Exactly a week after starting work, Two staff did not arrive for work at the Divers Arms.
Their room (they were in a common-law marriage) in the staff quarters was vacant, the key left in the open door.
He was a Chef. She a Receptionist.
A yellow post-it note reading "Good Luck" was stuck atop the 10cm high pile of paperwork she had supposedly been processing the night before on (what became) her final shift.
What she had been doing instead was tampering with every accommodation booking for the next several weeks, dates of arrival, contact phone number, length of stay etc. were all altered, many were deleted.
Three days of full time work, referring to the handwritten paper copies, was required just to rectify this damage.
A few weeks later a bill arrives from the taxi company, dated the morning of their departure, for their 6am ride to the airport! Until that moment, Mine Host had been unaware that taxi rides were on anything but a strictly-cash basis.
For this Mine Host reported the pair to the police, for fraud.
Some weeks later a fax is recieved from the Industrial Relations Dept.
The pair were claiming for unfair dismissal (including for wages to be paid in lieu of "no notice of dismissal given by the employer".)
Shocked return fax advised I.R. that all allegations were false.
Several senior staff & professional advisors informed I.R. that the wording of the complaint was defamatory. The police were notified that the taxi fraud suspects had surfaced.
I.R. kept faxing, tersely noting that payment had not yet been made to the claimants, & recommending that Mine Host pay up, to "avoid the matter being handed to a compliance officer for investigation & prosecution".
Several statements were produced by I.R., all supporting the pair of claimants. Every statement was by disgruntled former staff.
In support of Mine Host were statements by:
Several CPA's (Accountancy professionals)
Contract Head Chefs (with several leading overseas hotels on their C.V.)
Four persons of sufficient character to hold a liquor licence, including 2 who were J.P.'s.
I.R. openly took the view that all statements made in support of Mine Host were by people who "would say that wouldn't they?"
I.R. openly took the view that statements supporting the claimants, by persons with outstanding arrest warrants in other states amounted to "damning evidence" against Mine Host.
Mine Host's representations that the Two claimants had "done a runner" may have tweaked a chord with the I.R. investigator. Very early in the investigation the pair were called in & asked had they absconded without notice from their employment with Mine Host.
Gravely they both denied this.
The following morning both had disappeared from their rented accommodation, from their new jobs, their mobile phone numbers had been deactivated. They were suspected of fleeing interstate (to avoid jurisdiction). I.R. was never able to contact or locate them.
But none of this was revealed to Mine Host by the compliance officer. The terse, demanding faxes continued, for months.
Statements by Mine Host that the pair had "done a runner from their job" were scoffed at by the compliance officer.
The rough treatement of Mine Host ceased only when the housekeeping staff at the Divers Arms wrote a joint statement in their own words: "Fritz & Xaviera had been bragging about what a laugh it would be to make a mess of the paperwork, then do a bolt without telling the boss, this hotel was a joke to them, but to the rest of us it is our job & our living, we reckon they done the wrong thing."
I.R. then faxed that prosecution would not be proceeding at this point, due to "insufficient evidence".
Friday, October 14, 2005
IR case #1. Legalised Shakedown
Secretary didn't come to work. Didn't appear all day.
No message, no warning, no nothing.
Phone calls to her house dialled out.
Casual conversation in the staff room revealed that the secretary was on holidays. Long planned holidays, booked & paid months in advance.
Several weeks later the secretary reappeared in the office, at her old desk, & was busy with paperwork.
She had been interstate "on holiday".
In the abscence of a valid reason for several weeks abscence from work, she was advised there was no longer a job for her.
Subsequently Mine Host was hauled before the Industrial Relations Commission. The secretary had made a 14 page complaint (apparently this is quite a long one) alleging "unfair dismissal".
The claim was for in excess of $30,000. Advice from the QHA was that just to fight this particular claim would cost $20,000.
Mine Host was contacted by an officer of the Clerks Union, (representing the former secretary).
The conversation ended with Mine Host & he agreeing to disagree. Mine Host called it "Workplace Abandonment", the Union Officer called it "Unfair Dismissal".
(The Union Official also had a poorly worded go at entrapping Mine Host into a comment that would compromise his position)
A "Mediation Hearing" was ordered by the IRC.
Mine Host was present, along with an Industrial Officer to represent him, likewise the former secretary was there with her Union Officer.
Mine Host's representative whispered to him that the Commissioner presiding over the mediation was a former magistrate, & thus likely to be impartial. (For those who never had to endure the Queensland Industrial Relations Commission, impartiality by the Commissioners was most uncommon)
The hearing commenced with the Union Officer presenting the Commissioner with 20 pages of new documentation.
The Commissioner refused to allow Mine Host or his representative to see these new documents.
The union official opened by stating the secretary had been summarily dismissed for taking holidays, "which is a bit rough".
Mine Host's Industrial Representative opened by stating the secretary had walked off the job and gone on holidays without so much as a by-your-leave or any concern about how her job would be performed.
The Commssioner announced he would now speak with each party in "private conference". He then moved into a side room with the secretary & union officer.
Returning 20 minutes later, the Commissioner informed Mine Host: "Things don't look very good for you, I recommend that you settle immediately".
Mine Host refused to agree to an immediate settlement, confident that his 20 minute session with the Commissioner would throw a different complexion on things.
Instead, the Commissar spoke:
"Okay, I'll give you two weeks to come to your senses, all parties will reconvene at date X time X. I recommend you think about settlement"
Stunned, Mine Host put it to his representative that if this was an "impartial" commissioner, what could be expected of one who was anti-employer?
Over the next 2 weeks the representative earned his fee. Several telephone discussions were held with the union officer.
The secretary had not been full & frank with the union about the exact circumstances:
She had told them that she had applied for leave in writing & that leave had been granted.
This representation collapsed very quickly, after which the Union Officer quickly reduced the claim by 90%.
By the time of the reconvened Mediation Hearing, the claim had been reduced to 3 weeks pay + 1 week pay in lieu of "notice not given".
When asked how he felt about this by the Commissar, Mine Host weighed his options, a $20,000 cost to win, or pay a few weeks wages now to get it out of the way?
Mine Host poined out to the Commissar that the only thing he had been asked in this whole kangaroo court was will he pay? NEVER had he been allowed to state his response to the claim.
The Commissar expressed disgruntled surprise at this, & explained that Mine Host had been given "ample opportunity" to say his piece on the matter.
To this Mine Host retorted that "his piece" had been limited to a simple Yes or No to the Commissar's endless demands that cash payment be made to the secretary, whilst the opposing party had been given a 20 minute private audience.
The Commissar was unmoved.
The "week's pay in lieu" was dropped, and Reluctantly Mine Host agreed to a payment of 3 weeks wages. Laregely because the Wayside Tavern did not have $20,000 to spare.
Feeling ashamed at having put money before principle Mine Host was in a tense emotional state, very close to an outburst.
Then something happened that triggered Mine Host to dig his heels in.
As part of the settlement statement, the Union Officer asked for, and the Commissar granted, that Mine Host would also write a statement that the secretary had been a highly competent employee, & had left on very good terms.
Mine Host let go an emphatic "NO!"
In disbelief the Commissar asked for clarification, unsure of what he had heard, unable to believe he was being defied.
"I will not sign any such thing, such a document would be untrue, and I will go to gaol before I will ever put my signature to something which is not true."
Mine Host then gave a quick summation of the lack of due process so far, ending with an expression of shock & surprise that the Commissioner would expect someone to put their signature to something that wasn't true.
Sensing that the settlement offer was about to be withdrawn by a wronged employer who had been pushed too far, & knowing the secretary's case had limited prospects in a substantive hearing, the Union Officer hurriedly withdrew any requirement for a signed statement of "competence & goodwill" from the employer.
The settlement was signed, & the legalised shakedown was complete.
No message, no warning, no nothing.
Phone calls to her house dialled out.
Casual conversation in the staff room revealed that the secretary was on holidays. Long planned holidays, booked & paid months in advance.
Several weeks later the secretary reappeared in the office, at her old desk, & was busy with paperwork.
She had been interstate "on holiday".
In the abscence of a valid reason for several weeks abscence from work, she was advised there was no longer a job for her.
Subsequently Mine Host was hauled before the Industrial Relations Commission. The secretary had made a 14 page complaint (apparently this is quite a long one) alleging "unfair dismissal".
The claim was for in excess of $30,000. Advice from the QHA was that just to fight this particular claim would cost $20,000.
Mine Host was contacted by an officer of the Clerks Union, (representing the former secretary).
The conversation ended with Mine Host & he agreeing to disagree. Mine Host called it "Workplace Abandonment", the Union Officer called it "Unfair Dismissal".
(The Union Official also had a poorly worded go at entrapping Mine Host into a comment that would compromise his position)
A "Mediation Hearing" was ordered by the IRC.
Mine Host was present, along with an Industrial Officer to represent him, likewise the former secretary was there with her Union Officer.
Mine Host's representative whispered to him that the Commissioner presiding over the mediation was a former magistrate, & thus likely to be impartial. (For those who never had to endure the Queensland Industrial Relations Commission, impartiality by the Commissioners was most uncommon)
The hearing commenced with the Union Officer presenting the Commissioner with 20 pages of new documentation.
The Commissioner refused to allow Mine Host or his representative to see these new documents.
The union official opened by stating the secretary had been summarily dismissed for taking holidays, "which is a bit rough".
Mine Host's Industrial Representative opened by stating the secretary had walked off the job and gone on holidays without so much as a by-your-leave or any concern about how her job would be performed.
The Commssioner announced he would now speak with each party in "private conference". He then moved into a side room with the secretary & union officer.
Returning 20 minutes later, the Commissioner informed Mine Host: "Things don't look very good for you, I recommend that you settle immediately".
Mine Host refused to agree to an immediate settlement, confident that his 20 minute session with the Commissioner would throw a different complexion on things.
Instead, the Commissar spoke:
"Okay, I'll give you two weeks to come to your senses, all parties will reconvene at date X time X. I recommend you think about settlement"
Stunned, Mine Host put it to his representative that if this was an "impartial" commissioner, what could be expected of one who was anti-employer?
Over the next 2 weeks the representative earned his fee. Several telephone discussions were held with the union officer.
The secretary had not been full & frank with the union about the exact circumstances:
She had told them that she had applied for leave in writing & that leave had been granted.
This representation collapsed very quickly, after which the Union Officer quickly reduced the claim by 90%.
