Got a Pulse? You've Got the Job! (part 1)

Like most employers in regional Australia, the Wayside Tavern has a chronic staff shortage.

The minerals boom, in particular the high wages offered for unskilled work, has drained the labour pool.

The core of the staff are holding the place together, however the pool of people who used to keep pubs (or any business) operating just aren't around anymore.

This is nothing more than the market at work, the mining industry pays more, & expects less, so people go to work there.

The Wayside Tavern has been outbid for staff. This Mine Host can live with. Wages at the Wayside Tavern are already quite high, and exceed what is paid to most Queensland public servants.

The choices faced by Mine Host are:
1/ Pay the same wages as the mining industry.
2/ Do not hire staff.
3/Continue with the current crop of people who are prepared to be employed at the Wayside Tavern.
4/ Find staff from outside the current labour pool.

Can't stop fiddling!

For many years Party Kegs were a service provided by the Wayside Tavern.

Delivery, supply of jugs & glasses (some of which would not be returned) educating the party host in how to pour beer from the keg, etc etc. All involved more effort than was reflected by the price charged.

Provision of Party Kegs is/was common practice for pubs, probably a once-a-year or less service to regular (& nice) customers.

Upon delivery to the customer's address, pub staff would negotiate several hurdles, including the following:
1/Demonstrating how to pour beer from a party keg (if it runs into a cup, it is pouring fine!)
2/Dealing with the misguided insistence from the customer to pack the keg into a bathtub of ice (or something like that).
3/Positioning the gas bottle & regulator where party goers cannot get to them.

The inevitable phone call would come later that night: "Sumfink's rong with the keg!" (For some reason this request for help was always delivered as a statement, NEVER as a question)

Having to leave the pub and attend a problematic party keg in the middle of the evening may seem like not much. However, either the bar has to be left short-staffed for a while, or an extra person rostered on for an entire shift. Neither is a palatable option (financially) for the pub.

"Something wrong with the keg" is almost always one of two things:
1/ The keg is empty.
2/ Someone has needlessly fiddled with the gas regulator.

No matter if the keg is empty, or if it is full, the matter will first have been handled by the party host (or someone else) "having a go" at "fixing" the "problem" by dismantling the tap & fittings.

These will be spread (o-ring by o-ring) accross a lawn in the dark, walked on, etc etc.

Just imagine trying to find some of these bits at midnight in a lawn.

A change of times saw party keg requests becoming less common, & mostly from non-customers, rather than regulars.

The Wayside Tavern always was the only pub in town which was prepared to provide party kegs.

So Mine Host took advantage of the change in the Party Keg customer base, and put up the price of a party keg to where it reflected the cost and inconvenience of providing it, and charged a hefty deposit on the ancillary equipment.

This more or less brought Party Keg sales to the desired level of NIL.

Finally it was happily decided to cease supplying party kegs altogether.

Because even experienced backyard party hosts are unable to:
1/ Order sufficient beer kegs to match the thirst of their guests, and
2/ Can't keep themselves from pulling apart perfectly functional equipment (once they have got a few sherbets under their belt.)

Bright as Pompeii at Midnight

Despite the wall beside the telephone being plastered with written instructions to the contrary, at 11.00pm a barmaid puts a call through to Mine Host's rooms.

The caller is refusing to identify themself, but claims to be a friend of Mine Host.

Too stupid to read the instructions by the phone, the barmaid has no concept that any call where the caller refuses to identify themself is likely to be a prank call, especially when it is near to midnight.

Wondering how soon he can replace the barmaid with another, Mine Host, ruefully thinking "Here we go again...." takes the call.

Prank calls do not worry Mine Host one bit, as they are physically harmless, and most prank callers are so incredibly stupid that with little or no input from Mine Host the caller will outwit themself.

