Host just happened to be in the city of Guangzhou (as you do) to celebrate Chinese New Year. Some days prior to the lunar new year he came down with a severe case of the chills. After several days of not really wanting to get out of bed, Mine Host, when eventually vertical, was for more than Two weeks, not able to move the heel of one foot past the toes of the other.
Try this, difficult to do, never mind being so crook as being not able to do any better for more than a fortnight.
Upon return to Oz Mine Host consulted his GP, who ho-hummed his way through Mine Host's account of the outbreak.
Both GP & Mine Host alike were at this stage equally unaware of the degree of seriousness of the situation. However a couple of weeks later only the most determined recluse could have claimed lack of awareness of the outbreak of SARS.
This brought about an adjustment in the attitude of the GP toward Mine Host's illness (still of an acuteness which prevented the heel passing the toe when walking)
"Where did you say you were visiting to?"... "Oh my God... wait, I have a phone call to make"
Well not quite, GP is a Hindu, & does not use the phrase "Oh my God".
In the presence of Mine Host the GP made a phone call to "public health" describing the symptoms exhibited by Mine Host & the geographic location where these symptoms had been collected.
Four Months later (Yeap, you read correctly, FOUR MONTHS) the GP recieved a panicky return phone call, asking just where it was his patient had been? & .. er.. just exactly which symptoms was the patient exhibiting?
Had Mine Host been a "carrier" it is likely that in the interim he would have killed half the nation.
This event went a long way to formenting/cementing Mine Host's belief that no matter the gravity of the situation at hand, government staff are so mired in the treacle of bureacracy as to render ineffective even the most outrageous overpayment of tax dollars to any particular needy department.
All of which is peripheral to the issue at hand. Prior to becoming horrendously ill, Mine Host, in a whirlwind of appreciation of assorted regional mainland cuisines, was fortunate enough to have a waiter repeat the tea pouring so it could be photographed.
This post triggered by reference to a similar event by Lynette.
As the tea pourer in Mine Host's photo is in mainland China, he is not needing to adopt the fancy fu man chu type pose used by the pourers in Lynette's pix. Those who cross to Lynette's will also notice the difference in clobber.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Constable Clouseau Deduces.....
In the police station on business, Mine Host was encountering a hostile attitude from the Senior Constable on desk duty.
"Wayside Tavern, I know all about the drug dealing going on out the back of that place!" she snorted contemptously.
It was clear she held Mine Host to be accountable.
Knowing his own premises quite well, Mine Host was mystified at any suggestion of drug dealing.
For in those pre smoking-law times, people lurking outdoors of a pub was a rarity. Mine Host knew her accusation was rubbish. To have said such a thing made her seem stupid.
Mine Host politely gave forth his retort to the Senior Constable, verbalising his scorn for her statement, stating that any suggestion of drug dealing at his place was a laugh, and perhaps she had the wrong pub? (er...Her serious proposal of such a preposterous hypothesis may have driven Mine Host to answer more forcefully than this, perhaps accompanied by his head tilting to one side, bulging eyes and an ejaculation of total disbelief).
In anticipacion of a fact-based denial, she was ready with a most hostile riposte;
"I've heard stories!"
Mine Host politely enquired if "I've heard stories" was an investigative technique taught at the academy, or had she developed it herself?
Mine Host went on to speculate that quoting this technique would be a "real killer" when applying to a JP for a search warrant, and as a prosecution courtroom technique would likewise be of invaluable assitance to defence attorneys.
She conducted the remainder of Mine Host's business in the station in a perfunctory manner, with only the most essential use of speech.
"Wayside Tavern, I know all about the drug dealing going on out the back of that place!" she snorted contemptously.
It was clear she held Mine Host to be accountable.
Knowing his own premises quite well, Mine Host was mystified at any suggestion of drug dealing.
For in those pre smoking-law times, people lurking outdoors of a pub was a rarity. Mine Host knew her accusation was rubbish. To have said such a thing made her seem stupid.