By the time of the reconvened Mediation Hearing, the claim had been reduced to 3 weeks pay + 1 week pay in lieu of "notice not given".
When asked how he felt about this by the Commissar, Mine Host weighed his options, a $20,000 cost to win, or pay a few weeks wages now to get it out of the way?
Mine Host poined out to the Commissar that the only thing he had been asked in this whole kangaroo court was will he pay? NEVER had he been allowed to state his response to the claim.
The Commissar expressed disgruntled surprise at this, & explained that Mine Host had been given "ample opportunity" to say his piece on the matter.
To this Mine Host retorted that "his piece" had been limited to a simple Yes or No to the Commissar's endless demands that cash payment be made to the secretary, whilst the opposing party had been given a 20 minute private audience.
The Commissar was unmoved.
The "week's pay in lieu" was dropped, and Reluctantly Mine Host agreed to a payment of 3 weeks wages. Laregely because the Wayside Tavern did not have $20,000 to spare.
Feeling ashamed at having put money before principle Mine Host was in a tense emotional state, very close to an outburst.
Then something happened that triggered Mine Host to dig his heels in.
As part of the settlement statement, the Union Officer asked for, and the Commissar granted, that Mine Host would also write a statement that the secretary had been a highly competent employee, & had left on very good terms.
Mine Host let go an emphatic "NO!"
In disbelief the Commissar asked for clarification, unsure of what he had heard, unable to believe he was being defied.
"I will not sign any such thing, such a document would be untrue, and I will go to gaol before I will ever put my signature to something which is not true."
Mine Host then gave a quick summation of the lack of due process so far, ending with an expression of shock & surprise that the Commissioner would expect someone to put their signature to something that wasn't true.
Sensing that the settlement offer was about to be withdrawn by a wronged employer who had been pushed too far, & knowing the secretary's case had limited prospects in a substantive hearing, the Union Officer hurriedly withdrew any requirement for a signed statement of "competence & goodwill" from the employer.
The settlement was signed, & the legalised shakedown was complete.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
Man the Pumps!
Aghast at the cost of renovation/extension to the Wayside Tavern, Mine Host has long dreamt (idly) of the easy way, an "insurance job", gloating over the positive outcome of releasing a red steer in the premises.
A "sad fire" would provide a brand new Wayside Tavern, at insurance company expense. This new building would be without any of the design flaws, inefficiencies etc. which exist in the current building. With but one strike of a match, Mine Host would be provided with a new glitch free pub AND some relaxing downtime, without loss of profit, due to "loss of income" insurance.
For a fire to be successful, the Wayside Tavern would have to be drenched with what in fire brigade parlance, is known as "accelerant". Such activity would leave sufficient of what is known in police parlance, as "evidence", and after the resulting conviction, Mine Host would not only be denied insurance payments, but would serve what is known in common parlance, as "a stretch".
A fire without evidence of being deliberately lit is easy, any number of possibilities spring readily to mind: The kitchen is good for any number of fires, stove spill, burning roast, deep fryer accident, etc etc. Unfortunately the fire brigade with their big powerful water hoses will easily put out any such unaccelerated fire.
Or so mine host thought!
Recently a very small & easily put out fire broke out a few doors down from the Wayside Tavern. (see the fire? this fire engine photo is all smoky)
A "sad fire" would provide a brand new Wayside Tavern, at insurance company expense. This new building would be without any of the design flaws, inefficiencies etc. which exist in the current building. With but one strike of a match, Mine Host would be provided with a new glitch free pub AND some relaxing downtime, without loss of profit, due to "loss of income" insurance.
For a fire to be successful, the Wayside Tavern would have to be drenched with what in fire brigade parlance, is known as "accelerant". Such activity would leave sufficient of what is known in police parlance, as "evidence", and after the resulting conviction, Mine Host would not only be denied insurance payments, but would serve what is known in common parlance, as "a stretch".
A fire without evidence of being deliberately lit is easy, any number of possibilities spring readily to mind: The kitchen is good for any number of fires, stove spill, burning roast, deep fryer accident, etc etc. Unfortunately the fire brigade with their big powerful water hoses will easily put out any such unaccelerated fire.
Or so mine host thought!
Recently a very small & easily put out fire broke out a few doors down from the Wayside Tavern. (see the fire? this fire engine photo is all smoky)
The Fire Brigade arrived after several minutes, the firemen dressed in heavier clobber than Shackleton. With lots of macho heaving & grunting, the firemen set about their business, some going to to inspect the "blaze", whilst others connected the fire engine to the water mains, then set to work pumping lots of water. Thus impressing the bystanders.
Then the "stream" ceased. Much furrowing of brows amongst the firemen, rapid consultations between fire brigade, police, council officers, etc.
The "blaze" was extinguished (just) by other means, as the hoses remained dry.
The water mains are not able to carry water as fast as the fire brigade can pump! In the event of a fire in the CBD, there will be insufficient water to put it out!
This nugget of information has been remembered by Mine Host. It could be very handy, hee hee hee!
Thursday, September 29, 2005
no bathtub required
Head Chef on his 3rd day on the job was giving the kitchen a mild spruce up. Alone, he started early, getting most of it done just as the kitchenhand arrived for work.
Head Chef, without looking up from his scrubbing, verbally issued kitchenhand his instructions. A few deep fryer parts to be rinsed off, given a mild scrub & then put through the dishwasher, followed by making up some pre-made salad portions.
A short while later Head Chef realised he hasn't heard any of the sounds of activity, half an hour had passed & none of the kitchenhand's appointed tasks appeared to have been completed.
A quick squizzo around revealed the kitchenhand outside seated in a relaxed manner on a milk crate.
Mystified, Head Chef enquired why only half an hour after starting time, kitchenhand was sitting on his bum instead of working.
"Having a smoke" grunts k/hand over his shoulder.
"I didn't ask you to go outside & light a cigarette, I asked you to put all the chopped salad parts together into bowls as portions"
"That's your job mate"
*brief silence from Head Chef* <--- whilst he digests this, & compares it to what would have happened in this case when he was learning the trade in Glasgow. (in deceptively mild tone of voice) "Sonny, you do realise you only get paid if you do some work?" Most reluctantly k/hand stands & comes back into the kitchen. "Due to your starting just now, instead of half an hour ago when you were supposed to, we are a little behind, so you better get stuck into cleaning off those inserts for the deep fryer" "I don't clean" replied k/hand. *another brief silence* "er.. waddaya mean you don't clean?"
"The other cook said I can smoke when I want, & it is degrading to clean"
"The other cook has quit, & I am in charge now, it is only your 4th day in this job, & part of all kitchen work is cleaning, get cracking!"
Sticking his chin out k/hand got out his most surly tone of voice "Better get another dishy then mate, coz I'm outta here, you can stick it up your *deleted word*"
With that, the lad who "cleans nothing" (he must really stink) pulled a pair of sunglasses down from where they had been perched on his head, stepped onto a skateboard, & departed.
Mine Host is no stranger to the ill mannerd lazy arrogant young who, when asked to concentrate, or to be diligent, curse the "nazi boss" & huffily walk off the job. However, never before has he known someone to "skateboard" off the job.
Quickly updated by his secretary on developments, Mine Host entered the kitchen to find Head Chef standing idle in shock, eyes like saucers, mumbling to himself "I dinna believe it, I canna believe it, I've never seen anything like it".. (has rather a unique sound to it when spoken in a Glasgow accent)
Apologising to Head Chef for inadvertantly hiring a kitchenhand of royal blood, Mine Host set off to catch up with his rarified majesty the departing kitchen hand. Alas, venegance was elusive, as the kid moved a good deal faster on a skateboard than he ever had at work. His blood was not to be shed on this day.
Head Chef, without looking up from his scrubbing, verbally issued kitchenhand his instructions. A few deep fryer parts to be rinsed off, given a mild scrub & then put through the dishwasher, followed by making up some pre-made salad portions.
A short while later Head Chef realised he hasn't heard any of the sounds of activity, half an hour had passed & none of the kitchenhand's appointed tasks appeared to have been completed.
A quick squizzo around revealed the kitchenhand outside seated in a relaxed manner on a milk crate.
Mystified, Head Chef enquired why only half an hour after starting time, kitchenhand was sitting on his bum instead of working.
"Having a smoke" grunts k/hand over his shoulder.
"I didn't ask you to go outside & light a cigarette, I asked you to put all the chopped salad parts together into bowls as portions"
"That's your job mate"
*brief silence from Head Chef* <--- whilst he digests this, & compares it to what would have happened in this case when he was learning the trade in Glasgow. (in deceptively mild tone of voice) "Sonny, you do realise you only get paid if you do some work?" Most reluctantly k/hand stands & comes back into the kitchen. "Due to your starting just now, instead of half an hour ago when you were supposed to, we are a little behind, so you better get stuck into cleaning off those inserts for the deep fryer" "I don't clean" replied k/hand. *another brief silence* "er.. waddaya mean you don't clean?"
"The other cook said I can smoke when I want, & it is degrading to clean"
"The other cook has quit, & I am in charge now, it is only your 4th day in this job, & part of all kitchen work is cleaning, get cracking!"
Sticking his chin out k/hand got out his most surly tone of voice "Better get another dishy then mate, coz I'm outta here, you can stick it up your *deleted word*"
With that, the lad who "cleans nothing" (he must really stink) pulled a pair of sunglasses down from where they had been perched on his head, stepped onto a skateboard, & departed.
Mine Host is no stranger to the ill mannerd lazy arrogant young who, when asked to concentrate, or to be diligent, curse the "nazi boss" & huffily walk off the job. However, never before has he known someone to "skateboard" off the job.
Quickly updated by his secretary on developments, Mine Host entered the kitchen to find Head Chef standing idle in shock, eyes like saucers, mumbling to himself "I dinna believe it, I canna believe it, I've never seen anything like it".. (has rather a unique sound to it when spoken in a Glasgow accent)
Apologising to Head Chef for inadvertantly hiring a kitchenhand of royal blood, Mine Host set off to catch up with his rarified majesty the departing kitchen hand. Alas, venegance was elusive, as the kid moved a good deal faster on a skateboard than he ever had at work. His blood was not to be shed on this day.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
can we vote for our police?
One of the tasks of the police is keeping the public safe from wrongdoers.
A few streets away from the Wayside Tavern, a small group of serial offenders was committing vicious assaults, a situation which had continued for more than a year.
Late at night they would lurk in the car yard (of motor dealerships) waiting to ambush commericial travellers returning to motels after a night of convivial drinking in a nearby pub.