Recognising the voice of Peter Shortcock, a local king-hit merchant who is barred from the premises, Mine Host detects also the sound of others. "Ah, I'm on speakerphone and a whole group of Shortcock's gang are gathered around, probably drunk, to listen to him call me names"

In a bored tone of voice Mine Host fends off attempts by the anonymous caller to obtain permission to enter the Wayside Tavern, & several other feeble efforts to outwit Mine Host.

Finally the voice gets around to asking about a few people who are barred from the Wayside Tavern. Mine Host declines to comment at any names, until the caller mentions "Peter Shortcock". At this Mine Host languidly mentions that the name fits, and that Shortcock is a "wanker" & a "softcock" (both trigger words in the circles in which the local morons mix)

At this the anonymous caller becomes heated & enraged, screams "Nobody calls me a wanker!" before remembering he is anonymous, and attempting a pathetic bland cover-up.

All calls to the Wayside Tavern are traced instantly a connection is made.

Mine Host reports an unwelcome call to Telecom. Three unwelcome calls from the same number and Telecom will write a letter to the subscriber asking them to show cause why the connection should not be terminated.

This is very effective if Shortcock was calling from his parent's house.

I'm robbing you eh?

Pictured is a standard beer glass. 7 fluid ounces, (these days 200ml)

The glass is under a standard "flip" style tap, although too far from the tap (too low) to pour a perfect beer.

The "flip" type of tap is very easy to use, but there are those who are too stupid.

The tap should be snapped on & snapped off so fast that your wrist breaks, (otherwise you are doing it too slow)

UK blogger Magistrate Bystander has had a bit to say in a recent post about heads on beer & how pubs are "deliberately" adding head to beer to "short pour" customers. He actually goes as far as to call it an "active conspiracy" to defraud the drinking public!

His post has a nice picture of what is probably a pint sized glass, and has a very good head on it.

Clearly Magistrate Bystander has never tried to pour a beer. Or if he has, it must be that flat swampwater which Britain uses instead of beer.

Far from deliberately adding head to beer, Mine Host is forced by customer demand to put a decent head on each glass. "Come on, finish it off!" they will chant if there is not enough head.

Pictured is a standard beer glass, with a NSW style head on it.

However in mighty Queensland, they demand a thinner head, pictured below.

However far from plotting how to defraud the drinking public of a fraction of a fluid ounce from each glass, Mine Host (like most publicans) is battling the problem of waste. A few barstool experts have (in comments) implied that this is a "management issue" & is somehow easily fixed.

(Here is the picture of a perfect Queenslander)

Acutally equipment in hot weather is the bane of a publican's existence. There are times when nothing seems to go right. Equipment does break down, and servicmen are often several days turning up.

When the ambient air temperature is 44 degrees Centigrade, refrigeration equipment in a pub is hard pressed to do it's job even when working properly. It is made even harder when bar staff start talking to "hot guys" and absent mindedly leave the coolroom doors open.

Beer will not pour at all once it warms to 3 degrees. There is quite an art to pouring ANYTHING if the beer is even warmed to 1 deg C.

When a beer tap has not been used for a while (say a half hour) it is quite an art to NOT pour a beer that looks like this (70% foam)

Quite a lot of bar staff can't help foaming beer over the sides of the glass like this.

Far from making a killing short pouring to customers, Mine Host is fighting a constant battle to prevent 10% of his beer being lost through spillage.

Pouring a beer isn't as easy as it looks.

Pouring one without spilling is rather difficult to teach to some people. *sigh*

1 + 1 = ?

One of Mine Host's frustrations has finally boiled over.

Schoolteachers will believe me, but the rest of you: Get your heads around this:

The average time taken by driveway staff at the completion of their shift, to count out from the takings the $700 starting float is 15 minutes, although some staff regularly take 30 minutes, and one or two of them take up to an hour performing the seemingly simple task of counting to $700 (pictured).

I stress, that all they were doing was counting out the $700 starting float for the next shift to use, NOT counting the entire takings for the day. (Takings are counted by someone else)

Counting to 700 is not too difficult you say?