Mine Host politely gave forth his retort to the Senior Constable, verbalising his scorn for her statement, stating that any suggestion of drug dealing at his place was a laugh, and perhaps she had the wrong pub? (er...Her serious proposal of such a preposterous hypothesis may have driven Mine Host to answer more forcefully than this, perhaps accompanied by his head tilting to one side, bulging eyes and an ejaculation of total disbelief).
In anticipacion of a fact-based denial, she was ready with a most hostile riposte;
"I've heard stories!"
Mine Host politely enquired if "I've heard stories" was an investigative technique taught at the academy, or had she developed it herself?
Mine Host went on to speculate that quoting this technique would be a "real killer" when applying to a JP for a search warrant, and as a prosecution courtroom technique would likewise be of invaluable assitance to defence attorneys.
She conducted the remainder of Mine Host's business in the station in a perfunctory manner, with only the most essential use of speech.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
How many Bullocks could this country run?
Always a lover of the thematics of getting in amongst lots of tall softwood scrub, in the hope of getting this exact shot, Mine Host shadowed this truck for miles on the Kuantan-KL road.Tuesday, January 15, 2008
No Wheels on Justice, she's up on Blocks.
Having spent Two days travelling more than 3,000km for a court appearance in a civil matter, Mine Host and a key witness, the Manager of the Diver's Arms, were standing outside the courthouse, Three minutes early for the hearing, set down for that day's date at 1:00pm.
The courthouse was locked and in darkness.
Heavy clouds loomed low, lending a gloomy atmosphere. Teeming tropical rain (the umpteenth day of it) washed accross a street deviod of both foot and vehicular traffic. Not a car was in view, either parked or moving.
At precisely 1:00pm a hand, then arm, then torso, appeared inside the courthouse door and unlocked it. Lunch hour was over!
Observing Mine Host & companion standing under the awning, the court staffer came out, puzzled as to why anybody would be standing there.
The explanation that we were there for a hearing which was set down for "right now, actually" brought an even more puzzled look onto her face.
Struggling to process this nugget of information she finally came up with: "Come back tomorrow" & went back inside, then through a door into the mysterious labrynth which occupies the "authorised personnel only" section.
She exhibited a manner that indicated the matter was at an end.
After a pause of disbelief it was now Mine Host's turn to struggle with processing unexpected developments.
Entering the courthouse and rapping on a bash-proof perspex shield produced the same staffer, who did no more than put her ear near to an apeture in the perspex.
Mine Host explained that he and his witness had travelled a long distance to comply with a hearing date which had been set down by the Magistrate, and quite reasonably expected the hearing to proceed, now. Tomorrow was for other places to be and other things to do.
With a resigned look on her face she said no Magistrate was in town today, and that in that case she would hear the case, however she was the only person at work today and the hearing would not be able to proceed until she could find somebody prepared to come in to work and mind the reception window.
Meantime would Mine Host & companion be kind enough to sit and wait?
A local staff, barely in her mid-20's, with a very pronounced regional accent indicating she had probably rarely been more than 20km from the courthouse in her life, and she was going to sit on and rule on, a court case.
Mine Host & companion sat for close to an hour, feeling as if they were in a "the day after" movie, as not a soul went by on the street, either by vehicle or foot, nor did anybody enter the courthouse, nor did any court staff appear (even behind the bash-proof reception window).
Then the same girl appeared, to state that the matter could now be heard.
The girl said that she and another staff would hear it together.
Mine Host stated most emphatically that he didn't mind who ruled on the matter, provided it was someone who had the authority to hear a matter of this nature, as past experience had taught him that only a Magistrate could hear such a matter as this, and if the matter was heard & ruled on by someone without the authority to do so, it would when the judgement was being processed, be annulled and have to be heard again, in which case Mine Host would ".. have something to say"
This brought a most uncertain look to her face, and she said that she would have to telephone a Magistrate for instructions.