Ambush as these morons understand it does not mean stealing a wallet & things, it means a vicious assault by a group of 20-year olds upon a 50 year old law abiding man. They would belt 6 shades of hell out of him, & when he falls to the ground they continue by putting the boot in until either they wear out, or until they are running the risk of being observed. Hospitalising, & possibly maiming a law abiding citizen is an irrelvance to them.
The police seemed unable to do anything to prevent this state of affairs, & commercial travellers became wary of venturing out after dark.
Note: This was not a case of the courts letting down the police, as NO ARREST was ever made.
The identity of the perpetators was not in doubt. Mine Host & his fellow hospitality providers grumbled to each other about how to prevent this, as clearly the police were not interested..... For when something arouses the ire/interest of the police, things happen, & the associated criminal/disorderly/reckless activity ceases.
Wistfully the small group of publicans/moteliers wished the police would treat as seriously a vicious & cowardly assaults upon elderly travellers as was a housewife driving out from a supermarket car park without wearing a seatbelt, or as was 10 minutes too little rest recorded in a truckie's logbook.
As would be expected from any decent citizens, a group which one would have expected to include the police, the hospitality providers made a plan to stop the violent street assaults.
"Oh, if only we had the powers of the police, this rot would stop overnight... " we all fumed!
Word did not spread very far that a group of businessmen were planning to pay serious CASH to import a small group of Tongan/Samoan/Maori/anybody else built like a brick outhouse to selectively belt the living daylights out of a few street thugs.
However, suddenly the street violence recieved police attention! Did the police lurk in the shadows to catch the perpetrators in the act? No.. the police visited every business house in the town to lecture sternly about the dangers of vigilantism, & to distribute literature about an upcoming "consultative meeting" between police, liquor inspectors & the hospitality businesses.
When faced with someone about to do their job for them, police bravely cracked down on their competitors, a group of law abiding hospitality operators, attempting to find breaches where there previously were none, & instilling fear into the hearts of those who were of no threat to community safety.
Liquor inspectors called at odd hours, demanding we produce our licence documents, we recieved impromptu stern warnings about "serving drunks" & "serving underage"..... however in the proximity of motels the savage assaults continued....
It is no wonder the police are loathed.
A few streets away from the Wayside Tavern, a small group of serial offenders was committing vicious assaults, a situation which had continued for more than a year.
Late at night they would lurk in the car yard (of motor dealerships) waiting to ambush commericial travellers returning to motels after a night of convivial drinking in a nearby pub.
Ambush as these morons understand it does not mean stealing a wallet & things, it means a vicious assault by a group of 20-year olds upon a 50 year old law abiding man. They would belt 6 shades of hell out of him, & when he falls to the ground they continue by putting the boot in until either they wear out, or until they are running the risk of being observed. Hospitalising, & possibly maiming a law abiding citizen is an irrelvance to them.
The police seemed unable to do anything to prevent this state of affairs, & commercial travellers became wary of venturing out after dark.
Note: This was not a case of the courts letting down the police, as NO ARREST was ever made.
The identity of the perpetators was not in doubt. Mine Host & his fellow hospitality providers grumbled to each other about how to prevent this, as clearly the police were not interested..... For when something arouses the ire/interest of the police, things happen, & the associated criminal/disorderly/reckless activity ceases.
Wistfully the small group of publicans/moteliers wished the police would treat as seriously a vicious & cowardly assaults upon elderly travellers as was a housewife driving out from a supermarket car park without wearing a seatbelt, or as was 10 minutes too little rest recorded in a truckie's logbook.
As would be expected from any decent citizens, a group which one would have expected to include the police, the hospitality providers made a plan to stop the violent street assaults.
"Oh, if only we had the powers of the police, this rot would stop overnight... " we all fumed!
Word did not spread very far that a group of businessmen were planning to pay serious CASH to import a small group of Tongan/Samoan/Maori/anybody else built like a brick outhouse to selectively belt the living daylights out of a few street thugs.
However, suddenly the street violence recieved police attention! Did the police lurk in the shadows to catch the perpetrators in the act? No.. the police visited every business house in the town to lecture sternly about the dangers of vigilantism, & to distribute literature about an upcoming "consultative meeting" between police, liquor inspectors & the hospitality businesses.
When faced with someone about to do their job for them, police bravely cracked down on their competitors, a group of law abiding hospitality operators, attempting to find breaches where there previously were none, & instilling fear into the hearts of those who were of no threat to community safety.
Liquor inspectors called at odd hours, demanding we produce our licence documents, we recieved impromptu stern warnings about "serving drunks" & "serving underage"..... however in the proximity of motels the savage assaults continued....
It is no wonder the police are loathed.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
The Deep South
Recently was way down south on business, in the city of Sydney. Taking advantage of his sudden proximity to it, Mine Host decided to visit the never-before-seen city of Melbourne.
Observations on this secluded southern city: Melbourne is as chilly as was expected, despite the fact that Mine Host was rugged up in more jackets than he has worn in many a year, people around him in the street were heard to be commenting on how "mild" the day was, & how "pleasant" the weather is compared to a little while ago. Just goes to show that everything is relative!
As indeed is sunshine. Melbourne is far further from the equator than Mine Host is accustomed to being, with accompanying reduced severity of sunshine. In fact the reduced sunshine of Melbourne gives it a rather 1950's technicolour movie feel, & Mine Host had a nagging feeling that he was transported to an alien world. And people on the street were heard to comment on how "sunny" the day was!
Food! Melbourne is food heaven! Mine Host has an incredible weakness for congee! All year he covets the stuff, then suddenly he is in a place where it is available 24 hours! And in sit down restaurants, with tablecloth & waiter & all.... *Melbourne is the place*
At any time of the day or night, not only congee, but all sorts of food could be had. Mine Host was able to eat in fantastic upmarket restaurants whenever he chose, without detecting even the slightest reluctance from restaurant staff. Finding any restaurant open at 11pm (even fast food) is usually too much of an ask, then there is Melbourne, with mouth watering food available sit down with wine at any time!
Mine Host is now scouring his diary for an excuse to return to the deep south!
Observations on this secluded southern city: Melbourne is as chilly as was expected, despite the fact that Mine Host was rugged up in more jackets than he has worn in many a year, people around him in the street were heard to be commenting on how "mild" the day was, & how "pleasant" the weather is compared to a little while ago. Just goes to show that everything is relative!
As indeed is sunshine. Melbourne is far further from the equator than Mine Host is accustomed to being, with accompanying reduced severity of sunshine. In fact the reduced sunshine of Melbourne gives it a rather 1950's technicolour movie feel, & Mine Host had a nagging feeling that he was transported to an alien world. And people on the street were heard to comment on how "sunny" the day was!
Food! Melbourne is food heaven! Mine Host has an incredible weakness for congee! All year he covets the stuff, then suddenly he is in a place where it is available 24 hours! And in sit down restaurants, with tablecloth & waiter & all.... *Melbourne is the place*
At any time of the day or night, not only congee, but all sorts of food could be had. Mine Host was able to eat in fantastic upmarket restaurants whenever he chose, without detecting even the slightest reluctance from restaurant staff. Finding any restaurant open at 11pm (even fast food) is usually too much of an ask, then there is Melbourne, with mouth watering food available sit down with wine at any time!
Mine Host is now scouring his diary for an excuse to return to the deep south!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Reality Hurts Doesn't It?
Recenty several major newspapers carried a front page story, with a fantastic colour photograph of: A young man, in the act of sniffing paint, interrupting a coroner's inquest (being conducted al fresco near Ayer's Rock) by strolling through the hearing.
The presence of this young man was so overwhelming for the coroner that he stopped the hearing & went "for a walk", being unable to deal with stark reality of being confronted by a paint sniffer.
Shock, Horror!!! A judge forcibly shoved face to face into reality!
A member of the "soft hands" urban tertiary class, one of the influencers and deciders of how we live, of how our system will operate, shoved face to face with the bland nothingness of a spaced out kid, & he cannot handle it, had to suspend the hearing...
The rest of the population have to deal with such reality, only without the option of "time out" to go for a walk to calm our nerves. But we do have the sure knowledge that how we handle the situation will be placed under the intense scrutiny of 20/20 hindsight, quite possibly by some naive, glib members of the legal profession.
A dose of how the rest of us have to live should happen to the legal profession more often, it may even shock some reality into them.
The presence of this young man was so overwhelming for the coroner that he stopped the hearing & went "for a walk", being unable to deal with stark reality of being confronted by a paint sniffer.
Shock, Horror!!! A judge forcibly shoved face to face into reality!
A member of the "soft hands" urban tertiary class, one of the influencers and deciders of how we live, of how our system will operate, shoved face to face with the bland nothingness of a spaced out kid, & he cannot handle it, had to suspend the hearing...
The rest of the population have to deal with such reality, only without the option of "time out" to go for a walk to calm our nerves. But we do have the sure knowledge that how we handle the situation will be placed under the intense scrutiny of 20/20 hindsight, quite possibly by some naive, glib members of the legal profession.
A dose of how the rest of us have to live should happen to the legal profession more often, it may even shock some reality into them.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Fools rush in.....
A wharf can be seen from the office window, the picture 2 posts ago shows this wharf.
Jumping from the wharf is prohibited. It is dangerous. For those who are too stupid to recognise danger, there are signs telling you. These signs also tell you of the legal penalties for jumping.
In case you are a "rebel", or can't think ahead far enough to conceptualise penalties, there is still the danger, (danger is a non-escapable, non-sueable thing which can "get" you, beware of it)
The double barrelled attack of danger AND penalties means, of course, that there is the odd person who DOES jump. Such person would have only a strong vacum between their ears.
Mine Host & his co-workers suspected two of the staff of occassionally doing some illicit jumping.
Unfortunately the two staff were both chefs. Chefs are a resource which is as rare as is common sense rare in wharf jumpers.
How to save the chefs from themselves? Informal advice was given, stern denials were the retort, written warnings were issued, again total denial. (The denials were of sufficient vigour to confirm everyone's suspicions that the chefs were indeed jumping from the wharf)
The wharf jumping habit was cured one day, in a most memorable manner:
The two chefs were jumping into the water, paddling to a ladder or stairs, climbing back up, then jumping again, all very much in the manner of a group of laughing children.
On one of his jumps, chef A knocked himself out. The tide was low, hard objects were in the water. Chef B jumped again to rescue chef A. This was not as easy as it first looked. Hidden hard objects was one reason only stupid people would jump, the other is strong currents. VERY STRONG. Chef B managed to get chef A out of unconsciousness & aware of what was happening.