Sadly, only 1 in 3 people hired for driveway work are capable of counting $700 in cash into a pile.

Counting to 700 need not be done in your head, but by moving cash from one pile to another until 700 is reached. Very similar to dealing cards.

(Sounds simple doesn't it? In fact it is just like using those coloured rods to help with addition & subtraction in the early years of primary school)

To make it easier Mine Host gave them bank issue change pads, which have denominations, columns & everything all ruled out & labelled. (should make it really easy, HAH .. I should have known!)

This only made it more complex for them.

LESS than 1 in 3 staff are able to correctly fill out this change pad, detailing how they reached the total of (hopefully) $700.

As rare as it is for someone to actually count to $700 and get it right, it is even rarer for the amount they write on the change pad to match what they counted.

It is almost beyond the comprehension of Mine Host that people can leave school and be totally & completely incapable of counting out $700 from a pile of cash.

This is not calculus, this is not algebra, this is not working out the cubic metreage of earth removed for a dam, this is not measuring the cubic capacity of the wheat silos.

It is simple addition, there is not even any subtraction required (the concept of subtraction seems to be beyond many people)

The culmination of despair came one evening when Mine Host was showing a school leaver how to close up the shop, and at the part where we count out $700 the lad just stared in incomprehension at a pile of cash when Mine Host casually instructed "Oh, & while I do such & such, can you just grab $700 from the takings & put it back in the cash register"

Some 45 minutes of careful instruction later Mine Host realised that despite having moveable cash (chips to push around which measure what he has counted) this fellow was never going to be able to count to $700.

After years of persevering with trying to teach what must be the simplest of arithmetic to boneheads (i.e. how to count to 700) Mine Host has given up, and issued a directive that all driveway staff are to henceforth bundle up the entire contents of their cash register drawer, and deliver it to the cashier, (who is capable of counting money accurately)

Absolute Video Gold

Mine Host & staff have been gloatingly viewing the contents of the security camera hard drive, the cameras having captured every last bit of the brutal break-in and assault upon Wayside Tavern staff.

The quality of the video is such that it is almost as if the incident was made for TV. Police officers with 20 years or more of service have said that the video evidence is "pure gold" and by far the best they have seen in their career.

As shocking as anything else is the identity of the perpetrator. He is married with children, has a thriving business, with employees, lives on acreage just out of town.

He is the son of a senior policeman.

The video evidence indisputably reveals there is not a single mitigating factor for the offender. He and a group of friends walked casually up to the door of the Wayside Tavern, calmly smashed the door, then set about a psychotic frenzy of brutal assault upon the staff.

The only thing out of the ordinary is that the Wayside Tavern has cameras, very good ones, peppered throughout the joint like it is a porcupine.

Unaware they were on camera, the group of offenders commenced their usual cover-up; they hadn't broken in at all, the staff had confronted and challenged them, provoking them with foul and insulting language, and striking first. Forced to defend themselves, they had hit back only after stating they didn't want a fight. blah blah blah, etc etc etc etc.

The diametric opposite is shown on the security camera system's hard drive.

Video Gold

Staff at the Wayside Tavern were subject to a break-in and brutal assault!

A long quiet night, relatively few customers, weary staff cleaning up & letting the stragglers out one by one.

From up the street & around the corner, a small group of males nonchalantly approach the door. Staff recognise them as locals, not patrons of the Wayside Tavern, but long term locals, regulars of another pub.

Their own waterhole having closed (as have all waterholes in the town) these fellows seek to continue the bonhomie they have experienced over a few drinks.

Staff at the Wayside Tavern are a cohesive and comradely bunch. Most of them will turn up at closing time (without extra pay) to help with eviction of stragglers and tidying up of the premises in readiness for the next day's trade.

Thus most of the staff were present when events took a most irregular and alarming turn.