A while later Mine Host & witness were invited into the courtroom. It was empty and felt deserted, especially as the lights weren't switched on. Shortly after the girl and another just like her entered from a side door and sat on the bench.
They made a big production out of quoting case numbers and suchforth, as if hearing of a matter of great importance was about to proceed, then promptly stated that the matter would be postponed and nominated a date Five months in the future. Almost before they had finished stating this, they got up and began to exit the courtroom.
Pinching himself to make sure this was not taking place in a dream, or in a parallel universe, Mine Host asked could he be given a Notice of Hearing which indicated the new date.
The two girls conferred together for a moment, consulted some papers they were carrying, then announced accross the room that the Registrar would issue a Notice of Hearing and post it to Mine Host, that is, just as soon as the Registrar returned from holidays.
Somewhere in reading the notes which informed them of the procedure for issuing a Notice of Hearing, the two girls made the discovery that there was another party to the matter. They pondered aloud how to handle this new piece of information.
(Most laymen are aware that in any court hearing there are Two opposing parties, either Claimant vs Respondent, or Crown vs Defendant.) These two girls were court staff.
It transpired that there were Two other parties. The two girls finally decided that the postponement of the matter applied to the other parties also. (Gee, you don't reckon?)
They drew themselves up as tall as they could and gravely informed Mine Host that postponement of the matter as it stood applied to the other parties also. (as if the hearing of a matter didn't affect ALL parties simultaneously?)
The impression gleaned by Mine Host was that in their minds, by telling Mine Host this, it was as if they had informed the other parties.
The look on the face of both Mine Host and witness must by now have been priceless. The girls hesitated, pondered for several moments, conferred together again, then announced that they would telephone to the indicated telephone numbers of the other parties and inform them of the postponement "that way".
This happened in 2008, in Queensland.
The courthouse was locked and in darkness.
Heavy clouds loomed low, lending a gloomy atmosphere. Teeming tropical rain (the umpteenth day of it) washed accross a street deviod of both foot and vehicular traffic. Not a car was in view, either parked or moving.
At precisely 1:00pm a hand, then arm, then torso, appeared inside the courthouse door and unlocked it. Lunch hour was over!
Observing Mine Host & companion standing under the awning, the court staffer came out, puzzled as to why anybody would be standing there.
The explanation that we were there for a hearing which was set down for "right now, actually" brought an even more puzzled look onto her face.
Struggling to process this nugget of information she finally came up with: "Come back tomorrow" & went back inside, then through a door into the mysterious labrynth which occupies the "authorised personnel only" section.
She exhibited a manner that indicated the matter was at an end.
After a pause of disbelief it was now Mine Host's turn to struggle with processing unexpected developments.
Entering the courthouse and rapping on a bash-proof perspex shield produced the same staffer, who did no more than put her ear near to an apeture in the perspex.
Mine Host explained that he and his witness had travelled a long distance to comply with a hearing date which had been set down by the Magistrate, and quite reasonably expected the hearing to proceed, now. Tomorrow was for other places to be and other things to do.
With a resigned look on her face she said no Magistrate was in town today, and that in that case she would hear the case, however she was the only person at work today and the hearing would not be able to proceed until she could find somebody prepared to come in to work and mind the reception window.
Meantime would Mine Host & companion be kind enough to sit and wait?
A local staff, barely in her mid-20's, with a very pronounced regional accent indicating she had probably rarely been more than 20km from the courthouse in her life, and she was going to sit on and rule on, a court case.
Mine Host & companion sat for close to an hour, feeling as if they were in a "the day after" movie, as not a soul went by on the street, either by vehicle or foot, nor did anybody enter the courthouse, nor did any court staff appear (even behind the bash-proof reception window).
Then the same girl appeared, to state that the matter could now be heard.
The girl said that she and another staff would hear it together.