However the currents had taken them quite some distance offshore. Being as the current is about 8 knots, there was no hope of them swimming back. They trod water & simply went with the flow, just as sailing boats do (for this reason sailing boats are quite rare in these parts).
Not having been seen by anyone else while they were jumping & knocking themself out, the 2 chefs would have drifted until they either came to another island, or were eaten by a crocodile.
Mine Host's best customers are the Customs Patrol. A small customs boat coming back from a job saw the bobbing heads, rescued them, & recognised the chefs who cook the mouth watering food the customs staff love to eat.
The customs staff did provide a happier ending for what would otherwise have been a mysterious missing persons case. Mine Host also notes that when they saved that pair, the customs crew did no favours for the gene pool.
Jumping from the wharf is prohibited. It is dangerous. For those who are too stupid to recognise danger, there are signs telling you. These signs also tell you of the legal penalties for jumping.
In case you are a "rebel", or can't think ahead far enough to conceptualise penalties, there is still the danger, (danger is a non-escapable, non-sueable thing which can "get" you, beware of it)
The double barrelled attack of danger AND penalties means, of course, that there is the odd person who DOES jump. Such person would have only a strong vacum between their ears.
Mine Host & his co-workers suspected two of the staff of occassionally doing some illicit jumping.
Unfortunately the two staff were both chefs. Chefs are a resource which is as rare as is common sense rare in wharf jumpers.
How to save the chefs from themselves? Informal advice was given, stern denials were the retort, written warnings were issued, again total denial. (The denials were of sufficient vigour to confirm everyone's suspicions that the chefs were indeed jumping from the wharf)
The wharf jumping habit was cured one day, in a most memorable manner:
The two chefs were jumping into the water, paddling to a ladder or stairs, climbing back up, then jumping again, all very much in the manner of a group of laughing children.
On one of his jumps, chef A knocked himself out. The tide was low, hard objects were in the water. Chef B jumped again to rescue chef A. This was not as easy as it first looked. Hidden hard objects was one reason only stupid people would jump, the other is strong currents. VERY STRONG. Chef B managed to get chef A out of unconsciousness & aware of what was happening.
However the currents had taken them quite some distance offshore. Being as the current is about 8 knots, there was no hope of them swimming back. They trod water & simply went with the flow, just as sailing boats do (for this reason sailing boats are quite rare in these parts).
Not having been seen by anyone else while they were jumping & knocking themself out, the 2 chefs would have drifted until they either came to another island, or were eaten by a crocodile.
Mine Host's best customers are the Customs Patrol. A small customs boat coming back from a job saw the bobbing heads, rescued them, & recognised the chefs who cook the mouth watering food the customs staff love to eat.
The customs staff did provide a happier ending for what would otherwise have been a mysterious missing persons case. Mine Host also notes that when they saved that pair, the customs crew did no favours for the gene pool.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
sharks, hehehe...
For the scene of this incident, refer to the previous posting, & the photo taken from the office window.
Right in front of Mine Host's office window, in the twilight, thigh deep in the water, several fellows were standing fishing. After quite some time one of them made a comment about "sharks".
Mine Host wryly noted that over the next minute or so, all the fishermen moved closer to the edge of the water, until it was not so deep, covering little more than their ankles. Apparently this was to "improve the chances of catching fish".
Shortly afterward a fin was observed by all, ominously gliding past. (Most sinister, just like on TV, hehe). The water under the fin was no more than waist deep.
Suddenly seeing the appeal of casting their lines from a "firmer footing", the fishermen all retreated as one to above the waterline.
7 times they lost bait & hook to a sudden "hit" on a line. Then one of them landed a 4 metre shark, as round in the body as a human torso.
Observing this cute little diorama, Mine Host felt little horror, shock or surprise. A long held knowledge of what the water contains has meant he has never, & will never, dip so much as a toe into the water in front of his office.
Right in front of Mine Host's office window, in the twilight, thigh deep in the water, several fellows were standing fishing. After quite some time one of them made a comment about "sharks".
Mine Host wryly noted that over the next minute or so, all the fishermen moved closer to the edge of the water, until it was not so deep, covering little more than their ankles. Apparently this was to "improve the chances of catching fish".
Shortly afterward a fin was observed by all, ominously gliding past. (Most sinister, just like on TV, hehe). The water under the fin was no more than waist deep.
Suddenly seeing the appeal of casting their lines from a "firmer footing", the fishermen all retreated as one to above the waterline.
7 times they lost bait & hook to a sudden "hit" on a line. Then one of them landed a 4 metre shark, as round in the body as a human torso.
Observing this cute little diorama, Mine Host felt little horror, shock or surprise. A long held knowledge of what the water contains has meant he has never, & will never, dip so much as a toe into the water in front of his office.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Knock their Teeth Out
Mine Host recently detected & dealt with a severe breach of etiquette which occurred within the walls of the Wayside Tavern.
A representative of another establishment in town, the "Tosspot Cricket Club" (hesitate to use the word "rival" establishment) .... entered into the Wayside Tavern & spoke to one of Mine Host's staff, offering her a job at their cesspit bloodhouse.
There are very few things which cause Mine Host's blood to boil properly. Poaching staff directly from someone else is close to as low as one can go. The only thing which saved this lady (for it was a female) was that she ran out the door as soon as she saw Mine Host approaching bearing a look of thunder!
She is unlikely to be back, & the Tosspot Cricket Club can rot in hell, *scoundrels*
There are certain rules in this world, & direct poaching of staff is justifiable grounds for flattening someone... & flattening them properly!
A representative of another establishment in town, the "Tosspot Cricket Club" (hesitate to use the word "rival" establishment) .... entered into the Wayside Tavern & spoke to one of Mine Host's staff, offering her a job at their cesspit bloodhouse.
There are very few things which cause Mine Host's blood to boil properly. Poaching staff directly from someone else is close to as low as one can go. The only thing which saved this lady (for it was a female) was that she ran out the door as soon as she saw Mine Host approaching bearing a look of thunder!
She is unlikely to be back, & the Tosspot Cricket Club can rot in hell, *scoundrels*
There are certain rules in this world, & direct poaching of staff is justifiable grounds for flattening someone... & flattening them properly!
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Unhappy hour
One of the trials of a publican's life, oft lamented by Mine Host, is abuse from an ungrateful public.
One of the disappointing aspects of society is just how many people will speak to shop staff in a manner in which they would never dare speak to anyone else.
Abuse, threats & ranting are not uncommon. There is an unhesitating expectation that there will be no response, & no consequences.
This abuse can be most unreasonable, quite vitriolic, even violent at times.
Over time this treatment can have quite an effect on people, especially those who are paid relatively lowly to provide a good service to the public.
Mine Host had pondered in vain how to reduce the amount of abuse. Perhaps give more to the customers? A free drink each day for every regular customer?
No matter what was tried, the abuse continued to grow steadily.
The solution, stunning in its simplicity, came from one of the suppliers, Mr. Welsh. Elderly, he wore braces & a cloth cap (a very rare sight in the tropics).
He operated a vending machine run, & called to the Wayside Tavern monthly.
A lifelong member of the Showman's Guild, Mr. Welsh had been raised on the fairground circuit. At each of his visits Mine Host would experience the privelige of being allowed to peer through a window into another world, and be allowed to listen enthusiastically to tales of a childhood spent repairing merry-go-round horses, & other exotic events from the show circuit.
The pearl was dropped unexpectedly during one of these conversations. "You know young fellow" spoke Mr. Welsh "you should NEVER give anybody anything. If you give them something you only get abused for it."
"Always charge full price & do not compromise on this, it makes the public more polite.”
This policy was immediately adopted as gospel by the Wayside Tavern.
In the years since, with a firm policy of no free drinks, no bar draws, no discounting, & no happy hour, Mine Host has lived a relatively stress free life.
Drinkers in the bar greet him by name, offer to buy him drinks, no more does the sour chant of "shout c**t, shout c**t" commence when Mine Host enters the bar.
Never again will Mine Host be foolish enough to give anything to drinkers. All else aside, it is bad business!
One of the disappointing aspects of society is just how many people will speak to shop staff in a manner in which they would never dare speak to anyone else.
Abuse, threats & ranting are not uncommon. There is an unhesitating expectation that there will be no response, & no consequences.
This abuse can be most unreasonable, quite vitriolic, even violent at times.
Over time this treatment can have quite an effect on people, especially those who are paid relatively lowly to provide a good service to the public.
Mine Host had pondered in vain how to reduce the amount of abuse. Perhaps give more to the customers? A free drink each day for every regular customer?
No matter what was tried, the abuse continued to grow steadily.
The solution, stunning in its simplicity, came from one of the suppliers, Mr. Welsh. Elderly, he wore braces & a cloth cap (a very rare sight in the tropics).
He operated a vending machine run, & called to the Wayside Tavern monthly.
A lifelong member of the Showman's Guild, Mr. Welsh had been raised on the fairground circuit. At each of his visits Mine Host would experience the privelige of being allowed to peer through a window into another world, and be allowed to listen enthusiastically to tales of a childhood spent repairing merry-go-round horses, & other exotic events from the show circuit.
The pearl was dropped unexpectedly during one of these conversations. "You know young fellow" spoke Mr. Welsh "you should NEVER give anybody anything. If you give them something you only get abused for it."
"Always charge full price & do not compromise on this, it makes the public more polite.”
This policy was immediately adopted as gospel by the Wayside Tavern.
In the years since, with a firm policy of no free drinks, no bar draws, no discounting, & no happy hour, Mine Host has lived a relatively stress free life.
Drinkers in the bar greet him by name, offer to buy him drinks, no more does the sour chant of "shout c**t, shout c**t" commence when Mine Host enters the bar.
Never again will Mine Host be foolish enough to give anything to drinkers. All else aside, it is bad business!
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Happy Hour
Happy Hour has long been absent from the Wayside Tavern. It is an institution which Mine Host mourns no more than he would mourn a certain prime minister who reigned from 1972-1975.
Progress has finally caught up with the advances made by the wayside Tavern, "happy hour" now experiences the same wowser backlash as does smoking.
For happy hour at the Wayside Tavern went west years ago. This piece of Ozzi social fabric has holds the same fondness in Mine Host's heart as does 6 o'clock closing in the hearts of his clientele.
Mine Host shall explain his rationale in the next posting, however for an alternative view see Slattsnews.