Staff advised through the windows that the Wayside Tavern was closed, and cleaning up for the night had commenced. (nothing new in this, happens all the time)

A tirade of abuse came from the small group outside (nothing new in this, the underclass are incapable at any time of behaving with dignity)

With a splintering sound the front door broke open and the group poured in.

The staff put their hands forward, palm outward, open handed, in a universal sign which means "no further, entry denied".

The leader of the group wasted no time and immediately began to lay into the staff. This person is a powerhouse, within 10 seconds he has knocked unconscious 6 male staff, critically injuring one. A melee followed, in which several more staff were assaulted.

Once the leader had his fun, his mates bundled him outside and they went on their way, leaving bruised, bloodied and injured staff in their wake, along with lots of smashed windows and fittings.

The ambulance is called for the young man who was critically injured. He received three and a half litres of blood in the hospital, and several hours later is evacuated by the Flying Doctor to better hospital facilities in the south. His condition is serious.

The entire episode captured perfectly on the hard drive of the security camera system.

Stand up Straight!

The benefits of Security Cameras are many.

However the law of unintended consequences has struck, and the most noticeable change has been a most unexpected one.

We all stand up straight.

The benefits of security cameras as a posture enhancement tool, who would have ever thought it?

Case #1 bench orders criminal to keep proceeds of crime

UK blogger Magistrate Bystander has provided in comments some information on ways in which the UK magistrate industry is superior to our own, thus highlighting the stupidity and weaknesses of our own system.

However the acid test is whether a magistrate produces judgements which punish wrongdoers, reflect community expectations, and protect law abiding citizens.

Would one of Bystanders colleagues have pronounced the following judgement?:

A chequebook was stolen from a parked car.
The thief subsequently used the chequebook, forging a signature to match the name of the real owner of the chequebook.
Each cheque was passed at a small corner shop, or other business operated by a husband & wife team, mostly within a 200km radius. Most of the victim businesses could not afford the $300 or thereabouts which the cheque was written for.

At the inevitable prosecution only the use of 33 of the stolen cheques was mentioned.

One of the Thirty-Three stolen/forged cheques was for $200 and presented to a pub in town. Mine Host has no idea which pub, it could have been the Wayside Tavern, it could have been a competitor, the court did not ever elaborate.

The Magistrate's judegement:

"Guilty, no conviction to be recorded, and no restitution to be paid, as until banks serve alcohol, pubs should not cash cheques"

Liquid Larceny

One Mine Host's favourite blogs is UK blogger The Magistrate's Blog, writing as "Bystander" and titled "The Law West of Ealing Broadway".

Recently Bystander posted a piece titled "Liquid Larceny", which was of great interest to Mine Host.

It provides some insight into the pub trade in the UK, which despite some surface similiarities, is a totally different industry to its cousin in the land of Oz.

From careful reading of the Magistrate's Blog, it would seem any similarities between being a Magistrate in the UK and in Qld are equally rare.

Mine Host is aware that the UK pub trade is quite tough, and if any of the following allegations from Bystander are remotely true, then the UK pub trade is every bit as hardscrabble as Mine Host has always suspected it to be.

Were anyone to make similar allegations about the Wayside Tavern, or any other pub Mine Host as operated or worked in, it would be so ridiculously false as to be laughable.

However human nature is such that were such ignorant allegations to be made, they would be believed by several of the clientele, though many would be motivated by the off-chance of getting a free beer out of it.

In "Liquid Larceny" Bystander makes several allegations:
That there is a lucrative conspiracy against the public. (by the liquor industry)
That short measures of beer are the norm.
That short measures are deliberate.
That the deliberate policy of publicans is to serve short measures.
That this fraud amounts to 150 million quid each year.
That topping up beer (ie, pouring with *ugh* no head on the beer) at customer request is done sourly and under duress only.
That charging 25p to add Lime, Lemonade etc to beer is a "fiddle".
That charging the same for a shandy as for a straight beer is also a "fiddle".