Mine Host stated most emphatically that he didn't mind who ruled on the matter, provided it was someone who had the authority to hear a matter of this nature, as past experience had taught him that only a Magistrate could hear such a matter as this, and if the matter was heard & ruled on by someone without the authority to do so, it would when the judgement was being processed, be annulled and have to be heard again, in which case Mine Host would ".. have something to say"
This brought a most uncertain look to her face, and she said that she would have to telephone a Magistrate for instructions.
A while later Mine Host & witness were invited into the courtroom. It was empty and felt deserted, especially as the lights weren't switched on. Shortly after the girl and another just like her entered from a side door and sat on the bench.
They made a big production out of quoting case numbers and suchforth, as if hearing of a matter of great importance was about to proceed, then promptly stated that the matter would be postponed and nominated a date Five months in the future. Almost before they had finished stating this, they got up and began to exit the courtroom.
Pinching himself to make sure this was not taking place in a dream, or in a parallel universe, Mine Host asked could he be given a Notice of Hearing which indicated the new date.
The two girls conferred together for a moment, consulted some papers they were carrying, then announced accross the room that the Registrar would issue a Notice of Hearing and post it to Mine Host, that is, just as soon as the Registrar returned from holidays.
Somewhere in reading the notes which informed them of the procedure for issuing a Notice of Hearing, the two girls made the discovery that there was another party to the matter. They pondered aloud how to handle this new piece of information.
(Most laymen are aware that in any court hearing there are Two opposing parties, either Claimant vs Respondent, or Crown vs Defendant.) These two girls were court staff.
It transpired that there were Two other parties. The two girls finally decided that the postponement of the matter applied to the other parties also. (Gee, you don't reckon?)
They drew themselves up as tall as they could and gravely informed Mine Host that postponement of the matter as it stood applied to the other parties also. (as if the hearing of a matter didn't affect ALL parties simultaneously?)
The impression gleaned by Mine Host was that in their minds, by telling Mine Host this, it was as if they had informed the other parties.
The look on the face of both Mine Host and witness must by now have been priceless. The girls hesitated, pondered for several moments, conferred together again, then announced that they would telephone to the indicated telephone numbers of the other parties and inform them of the postponement "that way".
This happened in 2008, in Queensland.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Racialism? or Economic Common Sense?
The entry of Sudanese persons to the bottleshop at the Wayside Tavern has been restricted to "one at a time".
The entry of second & subsequent Sudanese is denied until "One out, okay, one in".
Anybody who cannot think why this policy has been implemented has led a VERY sheltered life indeed.
The entry of second & subsequent Sudanese is denied until "One out, okay, one in".
Anybody who cannot think why this policy has been implemented has led a VERY sheltered life indeed.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Full Service Eviction!
Don't want to leave? Don't worry, we at the Diver's Arms can organise it for you.Just let us handle everything, even if you don't want us to, we'll still handle everything, hehe!
Or.... you could leave when requested.
Bonus points for guessing which of the 4 pictured above is Mine Host.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Really Truly, Never Assume.... Ever!!
In an eerily similar, but preceding, event to that which was mentioned a few posts ago, Mine Host was confronted in the office by a bitter and angry manager.
The manager had resigned and was on the last day of working out his notice.
"When were you going to tell me?" delivered in what was meant to be a cunning manner, was the baffling remark made to Mine Host.
It transpired that the Manager had seen "his job" advertised.
Mine Host stated that this was not so, as the position had not been advertised.
In the manner of one who knows, the manager continued as if Mine Host had not spoken. "I know it was my job, because it is the same ad I answered to get this job"
Mine Host pointed out that this could not be so, as when the manager was hired the position had not been advertised.
The recruiting agent contacted by Mine Host had just filled a similar position, had several candidates left over, and had been able to organise interviews immediately.
This information seemed to have little impact on the manger, who shook his head and repeated "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"
The manager had resigned and was on the last day of working out his notice.
"When were you going to tell me?" delivered in what was meant to be a cunning manner, was the baffling remark made to Mine Host.