Progress has finally caught up with the advances made by the wayside Tavern, "happy hour" now experiences the same wowser backlash as does smoking.
For happy hour at the Wayside Tavern went west years ago. This piece of Ozzi social fabric has holds the same fondness in Mine Host's heart as does 6 o'clock closing in the hearts of his clientele.
Mine Host shall explain his rationale in the next posting, however for an alternative view see Slattsnews.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Take the long way back...
Richard Cranium sits at the bar, sipping his 1st drink & giving a fair bit of lip to 4 robust men at the next table. They take it without comment, but are itching to give something back.
This is Mr. Cranium's 3rd visit to the Wayside Tavern, it will also be his last. His behaviour on both previous visits resulted in him being thrown out before he even ordered a drink.
Mine Host is perfectly happy to allow nature take its course. Richard Cranium is 19 years old, feeling strong, nothing can touch him. His aggressive attitude to others is being directed onto the 4 men at the next table.
After considerable bad language & obnoxious behaviour, Cranium finishes his drink, demands another & is refused service for reason of disorderly conduct.
Becoming even more obnoxious, both to staff & the 4 men at the next table, Cranium grabs a bottle of cordial from behind the bar & runs. Nobody does anything to stop him.
Note: Nothing is theft until the stolen object has been removed from the premises.
The 4 men who have borne the brunt of Cranium's insults watch him run, the instant Cranium crosses the threshold onto the street the oldest of the 4 says to his companions... "Get him boys"
The 3 Constables do as their Inspector orders.
Cranium is running & laughing, waving the cordial bottle. Seeing 3 strong young men in hard pursuit, the look of glee evaporates, the cordial bottle is dropped & he runs for his life, fear lending wings to his feet.
The 3 off duty police swiftly overtake Cranium. One grabs him by the waist & uses Cranium's own momentum to drive him into a handy brick wall. Cranium collapses face down onto the concrete footpath.
The next constable launches himself from several feet away & lands with all his weight, knees first, onto the back of Craniums prone torso.
There is no cheek left in Richard Cranium.
Two of the pursuers now take an ankle each, & drag Cranium face down along the footpath, & accross the street.
None of them even look back to see how Cranium is coping with being pulled by the ankles face down accross a bitumen road & along a concrete footpath.
Nobody even checks that Cranium is conscious.
A mobile phone call is made, a police car arrives, Cranium is thrown into this car.
The police station is the opposite side of the block to the Wayside Tavern. Mine Host can make it there at a trot in 45 seconds.
The police car (containing the prisoner) sets off in the wrong direction. It takes 45 minutes for the prisoner to arrive at the station.............
Richard Cranium, in the years since, has never given any trouble or done anything to bring attention to himself.
This is Mr. Cranium's 3rd visit to the Wayside Tavern, it will also be his last. His behaviour on both previous visits resulted in him being thrown out before he even ordered a drink.
Mine Host is perfectly happy to allow nature take its course. Richard Cranium is 19 years old, feeling strong, nothing can touch him. His aggressive attitude to others is being directed onto the 4 men at the next table.
After considerable bad language & obnoxious behaviour, Cranium finishes his drink, demands another & is refused service for reason of disorderly conduct.
Becoming even more obnoxious, both to staff & the 4 men at the next table, Cranium grabs a bottle of cordial from behind the bar & runs. Nobody does anything to stop him.
Note: Nothing is theft until the stolen object has been removed from the premises.
The 4 men who have borne the brunt of Cranium's insults watch him run, the instant Cranium crosses the threshold onto the street the oldest of the 4 says to his companions... "Get him boys"
The 3 Constables do as their Inspector orders.
Cranium is running & laughing, waving the cordial bottle. Seeing 3 strong young men in hard pursuit, the look of glee evaporates, the cordial bottle is dropped & he runs for his life, fear lending wings to his feet.
The 3 off duty police swiftly overtake Cranium. One grabs him by the waist & uses Cranium's own momentum to drive him into a handy brick wall. Cranium collapses face down onto the concrete footpath.
The next constable launches himself from several feet away & lands with all his weight, knees first, onto the back of Craniums prone torso.
There is no cheek left in Richard Cranium.
Two of the pursuers now take an ankle each, & drag Cranium face down along the footpath, & accross the street.
None of them even look back to see how Cranium is coping with being pulled by the ankles face down accross a bitumen road & along a concrete footpath.
Nobody even checks that Cranium is conscious.
A mobile phone call is made, a police car arrives, Cranium is thrown into this car.
The police station is the opposite side of the block to the Wayside Tavern. Mine Host can make it there at a trot in 45 seconds.
The police car (containing the prisoner) sets off in the wrong direction. It takes 45 minutes for the prisoner to arrive at the station.............
Richard Cranium, in the years since, has never given any trouble or done anything to bring attention to himself.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Come in Spinner
"Can you come out to the lounge" through the intercom came the melodic Irish speech pattern of Mike, highly competent Irish lad, "there's a bloke just come in, he's goin' totally crazy, & I'm not sure I can handle him" (If Mike can't handle him he MUST be a handful)
By the pool table was a crazed Cook Islander, incongruous in stockman's hat & shirt with torn off sleeves, in one hand gripping a pool cue by the thin end, eyes enlarged & crazed, biceps bulging, neck & jaw clenched. A fearsome sight. Backed up to the wall in fear is a semi-circle of customers. Despite the miscreant not having been seen at the Wayside Tavern for many years, Mine Host knew him as a former regular, who had moved out of town ages ago.
"This could be tricky" thinks Mine Host
"Mr. Esmond!" bellowed Mine Host, as hearing their own name often shocks troublemakers into calming down, removing their anonymity is very effective, as running off into the dark will no longer be an effective escape.
However Maori, when drugged or drunk, know no reason. Mr. Esmond dropped the pool cue, & made as if to calm down (known as "dummying"), then from the side he threw a tremendous "king hit", which landed perfectly on Mine Host's lower jaw. Reeling, (but to the amazement of all, including himself, still standing) Mine Host braced for the flurry of follow up punches, as the first one was quite a beauty.
But there was no follow up, through bleary eyes Mine Host saw Mr. Esmond, Mike & one of Mr. Esmond's sons grappling, then the 2 Esmonds ran.
Mike had moved in behind & caught the backswing of the follow up punch, however Esmond Junior then (from behind) threw a couple of punches at Mike, who had his hands full, hanging onto one thug whilst avoiding blows from another.
The 2 Esmonds ran into the night. From the back door Mike bellowed into the dark "Running are Ye? Scared are Ye?"..... Whilst Esmond Jnr was smart enough to keep running, Mr. Esmond himself fell for it .. (Come in Spinner!) & marched back into the light, announcing loudly what he was going to do to us, etc etc.
His escape thus delayed, Mr. Esmond was still on the scene bellowing with sufficient belligerence for the police to collar him immediately upon their arrival.
Upon sighting the police, Esmond underwent the usual metamorphosis from belligerently challenging all comers to sitting quietly in a chair & acting totally surprised as to why the police would want to grab him.
The sergeant later reported that in his pockets they had found "something which should not have been there..." They had then released him & told him to come back at 10pm the following night (sometimes we wonder if they actually have to fail an intelligence test to get into the force) But they expected that they would issue him with a fine for failing to leave a pub when asked.
In exasperation Mine Host then set about (vainly) trying to talk knuckle-headed cops into actually charging the thug with assault. After all, a room full of people had seen it, & almost been victims themselves.
........
The following night the same 2 police came to the Wayside Tavern, Mr. Esmond had not appeared for his interview & now he was going to be charged with "serious assault", affray, disorderly conduct on licenced premises. etc etc...
When Mr. Esmond had done nothing more than belt a few people around (because he could) the police had only a most minor interest, but now that he had failed to do what a cop told him, they were going to throw the book at him. Mr. Esmond subsequently pleaded guilty to all charges at a special hearing in his new home town.
Several weeks later Esmond Junior crossed the threshold of the Wayside Tavern, accompanied by a sexy young thing. "You can't come in here" Mine Host said, with palm outward. Blank look from Esmond Jnr, as if he had no idea why he was being refused entry. "Anyone who throws a punch at the staff, never comes back inside, not for the rest of their life."
"I haven't hit anyone"
"Correct sunshine, you missed! But you were man enough to take a swing at someone from behind"
"Don't know what you are talking about"
"Tell you what sunshine, how about we look at the video, & if it ain't you in the starring role, then the subsequent police interview is going to make me look a real fool, ain't it?"
Esmond Junior turned & went, thus confirming Mine Hosts version of events. Shamed (in his own eyes) in front of girlfriend & mates, indisputably the type who hits from behind.
By the pool table was a crazed Cook Islander, incongruous in stockman's hat & shirt with torn off sleeves, in one hand gripping a pool cue by the thin end, eyes enlarged & crazed, biceps bulging, neck & jaw clenched. A fearsome sight. Backed up to the wall in fear is a semi-circle of customers. Despite the miscreant not having been seen at the Wayside Tavern for many years, Mine Host knew him as a former regular, who had moved out of town ages ago.
"This could be tricky" thinks Mine Host
"Mr. Esmond!" bellowed Mine Host, as hearing their own name often shocks troublemakers into calming down, removing their anonymity is very effective, as running off into the dark will no longer be an effective escape.
However Maori, when drugged or drunk, know no reason. Mr. Esmond dropped the pool cue, & made as if to calm down (known as "dummying"), then from the side he threw a tremendous "king hit", which landed perfectly on Mine Host's lower jaw. Reeling, (but to the amazement of all, including himself, still standing) Mine Host braced for the flurry of follow up punches, as the first one was quite a beauty.
But there was no follow up, through bleary eyes Mine Host saw Mr. Esmond, Mike & one of Mr. Esmond's sons grappling, then the 2 Esmonds ran.
Mike had moved in behind & caught the backswing of the follow up punch, however Esmond Junior then (from behind) threw a couple of punches at Mike, who had his hands full, hanging onto one thug whilst avoiding blows from another.
The 2 Esmonds ran into the night. From the back door Mike bellowed into the dark "Running are Ye? Scared are Ye?"..... Whilst Esmond Jnr was smart enough to keep running, Mr. Esmond himself fell for it .. (Come in Spinner!) & marched back into the light, announcing loudly what he was going to do to us, etc etc.
His escape thus delayed, Mr. Esmond was still on the scene bellowing with sufficient belligerence for the police to collar him immediately upon their arrival.