As some insight into the reality of the pub trade, Mine Host now provides his rebuttal of each allegation:

Drinkers demand a head on beer, and will send back a glass which is full to the brim as readily as they would send back one which has too much foam.
However, as the initiated know, spillage is the greatest worry of publicans, the elimination of which will bring far greater benefits than would short pouring, (and without the legal penalty & commercial boycott which would be the consequence of short pouring)

So the "short measures" are deliberate, are a deliberate policy by Mine Host, but are done purely at the request, nay, demand of the clientele.

Deliberate "short pours" are the least of Mine Host's worries. Spillage is the serious worry of any publican. Spillage, caused by a combination of poor equipment, beer temperature rising above 1 deg celsius, bar staff error, or high gas pressure

Spillage, when unchecked, can easily be 10 litres for every 50 litres actually sold. I say "piffle" to anyone who is so ignorant of the pub trade as to believe I would bother with short measures.

Charging for adding cordial or lemonade to a beer glass, is not a fiddle, done without consideration for the displaced beer. The cost of service is what is being paid for far more than the cost of ingredients.

Mine Host can only hold & pour five beer glasses at once, although some of his barmaids can manage six. A busy public bar keeps staff on the hop. The charge (about 1/3 of the 25p bystander & his fellow drinkers must pay) is a reflection of the time taken, rather than the amount of lime or lemonade consumed.

Staff are the largest cost in a bar, and their time must be paid for.

The Air Sure Gets Rare Up There

A blogger from overseas (UK) The Magistrates Blog, has made some ill informed & slanderous remarks about the pub industry. (Though it was the UK pub industry, Mine Host feels a kinship with his overseas brethren)

Bar staff are well accustomed to barstool experts. Bar staff are equally well accustomed being let down by the obscenity of inadequate decisions by Magistrates, and often wonder how they would fare when confronted by the reality which the rest of us have to live in.

A posting on decisions Mine Host has been impacted by, which should have resulted in dismissal of the Magistrate will follow. Preceded by a brief correction of the ill-researched comments of Mr. Magistrate Bystander.

First, let us look at who are Magistrates:

They are recompensed with a salary many times above the national average, plus they have the benefit of the Magistrate's quarters, a 3 bedroom house set on a quarter acre. (No problem with this)

The ranks of Magistrates are drawn almost exclusively from "time served" clerks in the court office. (This is a mistake). 20 years of stagnation in the most iniative and independant thought free section of the public service produces a stale mentality, one may almost say a warped mentality.

This mentality is then given unimpeachable and unquestionable power to sentence, release, acquit, set bail, allow bail, quash convictions (or refuse to convict in the first place) without ANY requirement to explain, be called into question, or to held culpable for the consequences of their actions.

The type of person (usually male) who works in the clerks of the court office for twenty years is generally an extremely introverted and sedate individual, who is unlikely to have any sort of background in team sports, manual labour, physical violence, or any dealing with criminals/crime (except for filing typed A4 papers which refer to some actual crimes in a dry and detached manner)

The result: Magistrates have much in common with Ottoman Sultans, who after a lifetime locked in the harem then in solitary, were almost gibbering idiots when suddenly elevated to the throne and absolute power, without ever having been into, or having any concept of life beyond the walls of the harem where they were born & raised.

In short, Magistrates have never had the opportunity nor ability to accumulate any wisdom, nor are they able to conceptualise the consequences their decisions have upon the hapless populace.

Yet on pain of summary gaoling for contempt, the citizenry and the police have to unquestioningly comply with decisions pronounced by these.. er.. highnesses.

Hot Air

11:30pm on Friday night, and four minors (16 years old) are at the rear of the Wayside Tavern arguing the toss about entry with the staff.

They were led by a belligerent lad who was slightly bigger (a fatty), though not older, than the others. (They were minors in stature as well as in age.)

The midgets had brought alcohol with them from elsewhere and were consuming it at the door, so Mine Host summoned the police.