It transpired that the Manager had seen "his job" advertised.
Mine Host stated that this was not so, as the position had not been advertised.
In the manner of one who knows, the manager continued as if Mine Host had not spoken. "I know it was my job, because it is the same ad I answered to get this job"
Mine Host pointed out that this could not be so, as when the manager was hired the position had not been advertised.
The recruiting agent contacted by Mine Host had just filled a similar position, had several candidates left over, and had been able to organise interviews immediately.
This information seemed to have little impact on the manger, who shook his head and repeated "You weren't going to tell me, were you?"
Friday, November 02, 2007
Employed for their Physique?
Building Site workers congregated outside the construction office. Wages were overdue and unpaid.
The corporation was insolvent, unable to pay. Little wonder the workers were angry.
The chairman had used hundreds of thousands of dollars of corporation funds for personal purchases, also given away hundreds of thousands more to any friend, relative or neighbor who came to see him saying they "needed money". Millions more had been spent without being accounted for, believed to be for extensive travel & accommodation.
The corporation had performed constuction work to the value of tens of millions of dollars with no written contracts for the jobs, and without any record being kept of the address at which jobs were done, or who the clients were.
Unsurprising given his actions, the chairman was under investigation by the Federal Police.
Thus with all cash reserves spent, and no way to recover money from the unknown clients, all work had halted, and the workers were unpaid.
A commonwealth government body had offered immediate funds to pay the arrears owed to the workers, and ongoing funds to allow the corporation to continue operations . However there was one condition;
The funds would only be forthcoming if the chairman was removed from the board.
The voting constituents of the goverment funded corporation were the building workers themselves, their families, relatives and neighbors.
An extra-ordinary election was quickly held.
The chairman was resoundingly voted back into office.
Back from Geneva/Paris/New York (presumably due to the corporation having run out of money to pay for his travel) the Chairman came ambling like an elephant out the front door of the contruction office after the vote. His vast bulk was shouldered (not easily) by the crowd of unpaid workers. Cheering loudly they carried him around until their legs threatened to collapse.
The federal government withdrew the offer of funding.
Mine Host witnessed this in his street, it took place only 2 doors away.
Human nature is often difficult to undertand.
They then returned to protesting in an ugly mood outside the construction office. Their chant alternated between:
a) demanding their unpaid wages (even though the corporation had no money),
b) condeming the federal government (for not paying "what they owe us"), and
c) rousing support for the chairman.
The corporation was insolvent, unable to pay. Little wonder the workers were angry.
The chairman had used hundreds of thousands of dollars of corporation funds for personal purchases, also given away hundreds of thousands more to any friend, relative or neighbor who came to see him saying they "needed money". Millions more had been spent without being accounted for, believed to be for extensive travel & accommodation.
The corporation had performed constuction work to the value of tens of millions of dollars with no written contracts for the jobs, and without any record being kept of the address at which jobs were done, or who the clients were.
Unsurprising given his actions, the chairman was under investigation by the Federal Police.
Thus with all cash reserves spent, and no way to recover money from the unknown clients, all work had halted, and the workers were unpaid.
A commonwealth government body had offered immediate funds to pay the arrears owed to the workers, and ongoing funds to allow the corporation to continue operations . However there was one condition;
The funds would only be forthcoming if the chairman was removed from the board.
The voting constituents of the goverment funded corporation were the building workers themselves, their families, relatives and neighbors.
An extra-ordinary election was quickly held.
The chairman was resoundingly voted back into office.
Back from Geneva/Paris/New York (presumably due to the corporation having run out of money to pay for his travel) the Chairman came ambling like an elephant out the front door of the contruction office after the vote. His vast bulk was shouldered (not easily) by the crowd of unpaid workers. Cheering loudly they carried him around until their legs threatened to collapse.
The federal government withdrew the offer of funding.
Mine Host witnessed this in his street, it took place only 2 doors away.
Human nature is often difficult to undertand.