Upon sighting the police, Esmond underwent the usual metamorphosis from belligerently challenging all comers to sitting quietly in a chair & acting totally surprised as to why the police would want to grab him.
The sergeant later reported that in his pockets they had found "something which should not have been there..." They had then released him & told him to come back at 10pm the following night (sometimes we wonder if they actually have to fail an intelligence test to get into the force) But they expected that they would issue him with a fine for failing to leave a pub when asked.
In exasperation Mine Host then set about (vainly) trying to talk knuckle-headed cops into actually charging the thug with assault. After all, a room full of people had seen it, & almost been victims themselves.
........
The following night the same 2 police came to the Wayside Tavern, Mr. Esmond had not appeared for his interview & now he was going to be charged with "serious assault", affray, disorderly conduct on licenced premises. etc etc...
When Mr. Esmond had done nothing more than belt a few people around (because he could) the police had only a most minor interest, but now that he had failed to do what a cop told him, they were going to throw the book at him. Mr. Esmond subsequently pleaded guilty to all charges at a special hearing in his new home town.
Several weeks later Esmond Junior crossed the threshold of the Wayside Tavern, accompanied by a sexy young thing. "You can't come in here" Mine Host said, with palm outward. Blank look from Esmond Jnr, as if he had no idea why he was being refused entry. "Anyone who throws a punch at the staff, never comes back inside, not for the rest of their life."
"I haven't hit anyone"
"Correct sunshine, you missed! But you were man enough to take a swing at someone from behind"
"Don't know what you are talking about"
"Tell you what sunshine, how about we look at the video, & if it ain't you in the starring role, then the subsequent police interview is going to make me look a real fool, ain't it?"
Esmond Junior turned & went, thus confirming Mine Hosts version of events. Shamed (in his own eyes) in front of girlfriend & mates, indisputably the type who hits from behind.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Quiet, polite customer
Jim drank at the Wayside Tavern for years. He sat at the end of the bar, & never made a noise. His large size & early middle age looks helped his face to appear serene.
In all this time Mine Host only ever spoke to Jim to serve him a drink. Jim was quiet, had a sense of humour, held down a high paying job, occassionally took a bottle of Kahlua home with him.
"Chilly tonight" "Yea" was the extent of several years of conversation between Jim & Mine Host. On nights when Jim was in, Mine Host wistfully wished there could be more customers such as Jim.
One evening Jim stood, walked behind the bar to & placed one hand on Mine Host's shoulder. "Jim, how can I help you?"
With the speed of a striking cobra, Jim violently wrenched Mine Host into the coldroom wall.
On the backswing Jim flung Mine Host, by now with torn shirt & trousers, like a rag doll into the corner below the sink. Jim then landed on Mine Host with both knees, then taking a hand full of hair with one hand, began belting away with his right.
Mine Host could not have been in a more helpless position.
A 70 year old bystander, half the size of Jim, came around behind the bar & dragged Jim off by the neck, using his forearm to crimp Jim's windpipe. Jim was suffocating, turning blue, approaching the point of unconsciousness. "Good, that will slow him down" thought Mine Host
Jim was released, his windpipe revererted (slowly) to it's original shape, & he began to gasp out of his catatonic state. All present were incredulous at this uncharacteristic display by Jim.
Still gasping, Jim turned slowly, sighted Mine Host, & began to flail away most violently, with arms like twirling sledgehammers. The elderly samaritan once again put his forearm around Jim's neck & cut his windpipe. Jim gasped folornly without noise (hehe, can't make gasping noise unless at least a little air is coming in!) Slowly he starved for oxygen & toppled to the floor.
Jim would weigh 140-150kg.
Mine Host & his saviour dragged Jim (quite an effort) through the foyer & toward the street. However he slowly became lucid & commenced again to struggle.
Just then 2 police officers (females both) arrived, summoned by alarmed customers. One officer remained outside, & did not enter the Wayside Tavern. The other berated Mine Host's saviour, stating that "choking someone" could land us in serious trouble.
Mine Host leapt to his feet & pointed out in a most undiplomatic tone of voice, that he had been in trouble, & now was not. Furthmore, Jim's state of health was of little concern, if Jim didn't like being knocked out, he could only blame himself!
Due to his mild drunken state , the police refused to interview or arrest Jim at the scene, telling him to go home. Then proceeded to berate Mine Host & his saviours about "using violence"
Mine Host acidly pointed out that the police had delivered no such diatribe to Jim.
Some months later the police informed Mine Host that "nothing can be done" about the "alleged assault" by Jim, as they had arrested Jim at the scene & charged him with public disorder.
Subsequently, and without Mine Host's knowledge Jim had already been found guilty of public disorder.
He cannot be tried twice on the same evidence. Thus no assault charge could now be pursued. The police took the opportunity to deliver a further sermon on the evils of using violence to defend oneself, stating that instead Mine Host should have "called the police".
Having had enough of this rot, Mine Host thundered most direspectfully at the officers that if someone had not dragged Jim off, the only call being made would be to the funeral director.!
Mine Host will go to his grave without any comprehension of why Jim attacked him, nor without any idea of why the 2 police were not only unhelpful, but were downright hostile to the victims of crime.
In all this time Mine Host only ever spoke to Jim to serve him a drink. Jim was quiet, had a sense of humour, held down a high paying job, occassionally took a bottle of Kahlua home with him.
"Chilly tonight" "Yea" was the extent of several years of conversation between Jim & Mine Host. On nights when Jim was in, Mine Host wistfully wished there could be more customers such as Jim.
One evening Jim stood, walked behind the bar to & placed one hand on Mine Host's shoulder. "Jim, how can I help you?"
With the speed of a striking cobra, Jim violently wrenched Mine Host into the coldroom wall.
On the backswing Jim flung Mine Host, by now with torn shirt & trousers, like a rag doll into the corner below the sink. Jim then landed on Mine Host with both knees, then taking a hand full of hair with one hand, began belting away with his right.
Mine Host could not have been in a more helpless position.
A 70 year old bystander, half the size of Jim, came around behind the bar & dragged Jim off by the neck, using his forearm to crimp Jim's windpipe. Jim was suffocating, turning blue, approaching the point of unconsciousness. "Good, that will slow him down" thought Mine Host
Jim was released, his windpipe revererted (slowly) to it's original shape, & he began to gasp out of his catatonic state. All present were incredulous at this uncharacteristic display by Jim.
Still gasping, Jim turned slowly, sighted Mine Host, & began to flail away most violently, with arms like twirling sledgehammers. The elderly samaritan once again put his forearm around Jim's neck & cut his windpipe. Jim gasped folornly without noise (hehe, can't make gasping noise unless at least a little air is coming in!) Slowly he starved for oxygen & toppled to the floor.
Jim would weigh 140-150kg.
Mine Host & his saviour dragged Jim (quite an effort) through the foyer & toward the street. However he slowly became lucid & commenced again to struggle.
Just then 2 police officers (females both) arrived, summoned by alarmed customers. One officer remained outside, & did not enter the Wayside Tavern. The other berated Mine Host's saviour, stating that "choking someone" could land us in serious trouble.
Mine Host leapt to his feet & pointed out in a most undiplomatic tone of voice, that he had been in trouble, & now was not. Furthmore, Jim's state of health was of little concern, if Jim didn't like being knocked out, he could only blame himself!
Due to his mild drunken state , the police refused to interview or arrest Jim at the scene, telling him to go home. Then proceeded to berate Mine Host & his saviours about "using violence"
Mine Host acidly pointed out that the police had delivered no such diatribe to Jim.
Some months later the police informed Mine Host that "nothing can be done" about the "alleged assault" by Jim, as they had arrested Jim at the scene & charged him with public disorder.
Subsequently, and without Mine Host's knowledge Jim had already been found guilty of public disorder.
He cannot be tried twice on the same evidence. Thus no assault charge could now be pursued. The police took the opportunity to deliver a further sermon on the evils of using violence to defend oneself, stating that instead Mine Host should have "called the police".
Having had enough of this rot, Mine Host thundered most direspectfully at the officers that if someone had not dragged Jim off, the only call being made would be to the funeral director.!
Mine Host will go to his grave without any comprehension of why Jim attacked him, nor without any idea of why the 2 police were not only unhelpful, but were downright hostile to the victims of crime.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
islam
Having lived his entire life in the bush, Mine Host had enjoyed a life free from (amongst other things) Islam.
This is not to suggest that Mine Host was ignorant of Islam. On the contrary it is Mine Host's belief that country people are by far the best informed on current affairs & the world around them, being scrupulous readers of newspapers & devourers of all sorts of books & magazines.
Islam remained a foreign & irrelevant thing which nobody ever imagined they would come in contact with, or have any practical use for. (Thus putting islam on a par with a university education)
However when economic reality forced Mine Host's career path away from cattle-punching (& ultimately into pubs) he began to rub shoulders - unknowingly - with adherents of this faith.
Much of Islam held great appeal to rural folk, and were it not for the grog-free aspect, (a guaranteed recruiting blooper) the faith would be almost revered among the humble farming folk of the inland.
For Islam is seen as one of the few places where toughenss on villany can still be found. A Fair Dinkum attitude toward crooks is percieved to be most definitely absent from the Australian judiciary, & with do-gooders campaigning in favour of criminals & other bad eggs, there seems little hope for improvements.
For much of Mine Host's young life many a conversation was had accross the sawn timber bar of a country pub: "See that blank pansy judge in Brisbane/Sydney/Melbourne acutally let off some thug/rapist/murderer/burglar, .. christ.. in Saudi Arabia the bastard would've had his hand chopped off... maybe even his head... .. christ! I wish we had laws here like that.. stop all those dole bludgers in SydBrisMelb from running amok & bashing grannies I tell you... sigh.."
When years later Mine Host was as far from the bush as an ex-stockman can get, running a halal kebab shop in the far western suburbs of Sydney, he sold to Turkish, employed Turkish, was supplied by Turkish, recieved detailed advice, help & follow up support from operators of Turkish kebab shops in his area. These people are the salt of the earth, Mine Host will go to his grave still a defender of the Turkish people of western Sydney.
When one day in the office of the kebab factory, Mine Host made a positive comment about a photo on the wall of a big round mosque, & said how nice it looked, & how it would now be difficult to imagine Sydney without it on the skyline... and they were off!! This comment was taken as a desire to be converted!
For the record: Mine Host will never become an adherent of islam. Ever since the day he discovered fine Barossa reds, he was never going to forgo the grape!