When the police arrived the minors claimed that they only wished to get into the pub to "smash up" Mine Host. Keeping a straight face, the cops wrote each of them a ticket for $220. The illegal liquor had been hurriedly disposed of when the police were first seen, otherwise the tickets would have been for a MUCH larger amount.

Fatty had sucked his three mates into supporting him in a drunken outing. Now the three were in a panic that they were going to be "killed" by their parents for getting into trouble with the police.

Folornly, Fatty structed the police to write all tickets in the one name, his.

Fatty then asked the police what they would do if he was to "smash" Mine Host on the spot.

So the police told him.

Fatty then walked over to Mine Host and gave his idea of a tough, unblinking stare. Fatty is pimply and lacks a Clint Eastwood style "presence", so his action was more ridiculous than macho, causing plenty of mirth among the onlooking staff and police.

The four were mounted on kid sized bicycles, and in a breach of Queensland law, none were wearing helmets.

Lack of helmet on a bicycle attracts police interest.

All four stated they had pushed their bicycles to the Wayside Tavern, and would be pushing them home again. (winking to each other, thinking how easy it is to outsmart cops!)

The police said they would ensure they pushed the bicycles home.

The smirking stopped when the police produced a valve tool and instructed the four to surrender pronto the valves from their bicycle tyres, or the police would confiscate the bicycles....

Look what your fence done to me!

Erection of a fence between the neighbors and the Wayside Tavern has stalled.

Only 30 metres of an eventual 60 metres has been erected. Two metres high of chain link mesh topped by 3 strands of barbed wire looks incongruous standing alone, sort of like a remainder/reminder piece of the Berlin wall.

As evidence that the power of thought is a stranger to many of the clientele, one fellow stated this morning that last night he had climbed the fence to get into the Wayside Tavern. (This is akin to clambering over a restaurant table to get to the other side - rather than going around it)

The fellow had clambered over in the dark, then drank in the Wayside Tavern for several hours.
As further proof (not required) that thought processes are slow, when he started to climb the fence he had on his person an emptied cigarette packet, containing $350. When he clambered down the inside of the fence & stood up, he no longer had this cigarette packet. However he did not recall/notice this loss until the following day.

Which brings Mine Host to recounting the purpose of this fellow's visit this morning to the Wayside Tavern:

He was demanding a "refund" from Mine Host of the $350 which had fallen from his pocket as he climbed our fence in the dark.

From his demeanour, and the way he scoured the ground by a particular part of the fence, Mine Host believes the loss of $350 to be authentic.

Also authentic is the belief of the bereft one that it is Mine Host's responsibility to "make good" the loss.

He blithely asked for the "refund" in a manner which suggested he was demanding the return of an overdue item (say a leather jacket) loaned by him to Mine Host.

The Author as a Child

Not as easy as it looks!

The "after work" crowd

A routine unique to urban dwellers & others who live close enough to a pub to make daily visits, is what is known as "after work" drinkers.

Upon completion of their day of toil, they repair to the pub with workmates to relax over a few drinks and to have a good time in a convivial atmosphere.

These drinkers are by no means a homogenous genre. They fall into two distinct groups:

Those who labour.
Those who don't.

The worker who works with his body (eg, pushing a lawnmower on the council) is "stuffed" after a day at work, and wants nothing more than to sit down, drink cold beer, and relax. He gets exercise aplenty at work, and wants only to rest.

This worker will sit quietly in the pub downing several cold beers and is a pleasure to serve.

The worker who does not use his body at work (eg, an office johnny) is ready to rip. He gets no exercise at work, and now wants to let off the energy he is not allowed to release during the day. His off duty pursuits will tend towards the physically active, gym or running or something.

His pub habits will tend toward the boisterous. This worker is just looking for some way to act up. Dealing with him is never the honest pleasure which comes from serving the physical labourer.

Are you hereafter what I am hereafter?

Kitchen (& kitchen staff) stories are among the fertile ground of personal experience from which Mine Host harvests blog stories.