They then returned to protesting in an ugly mood outside the construction office. Their chant alternated between:
a) demanding their unpaid wages (even though the corporation had no money),
b) condeming the federal government (for not paying "what they owe us"), and
c) rousing support for the chairman.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Payment Must be Made.
Back in the days before he learned a trick or two Mine Host would extend credit to longstanding local businessmen of good repute.
In a burst of youthful exuberance, credit was even extended to the hardworking operators of a small gymnasium and bowling centre. A couple, she a real estate salesman, he a motor mechanic, they worked evenings and the odd weekend shepherding school sports teams and drumming up informal local competitions.
A liquor licence was obtained, to lubricate the evening adult events. They purchased all their (meagre) liquor supplies from the Wayside Tavern. After some time Mine Host rewarded these loyal customers with a monthly account as an alternative to paying cash all the time.
The account, usually a few hundred dollars, was well maintained for a year or two... then payments slowed.
Concerned, but painfully aware of the rapidity with offence if taken at the mention of an unpaid account, Mine Host watched the account stretch out to three months overdue, and climb to fifteen hundred dollars.
Enough was enough, three months outstanding was testing Mine Host's youthful good nature, and the bowling & sports centre was no longer trading.
Mine Host fronted the mechanic, tactfully enquiring as to when the account would be settled?
Promises were received, guarantees, pledges, in fact everything but money was forthcoming.
Mine Host began to believe that the bill would never be paid.
The mechanic quit his job, drifted into casual labouring, eventually, with mounting household debts, he was declared bankrupt.
Though he was in work around town, he wasn't seen for some time after this. Eventually came the day when the mechanic breasted the bar of the Wayside Tavern. Mine Host hinted obliquely at the still unpaid fifteen hundred dollars.
The mechanic exploded in an indignant rage, loudly protested that he had "been through" bankruptcy, and all his debts were "cancelled by the court". This tirade was finished off with a poorly aimed swing at Mine Host, on the basis that nobody was going to get away with saying he was the sort of man who "owed money".
Mine Host stated flatly that until the bill was settled, the mechanic wouldn't be getting anything more from the Wayside Tavern. Waffle by a court notwithstanding, Legal Tender is what it takes to settle the bill.
Hotly & aggressively the mechanic reiterated that he was a discharged bankrupt and the bankruptcy process had "cancelled" all debts.
This is hardly grounds for getting all physical over suggestions that one's credit history is far from triple-A.
The mechanic remains insulted and deeply offended that Mine Host has reported a "lie" to surrounding pubs that the mechanic has booked up grog and failed to pay for it;
the bill remains unpaid;
the mechanic remains in an enforced state of exile from the pub, a state now entering its umpteenth year.
For the mechanic is, to this day, refused service at the Wayside Tavern. Still around town, presumably he is now teetotal, or subscribed to a wine club, or receiving year round deliveries of Christmas Club Beer Hampers, or perhaps he is home brewing.
But unless he ponies up the fifteen hundred, it will continue to be just him at home on his Pat Malone.
In a burst of youthful exuberance, credit was even extended to the hardworking operators of a small gymnasium and bowling centre. A couple, she a real estate salesman, he a motor mechanic, they worked evenings and the odd weekend shepherding school sports teams and drumming up informal local competitions.
A liquor licence was obtained, to lubricate the evening adult events. They purchased all their (meagre) liquor supplies from the Wayside Tavern. After some time Mine Host rewarded these loyal customers with a monthly account as an alternative to paying cash all the time.
The account, usually a few hundred dollars, was well maintained for a year or two... then payments slowed.
Concerned, but painfully aware of the rapidity with offence if taken at the mention of an unpaid account, Mine Host watched the account stretch out to three months overdue, and climb to fifteen hundred dollars.
Enough was enough, three months outstanding was testing Mine Host's youthful good nature, and the bowling & sports centre was no longer trading.
Mine Host fronted the mechanic, tactfully enquiring as to when the account would be settled?