However the teaching went on, & every visit to collect kebabs now included a lesson on islam. However, much to the distress of Mine Host, no mention of chopping of hands or heads of wrongdoers was ever made. This main selling point of Islam was explained as being "not representative". The "do-gooders" had reached the Turkish immigrant community years in advance of Mine Host, & the damage was now irreversable.
This is not to suggest that Mine Host was ignorant of Islam. On the contrary it is Mine Host's belief that country people are by far the best informed on current affairs & the world around them, being scrupulous readers of newspapers & devourers of all sorts of books & magazines.
Islam remained a foreign & irrelevant thing which nobody ever imagined they would come in contact with, or have any practical use for. (Thus putting islam on a par with a university education)
However when economic reality forced Mine Host's career path away from cattle-punching (& ultimately into pubs) he began to rub shoulders - unknowingly - with adherents of this faith.
Much of Islam held great appeal to rural folk, and were it not for the grog-free aspect, (a guaranteed recruiting blooper) the faith would be almost revered among the humble farming folk of the inland.
For Islam is seen as one of the few places where toughenss on villany can still be found. A Fair Dinkum attitude toward crooks is percieved to be most definitely absent from the Australian judiciary, & with do-gooders campaigning in favour of criminals & other bad eggs, there seems little hope for improvements.
For much of Mine Host's young life many a conversation was had accross the sawn timber bar of a country pub: "See that blank pansy judge in Brisbane/Sydney/Melbourne acutally let off some thug/rapist/murderer/burglar, .. christ.. in Saudi Arabia the bastard would've had his hand chopped off... maybe even his head... .. christ! I wish we had laws here like that.. stop all those dole bludgers in SydBrisMelb from running amok & bashing grannies I tell you... sigh.."
When years later Mine Host was as far from the bush as an ex-stockman can get, running a halal kebab shop in the far western suburbs of Sydney, he sold to Turkish, employed Turkish, was supplied by Turkish, recieved detailed advice, help & follow up support from operators of Turkish kebab shops in his area. These people are the salt of the earth, Mine Host will go to his grave still a defender of the Turkish people of western Sydney.
When one day in the office of the kebab factory, Mine Host made a positive comment about a photo on the wall of a big round mosque, & said how nice it looked, & how it would now be difficult to imagine Sydney without it on the skyline... and they were off!! This comment was taken as a desire to be converted!
For the record: Mine Host will never become an adherent of islam. Ever since the day he discovered fine Barossa reds, he was never going to forgo the grape!
However the teaching went on, & every visit to collect kebabs now included a lesson on islam. However, much to the distress of Mine Host, no mention of chopping of hands or heads of wrongdoers was ever made. This main selling point of Islam was explained as being "not representative". The "do-gooders" had reached the Turkish immigrant community years in advance of Mine Host, & the damage was now irreversable.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Wedding Bells
This post triggered by comment on the preceding post:
Mahmood Al-Yousif said...
is this story real? I know that some people (regardless of religion) are arrogant to excess, even surpassing your Ali, rather than keeping quiet about the impending "problem" I would have first "shamed" him with his family, refused to marry him and then bludgeoned him to death, thus reducing the asswipes in the world by one.And Allah, being mercyfull, would have condoned my actions.But then, that's only me. A male Muslim talking.
To clarify: All posts in this blog have happened to me, in a pub I was running, every word is true (excepting chronological & other small changes, to preserve my anonymity).
To address Mahmood's comment: Yep! This story is real.
Shaming "Ali" to his family was the advice I gave to Iris.
After cooling off, she didn't want his money, didn't want anything from him, & never wanted to hear from him again.
At his wedding to a nice decent Turkish girl, it would be great her take the child to see his/her father being married. This revelation should cause all the revenge Iris could ever want.
Especially if the Turkish bride-to-be has lots of brothers & other able bodied male relatives.
Mahmood Al-Yousif said...
is this story real? I know that some people (regardless of religion) are arrogant to excess, even surpassing your Ali, rather than keeping quiet about the impending "problem" I would have first "shamed" him with his family, refused to marry him and then bludgeoned him to death, thus reducing the asswipes in the world by one.And Allah, being mercyfull, would have condoned my actions.But then, that's only me. A male Muslim talking.
To clarify: All posts in this blog have happened to me, in a pub I was running, every word is true (excepting chronological & other small changes, to preserve my anonymity).
To address Mahmood's comment: Yep! This story is real.
Shaming "Ali" to his family was the advice I gave to Iris.
After cooling off, she didn't want his money, didn't want anything from him, & never wanted to hear from him again.
At his wedding to a nice decent Turkish girl, it would be great her take the child to see his/her father being married. This revelation should cause all the revenge Iris could ever want.
Especially if the Turkish bride-to-be has lots of brothers & other able bodied male relatives.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
paternity/maternity
Iris came to work at the Wayside Tavern from down south. She arrived in style, by rail, & lasted 18 months, becoming the Wayside Tavern's all time longest serving backpacker. (Iris is a New Zealand citizen, for the information any immigration staff who may be aghast at the thought that an employer has so blatantly breached the conditions of a 417 visa)
She was quite friendly & very hardworking. Even though she was often a trial for Mine Host & her co-workers at the Wayside Tavern, Iris always turned up for work, worked quite hard, & was not afraid to throw her weight around when confronted with those who tended toward rowdy behaviour.
As is usual for backpacker females (who each have their own room upstairs in the Wayside Tavern) Iris formed a series of short friendships with local males. Her choice of quality in males was similar to all the Wayside Tavern backpackers, that is: varying from the mildly unsuitable to downright no-hopers.
As the months wore on it became apparent that Iris was seeing someone seriously. All were shocked when it transpired that the "serious boyfriend" was Ali. Hailing from way down south, although a native of Turkey, Ali had blown into town a year or so before and taken over a vacant Turkish kebab shop.
Ali was flash, albeit a somewhat budget version of "flash" (due to the impecunious nature of the kebab shop's trading figures) He was one of the Wayside Tavern's best customers, sitting all night drinking, playing poker machines, & most energetically trying his luck with the lovelier looking of the female staff & clientele.
Mine Host, though allowing that Ali was a regular & hassle free customer, never had respect for him. Occassionally, when a more pushy lady was trying her luck with him, Ali would decline, stating that his religion (islam) would not allow him to have anything to do with the "sort of girl" who would pierce her ears or allow herself to be tattooed!
Wryly Mine Host noted that liquor, gambling & casual sex (well, at least attempts at the latter!) were habits which Ali pursued to excess, despite his religion viewing such pastimes at least as seriously, if not more so, than girls with pinprick ear piercings or hidden tattoos.
Shaking our heads, we all watched as Ali (businessman with his own shop) & Iris (backpacker with lowly paid pub job) carried on their affair. Iris bought a fancy car stereo for Ali's car, at the same time installing large & expensive speakers. In return the charming Ali allowed Iris to ride in the car with him while he drove fast. As the affair progressed Iris' wage allowed Ali to present himself as a flasher & flasher version of a rat than ever before.
Iris became pregnant, possibly her only tangible gift from Ali.
Suddenly Ali became difficult to find. Iris could not get him on the phone, or find him at the shop. In exasperation she left a message with his staff, to the effect that if she didn't hear from him very soon, his precise role in her predicament would be brought to the attention of his sister-in-law (a very Bossy Turkish Lady.)
THIS brought Ali out of hiding quicksmart. He was pathetically desperate that his family not find out that he had been dabbling with a blonde "anglo-saxon" girl.
In an act which demonstrated that his character was as weak as Mine Host had always suspected it to be, Ali told Iris that if she was Turkish he would marry her, however as she was not, he could never have anything to do with her (rather a bit late for that old chum) & she had better get rid of "it" soon as possible. Not understanding how the dynamics of the relationship had altered, he then crassly delivered what he imagined was an ultimatum: he would not be "getting it on" with Iris until she had gone & got rid of "it".
Shocked to the core, Iris left the discussion without a further comment, & never spoke to him again. Arrogantly Ali believed Iris would carry out this latest directive (remove the "problem") with the same degree of compliance with which she obviously had carried out his previous directives ("buy me a car stereo", "spend all your salary on me" etc etc).
Far from being being only a clinic visit from resuming sexual relations with Ali, Iris was quite likely to coldly, calmly & perfunctorily kill him. For some time he avoided the Wayside Tavern, although he was occassionally seen driving past, with his car stereo cranked up to full volume.
Iris declared that she was going to keep the baby, begged Mine Host to be allowed to work right up until the last possible moment, as she "needed money" & hadn't been able to thus far save any. At the exact moment she said this, Ali drove past with his car stereo booming.
Over the following days Iris glared daggers in the direction of Ali's shop, her return to New Zealand to give birth all planned, she was ready for her new direction in life, & unforgiving in her hatred now that she had reviewed her relationship with Ali through suddenly more mature eyes.
Getting into the spirit of impending motherhood, Iris arranged to tag along to ante-natal class with the expectant daughter of one of the barmaids.
Ante-natal classes must paint an accurate & earthy picture of the realities of giving birth. The day after her ante-natal class Iris failed to show up for work, having had to make an urgent appointment with a specialst on the coast. She surfaced later that week down south in Brisbane, having "lost" the baby. She returned to the Wayside Tavern only to collect her things.
Ali continues at the Wayside Tavern, simultaneously drinking & gambling to excess. Still chasing every piece of skirt he can, he occassionally rejects a girl who displays traits (usually pierced ears) which offend the sensibilities of "him & his religion"
She was quite friendly & very hardworking. Even though she was often a trial for Mine Host & her co-workers at the Wayside Tavern, Iris always turned up for work, worked quite hard, & was not afraid to throw her weight around when confronted with those who tended toward rowdy behaviour.
As is usual for backpacker females (who each have their own room upstairs in the Wayside Tavern) Iris formed a series of short friendships with local males. Her choice of quality in males was similar to all the Wayside Tavern backpackers, that is: varying from the mildly unsuitable to downright no-hopers.
As the months wore on it became apparent that Iris was seeing someone seriously. All were shocked when it transpired that the "serious boyfriend" was Ali. Hailing from way down south, although a native of Turkey, Ali had blown into town a year or so before and taken over a vacant Turkish kebab shop.
Ali was flash, albeit a somewhat budget version of "flash" (due to the impecunious nature of the kebab shop's trading figures) He was one of the Wayside Tavern's best customers, sitting all night drinking, playing poker machines, & most energetically trying his luck with the lovelier looking of the female staff & clientele.