Davo was big and strong. Standing around 6'3", he was lean, carried no fat, blonde and well built. His arms were strong and had range, sort of like horizontal telegraph poles.

He had for some time worked "door" just up the street at the Slaughterhouse Room in the No-Holds-Barred Tavern. Now he was a kitchenhand at the Divers Arms.

He was local, white, could fight, and also what is these days known as "gay".

Everybody knew, nobody cared, Davo bothered nobody who hadn't asked for it, at one time or another had flattened some of the toughest fellows around town, and being more butch than most men was at no risk of being considered effeminate.

"Dukey" was an energetic and enthusiastic chef and, as events transpired, the only person in the kitchen who was unaware of Davo's orientation.

The mists of time have obscured whose idea it was. Mine Host believes it to have been Dukey's suggestion; that Dukey & Davo, on a night off, borrow a dinghy, load it with grog, head to a deserted beach, run 'er up onto the sand, light a fire, and then far from the strife & trouble of the workplace spend the night yarning until they fell asleep.

All went well. They caught fish on the way. Upon arrival they lit a corker of fire, then in a leisurely manner proceeded to enjoy their surrounds.

The night became black, hours wore on, and still nothing besides drinking, yarning, eating fish and stoking the fire.

Davo, tiring of what seemed a much too extended preliminary session, decided to get things a moving along a little. He reached over to Dukey & put a hand on his thigh.

Not until this moment had Dukey the faintest idea that Davo was gay. Dukey's reaction (which we can only imagine) was the first glimmer for Davo that Dukey was unaware of Davo's.. uh.. orientation.

Thus horrifyingly and simultaneously the penny dropped for each of them.

The ride home in the dinghy (they arrived back before midnight) undoubtedly was a most awkward experience for each. (Though a subject of considerable mirth for their co-workers)

We asked the kids

Those who have actually experienced the unique subculture of the outback cattle station will know of the "manager's kids".

These rascals are not only untouchable, but can (& do) get up to all sorts of mischief, often whilst role-playing a wild-west themed activity. These activities can become extreme.

For example: Station dogs, pet sheep, poddy calves, chooks etc have been known to be hanged as "outlaws" - that is REALLY hanged, until dead, from a slaughtering gallows or a cap rail in the stockyards.

Mine Host himself has a small hairless patch on his scalp, the result of (as an 8 year old) using rapid fire from a cap pistol to add some realism to the galloping pursuit of "indians" through light timber. The old stockhorse didn't take to well to the new trick.

However the "managers kids" are often a source of information, and their innocence when pumped by the station or stock camp staff can be quite revealing......

.............................................................................................

The sudden removal of the governess from "Hardwork Plains" had us all wondering. Though she was a "hottie" she had, over time, grown aloof toward her fellow workers.

In the twilight one afternoon, playtime brought the kids (armed to the teeth with capguns & carrying an assortment of "lassoos") around the lawns of the ringer's quarters.

Taking this opportunity for some inside gossip from the "big house", we asked why the governess had left.

"The governess and Daddy were fighting a lot, and Mummy wasn't happy about it"

This was a shock to us, as privately we had all suspected that the manager was rather "close" with the governess.

"Are you kids sure they were fighting?"
"Oh yes, we saw them, through the steel louvres of her quarters, it was horrible."
"Er... we thought Daddy had been friends with Miss Hourglasshape"
"Oh no, it was proper fighting, like grownups do, they took off all their clothes and lay down on the floor, we were scared by it and we went and got mummy."

Who says only pubs prefer female staff?

The job market in Oz is very much a seller's market.

The extent of the desperation of the employment crisis:

Over the past few months the hospital has sent agents into the Wayside Tavern on several occassions, and almost all of Mine Host's female staff have while at work, recieved a surreptitious approach, offering to train them as nurses.

I never imagined in my life this would happen, that hospital management would be coming into pubs and bottleshops, repeatedly, attempting to cajole the girls into a nursing career.