Promises were received, guarantees, pledges, in fact everything but money was forthcoming.
Mine Host began to believe that the bill would never be paid.
The mechanic quit his job, drifted into casual labouring, eventually, with mounting household debts, he was declared bankrupt.
Though he was in work around town, he wasn't seen for some time after this. Eventually came the day when the mechanic breasted the bar of the Wayside Tavern. Mine Host hinted obliquely at the still unpaid fifteen hundred dollars.
The mechanic exploded in an indignant rage, loudly protested that he had "been through" bankruptcy, and all his debts were "cancelled by the court". This tirade was finished off with a poorly aimed swing at Mine Host, on the basis that nobody was going to get away with saying he was the sort of man who "owed money".
Mine Host stated flatly that until the bill was settled, the mechanic wouldn't be getting anything more from the Wayside Tavern. Waffle by a court notwithstanding, Legal Tender is what it takes to settle the bill.
Hotly & aggressively the mechanic reiterated that he was a discharged bankrupt and the bankruptcy process had "cancelled" all debts.
This is hardly grounds for getting all physical over suggestions that one's credit history is far from triple-A.
The mechanic remains insulted and deeply offended that Mine Host has reported a "lie" to surrounding pubs that the mechanic has booked up grog and failed to pay for it;
the bill remains unpaid;
the mechanic remains in an enforced state of exile from the pub, a state now entering its umpteenth year.
For the mechanic is, to this day, refused service at the Wayside Tavern. Still around town, presumably he is now teetotal, or subscribed to a wine club, or receiving year round deliveries of Christmas Club Beer Hampers, or perhaps he is home brewing.
But unless he ponies up the fifteen hundred, it will continue to be just him at home on his Pat Malone.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Never Assume.... Ever!
The resignation of key staff is rarely welcomed by Mine Host.
Particularly so when the resignation is a snap one.
In what seemed a fit of temper, delivered verbally, out on the floor, at midnight on a busy night, came such a resignation.
A management walkout. Just like that!
Calmer debriefing a few days later revealed that the resignee had spotted their job advertised on an employment forum, and done their block.
"What else am I supposed to do, when I see my job advertised?"
The resignee then glinted evilly at Mine Host "What would you expect anyone would do, when they get shafted like that?"
Mine Host remained silent, shrugged at the resignee and watched them, having just thrown away a key role, walk out the door into the world with a gaping hole in their resume.
Bitterly the resignee did not even look back, their heart full of contempt and despising Mine Host as a "backdoor operator".
* * *
It is always unwise to assume.
Mine Host had indeed advertised the position, though none but him and the recruiting agent knew this.
Mine Host had opted to promote the person who had (now) resigned. The new position would have been on double their current salary + bonuses, which when added up meant the new package was at triple the current salary.
Instead Mine Host now had the added burden of TWO key positions to fill.
Confide in the resignee? Show them their error, agree jocularly that they had jumped the gun, and allow the resignation to be rescinded?
Not on your nelly! Mine Host's business is his own. He certainly is not going to take into his confidence someone who makes an impluse resignation of a career position on the strength of spotting a generic classified ad.
Mine Host wonders how many people already in key roles are considered for a promotion at triple their current salary.
Mine Host wonders also how many of his fellow men have unknowingly walked away from what would have transpired to be similar circumstances?
Particularly so when the resignation is a snap one.
In what seemed a fit of temper, delivered verbally, out on the floor, at midnight on a busy night, came such a resignation.
A management walkout. Just like that!
Calmer debriefing a few days later revealed that the resignee had spotted their job advertised on an employment forum, and done their block.
"What else am I supposed to do, when I see my job advertised?"
The resignee then glinted evilly at Mine Host "What would you expect anyone would do, when they get shafted like that?"
Mine Host remained silent, shrugged at the resignee and watched them, having just thrown away a key role, walk out the door into the world with a gaping hole in their resume.