Mine Host, though allowing that Ali was a regular & hassle free customer, never had respect for him. Occassionally, when a more pushy lady was trying her luck with him, Ali would decline, stating that his religion (islam) would not allow him to have anything to do with the "sort of girl" who would pierce her ears or allow herself to be tattooed!
Wryly Mine Host noted that liquor, gambling & casual sex (well, at least attempts at the latter!) were habits which Ali pursued to excess, despite his religion viewing such pastimes at least as seriously, if not more so, than girls with pinprick ear piercings or hidden tattoos.
Shaking our heads, we all watched as Ali (businessman with his own shop) & Iris (backpacker with lowly paid pub job) carried on their affair. Iris bought a fancy car stereo for Ali's car, at the same time installing large & expensive speakers. In return the charming Ali allowed Iris to ride in the car with him while he drove fast. As the affair progressed Iris' wage allowed Ali to present himself as a flasher & flasher version of a rat than ever before.
Iris became pregnant, possibly her only tangible gift from Ali.
Suddenly Ali became difficult to find. Iris could not get him on the phone, or find him at the shop. In exasperation she left a message with his staff, to the effect that if she didn't hear from him very soon, his precise role in her predicament would be brought to the attention of his sister-in-law (a very Bossy Turkish Lady.)
THIS brought Ali out of hiding quicksmart. He was pathetically desperate that his family not find out that he had been dabbling with a blonde "anglo-saxon" girl.
In an act which demonstrated that his character was as weak as Mine Host had always suspected it to be, Ali told Iris that if she was Turkish he would marry her, however as she was not, he could never have anything to do with her (rather a bit late for that old chum) & she had better get rid of "it" soon as possible. Not understanding how the dynamics of the relationship had altered, he then crassly delivered what he imagined was an ultimatum: he would not be "getting it on" with Iris until she had gone & got rid of "it".
Shocked to the core, Iris left the discussion without a further comment, & never spoke to him again. Arrogantly Ali believed Iris would carry out this latest directive (remove the "problem") with the same degree of compliance with which she obviously had carried out his previous directives ("buy me a car stereo", "spend all your salary on me" etc etc).
Far from being being only a clinic visit from resuming sexual relations with Ali, Iris was quite likely to coldly, calmly & perfunctorily kill him. For some time he avoided the Wayside Tavern, although he was occassionally seen driving past, with his car stereo cranked up to full volume.
Iris declared that she was going to keep the baby, begged Mine Host to be allowed to work right up until the last possible moment, as she "needed money" & hadn't been able to thus far save any. At the exact moment she said this, Ali drove past with his car stereo booming.
Over the following days Iris glared daggers in the direction of Ali's shop, her return to New Zealand to give birth all planned, she was ready for her new direction in life, & unforgiving in her hatred now that she had reviewed her relationship with Ali through suddenly more mature eyes.
Getting into the spirit of impending motherhood, Iris arranged to tag along to ante-natal class with the expectant daughter of one of the barmaids.
Ante-natal classes must paint an accurate & earthy picture of the realities of giving birth. The day after her ante-natal class Iris failed to show up for work, having had to make an urgent appointment with a specialst on the coast. She surfaced later that week down south in Brisbane, having "lost" the baby. She returned to the Wayside Tavern only to collect her things.
Ali continues at the Wayside Tavern, simultaneously drinking & gambling to excess. Still chasing every piece of skirt he can, he occassionally rejects a girl who displays traits (usually pierced ears) which offend the sensibilities of "him & his religion"
Saturday, May 14, 2005
You can't tell me what to do!
Growing tired of a cook always arriving late for work, Mine Host delivered "a right bollocksing" when the cook arrived 15 minutes late for work, (the 11th consecutive late start for this person)
So many written warnings for being late had been issued to this cook that one saved copy of each may have been near enough to clog the office hard drive!
The following morning was another late start (a quarter of an hour, despite the rather unforgettable nature of the previous day's "reminder").
Actually it wasn't a start at all, Mr Slow Coach was sitting outside in a car. Mine Host went out & inquired ever so sweetly if Mr Slow-Coach would be starting work this morning?.. Or was his heart not in the job, in which case he should go home?
"What do you mean?" asked Slow Coach
"I mean get into the kitchen & start cooking, or go home, as you are of little use here."
"Go & get blanked, you can't tell me what to do!"
Without pause Mine Host reached into the car in which Slow Coach was sitting & removed the ignition keys...
"Come to think of it" drawled Mine Host, "I rather think I shall go & get blanked, & another thing sunshine, you get out of my car & walk home, staff priveliges just ended for you 3 seconds ago, you're sacked!"
Having dispensed with a liability, Mine Host went did breakfast the only reliable way, himself.
Later, in the midst of mid-morning scrubbing of the kitchen, a shadow was noticed out of the corner of an eye... with a double take it was seen to be the recently terminated staff, (Mr Slow Coach) moving around the kitchen as if he were still on the payroll.
"Excuse me sunshine, staff only in the kitchen!" exclaimed Mine Host in disbelief.
The ex-staff cum intruder turned, in what he imagined was a slow, deliberate & tough manner. Brandishing an ever so sharp, long & nasty chef's knife, he spoke slowly & ominously:
"Don't try to tell me what to do or else I'll stick this into you!"
Not doubting for an instant the seriousness of this threat, Mine Host pondered his options.
Mine Host has no shortage of experience in dealing with people who refuse to acknowledge that they have been sacked... for this is a characteristic of a certain demographic, however never before has he encountered one who is prepared to enforce with a sharpened blade the annulment of their termination.
Faced with the choice of being tackled for possessio of the knife, with the unfortunate consequences of losing said possession, Mr Slow Coach chose discretion over valour, walked home, vacated his room & booked an airfare south.
So many written warnings for being late had been issued to this cook that one saved copy of each may have been near enough to clog the office hard drive!
The following morning was another late start (a quarter of an hour, despite the rather unforgettable nature of the previous day's "reminder").
Actually it wasn't a start at all, Mr Slow Coach was sitting outside in a car. Mine Host went out & inquired ever so sweetly if Mr Slow-Coach would be starting work this morning?.. Or was his heart not in the job, in which case he should go home?
"What do you mean?" asked Slow Coach
"I mean get into the kitchen & start cooking, or go home, as you are of little use here."
"Go & get blanked, you can't tell me what to do!"
Without pause Mine Host reached into the car in which Slow Coach was sitting & removed the ignition keys...
"Come to think of it" drawled Mine Host, "I rather think I shall go & get blanked, & another thing sunshine, you get out of my car & walk home, staff priveliges just ended for you 3 seconds ago, you're sacked!"
Having dispensed with a liability, Mine Host went did breakfast the only reliable way, himself.
Later, in the midst of mid-morning scrubbing of the kitchen, a shadow was noticed out of the corner of an eye... with a double take it was seen to be the recently terminated staff, (Mr Slow Coach) moving around the kitchen as if he were still on the payroll.
"Excuse me sunshine, staff only in the kitchen!" exclaimed Mine Host in disbelief.
The ex-staff cum intruder turned, in what he imagined was a slow, deliberate & tough manner. Brandishing an ever so sharp, long & nasty chef's knife, he spoke slowly & ominously:
"Don't try to tell me what to do or else I'll stick this into you!"
Not doubting for an instant the seriousness of this threat, Mine Host pondered his options.
Mine Host has no shortage of experience in dealing with people who refuse to acknowledge that they have been sacked... for this is a characteristic of a certain demographic, however never before has he encountered one who is prepared to enforce with a sharpened blade the annulment of their termination.
Faced with the choice of being tackled for possessio of the knife, with the unfortunate consequences of losing said possession, Mr Slow Coach chose discretion over valour, walked home, vacated his room & booked an airfare south.
Friday, May 13, 2005
You can't please 'em all
Recently the Diver’s Arms suffered “Mr. Tosser”, a problem diner, 2 nights in a row. This man is impossible to please.
In an attempt to deflect any possible criticisms from the diner, the Bistro manager gave undivided personal attention to Mr Tosser's table.
University educated, in a high powered government job as regional director with the health department, mixing with the cream of the up & coming public service, one would expect Mr. Tosser to have some manners & be able to conduct himself in a social setting. (Haha...)
However nothing pleased Mr Tosser, (as usual). The drinks were "too long coming", meals were "off", were "cold", & were "not what we ordered" etc etc.
Each & every complaint was delivered in a most unreasonable, brusque & rude manner.
Before long we had:
Refunded all payments made for drinks
Bought a further round of drinks
Replaced all meals
Refunded all monies paid for meals
Still Mr Tosser demanded that we satisfy him.
The Bistro manager explained:"I am sorry Mr Tosser, we have given you everything free & replaced everything. At this point there is absolutely nothing more we can do for you. We have done all that we can."
Glaring at all of us, Mr Tosser departed with his entourage, but without the emotional victory for which he had been hoping.
Later, on a day off, the Bistro Manager of the Diver's Arms, stopped for a cold one at the Bosun’s Tavern.
"Right you *redacted bad word*, now we are going to smash you for what you did to me the other night!"
The Bistro Manager turns at these words & sees Mr Tosser, accompanied by a half dozen or so brawny types, his cousins.
In an attempt to deflect any possible criticisms from the diner, the Bistro manager gave undivided personal attention to Mr Tosser's table.
University educated, in a high powered government job as regional director with the health department, mixing with the cream of the up & coming public service, one would expect Mr. Tosser to have some manners & be able to conduct himself in a social setting. (Haha...)
However nothing pleased Mr Tosser, (as usual). The drinks were "too long coming", meals were "off", were "cold", & were "not what we ordered" etc etc.
Each & every complaint was delivered in a most unreasonable, brusque & rude manner.
Before long we had:
Refunded all payments made for drinks
Bought a further round of drinks
Replaced all meals
Refunded all monies paid for meals
Still Mr Tosser demanded that we satisfy him.
The Bistro manager explained:"I am sorry Mr Tosser, we have given you everything free & replaced everything. At this point there is absolutely nothing more we can do for you. We have done all that we can."
Glaring at all of us, Mr Tosser departed with his entourage, but without the emotional victory for which he had been hoping.
Later, on a day off, the Bistro Manager of the Diver's Arms, stopped for a cold one at the Bosun’s Tavern.
"Right you *redacted bad word*, now we are going to smash you for what you did to me the other night!"
The Bistro Manager turns at these words & sees Mr Tosser, accompanied by a half dozen or so brawny types, his cousins.
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