Clearly the hospital management is under extreme pressure.

Mine Host, who has to fend off poaching attempts from many directions, at least has not to worry about this new threat, as the ladies have all informed the hospital recruiters that they prefer pouring beer to wiping bums.

In a sexist twist, None of the male staff have been targeted by the hospital.

Just When I think I have Seen it All (part 4)

Jennifer responded to a job ad. Married 9 years, with 2 young children and a skilled technician husband she was in a different league to most pub staff.

A former legal secretary, she was more than competent at most aspects of pub work. She was demure in behaviour, eager to work, wore petticoats and singlets, could handle almost any situation. She was working for extra mortgage money.

For several months Mine Host and his senior manager quietly congratulated themselves on landing such a versatile, hardworking and reliable person. She was competent at bar work, bottleshop, ordering liquor, all aspects of poker machine handling, making beds, kitchen work, and supervising of any part of the hotel. This lady had class and style. Nothing would go wrong with her. (We should have known better).

A couple of years after Jennifer started at the Wayside Tavern, it became obvious that all was not well with her domestic situation.

It all came into the open when on the same day she and the children moved out of the house, and she was caught "having it off" with a (long haired) dole bludger by several staff who entered a supposedly empty storeroom without knocking.

Single again, Jennifer's petticoats & singlets disappeared, her work shirts were no longer buttoned to the neck, lacy lingerie became slightly visible, skirts shorter.

Her slide into previously unsuspected depravity became complete when an obviously quite distressed staff member reported to Mine Host about midnight one night that "something" was happening in the car park.

What follows can only be described as beyond Mine Host's belief:

Quick questioning revealed that Jennifer had gone into the car park with a small group of customers, opened the drivers door of a car, sat down with her feet remaining on the ground, slipped her underwear off, over one foot at a time, then lifted her skirt up to her waist, placed one leg through the gap between the open door & the frame of the car, her knee on the rear view mirror, the other kneed placed on the hook of the seat belt.

With the group of customers forming a semi-circle around her, Jennifer was splayed in possibly the most vulnerable position a human can be in. Several of the customers would then come forward in turn to insert a finger. (One would hope here that the boys had been washing their hands)

After the exhibition Jennifer exited the car, dressed, closed the door, and returned to work.

Mine Host verified in person only the fact that Jennifer was absent from work, and that her time sheet did not reflect the unauthorised (and un-covered) "break". She chose on the spot to finish her employment voluntarily.

Far from being bashful about her activities, Jennifer was insulted and angry that her timesheet extensions had been detected by Mine Host and the Wayside Tavern would not now be paying her the barmaid hourly rate for the time spend engaged in such activity. Apparently the exhibition had been a regular event.

Just When I think I have Seen it All (part 3)

A violent incident has occurred in the street, one in which a young man has recieved a serious injury which will leave him carrying a lifelong scar.

Ambulance and police are in attendance.

Thankfully it is several doors down. Passing motorists will notice the next pub down as being the closest, and the Wayside Tavern shall not be blamed. (Always a nervous experience having an ambulance attend the premises, is very bad for business)

From the door of the Wayside Tavern I saw the entire drama played out.

Two young men had been standing talking, alcohol fuelled, it was difficult to ascertain if they were arguing, or merely having a boisterous conversation.

Police have coasted to a halt nearby, the situation looks to them as if they should keep an eye on it, which they do, from a range of 5 metres. The street is otherwise empty.

One of the young men is holding an empty beer glass, he raises it in a threatening manner, intending to do someone harm.

Suddenly and violently he brings the glass crashing down on his own head, inflicting a very long and jagged cut to the bone, causing blood to flow freely.

The police, as stunned by anyone else by this turn of events, call an ambulance. Young people nearby who claimed to have known the young man are perplexed as to the reasons for his actions.

Mine Host & gathered staff shrug shoulders & ponder yet again the merits to society of abortion being allowed from conception through to 23 years after birth.