Bitterly the resignee did not even look back, their heart full of contempt and despising Mine Host as a "backdoor operator".
* * *
It is always unwise to assume.
Mine Host had indeed advertised the position, though none but him and the recruiting agent knew this.
Mine Host had opted to promote the person who had (now) resigned. The new position would have been on double their current salary + bonuses, which when added up meant the new package was at triple the current salary.
Instead Mine Host now had the added burden of TWO key positions to fill.
Confide in the resignee? Show them their error, agree jocularly that they had jumped the gun, and allow the resignation to be rescinded?
Not on your nelly! Mine Host's business is his own. He certainly is not going to take into his confidence someone who makes an impluse resignation of a career position on the strength of spotting a generic classified ad.
Mine Host wonders how many people already in key roles are considered for a promotion at triple their current salary.
Mine Host wonders also how many of his fellow men have unknowingly walked away from what would have transpired to be similar circumstances?
Monday, September 17, 2007
Saturday, September 08, 2007
From Pouring Beer to Making Number Plates
Mine Host had just thrown out a female who on the occassion of her previous visit had hit one of the staff and threatened another. This is grounds for an automatic life ban. Hence she was refused entry.
No sooner had she gone and the screeching protests faded from the ear, than one of the male staff approached Mine Host.
"That's the second time you've thrown out one of my friends, I'm giving you two weeks notice!"
Mine Host's response was routine: "Offer accepted Sunshine, however no need to wait two weeks, I want you off the premises two seconds from now."
The [now] ex-staff stammered "B..b...b...b...but..."
At this point it dawned on Mine Host that the fellow had been bluffing!
The bluff had been a very risky one, as a subsequent discovery by Mine Host was that as a consequence of his resignation, the dear departed resignee was off to jail.
Unbeknowns to Mine Host, he had been sentenced to a term prior to starting at the Wayside Tavern, being kept out only by virtue of "having found gainful employment".
His freedom had been contingent upon him remaining in said employment.........
....Oh me oh my.......
No sooner had she gone and the screeching protests faded from the ear, than one of the male staff approached Mine Host.
"That's the second time you've thrown out one of my friends, I'm giving you two weeks notice!"
Mine Host's response was routine: "Offer accepted Sunshine, however no need to wait two weeks, I want you off the premises two seconds from now."
The [now] ex-staff stammered "B..b...b...b...but..."
At this point it dawned on Mine Host that the fellow had been bluffing!
The bluff had been a very risky one, as a subsequent discovery by Mine Host was that as a consequence of his resignation, the dear departed resignee was off to jail.
Unbeknowns to Mine Host, he had been sentenced to a term prior to starting at the Wayside Tavern, being kept out only by virtue of "having found gainful employment".
His freedom had been contingent upon him remaining in said employment.........
....Oh me oh my.......
Saturday, September 01, 2007
The Hay Bale, an Eternal Chore
Mine Host, when even lower on society's totem pole than he is today, used to marvel at how publicans could actually moan about the "chore" of counting "washing baskets full" of money on a daily basis.
In a textbook example of the grass eternally growing greener accross the fence, Mine Host has learned what they meant.
Counting cash is simpler and more mind numbing than washing dishes. Though for obvious reasons counting cash cannot be done in the open by unmotivated uncaring staff who possess an actual "anti-work" ethic.
The sheer daily requirement of time that is spent handling a substance in quantities sufficient to (on a personal basis) solve all of one's short term problems and change one's life, has the ability to play havoc with the mind.
In a textbook example of the grass eternally growing greener accross the fence, Mine Host has learned what they meant.
Counting cash is simpler and more mind numbing than washing dishes. Though for obvious reasons counting cash cannot be done in the open by unmotivated uncaring staff who possess an actual "anti-work" ethic.The sheer daily requirement of time that is spent handling a substance in quantities sufficient to (on a personal basis) solve all of one's short term problems and change one's life, has the ability to play havoc with the mind.
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