Eammon

"MARGARET you're either out there in part time land, or you're protected and in full time land with the rest of the long termers. You need to make a choice. You can't have your cake and eat it too" -- This is my boss, Eammon.



I'd gotten called into his office just before my shift the other day. He told me this and I just stood there with a blank look washed over my face -I'm tempted to say, but I like cake Eammon, but this isn't the time for jokes I can see that he's rather serious and slightly pissed off -



"Well Margaret, you need to make a decision --" I shrug at him and put my hands up, "I don't know Eammon, what do you want me to say?" I can only imagine the furstration that he's containing by the look he gives me -- it was one of those moments that you have with your dad and he's scolding you -- but you don't quite know what's going on. I just stood there in the doorway to his office, my black uniform with the tops of my pens and note pad sticking out of my left shirt pocket eager to take orders.



If I was telling you this story myself, it would be in a strong Irish accent with lots of swearing involved -- because he just loves to swear, which actually makes retelling his stories much more fun.



Eammon is one of the most unique characters that I've come across in all of my life -- he's the kind of boss that can make you cry one minute and having you laughing the next. When he's happy all is well, but when he's in a foul mood -- two words, watch out. But he's the kind of boss who is more like your father -- he gives a heavy scolding out of frustration and then he calls you back to apologize and talk to you in a much quieter tone of voice once he's calmed down -- if he likes you you'll get the apology otherwise, staff are easy come, easy go in this industry.

I love this guy -- when we're working morning shifts at some ungodly hour of 8:30 on a Saturday morning he cranks Queen's Flash Gordon and walks around the pub to 'ensure' the speakers are working and walks around singing under his breath as though we can't hear him and as though he's not enjoying every second of this song.

He's always trying to include me into his Irish humour, or the English jokes that I may not get -- he speaks in a tone of voice that could be classified as yelling but that's just the way he talks -- when he says you're name, you often jump because you're not sure of his tone of voice, "MARGARET, have you seen Flash Gordon the movie?? -- Meekly I respond, "no, but I know the song". His response is like that of a child who you just told Santa doesn't exist. "What?! how could you have not seen it! Everybody's seen it... " It's almost like an order from a drill sargent to find this film and watch it -- I'm again tempted, "Sir, yes Sir!" But the sleepiness overtakes my quick wits and I just nod yes.

Eamonn -- he was the first guy to pick, or at least come close to picking out my accent. "Newfoundland?" Were his first words to me. I was stunned. He's the kind of boss that you either love or hate -- and there isn't any inbetween. He's great at his job and if you give him the time of day, he'll do the same. He's one of, if not these best bosses I've ever had -- he can relate to anything, at anytime -- I think he likes most to draw on his experiences as a younger man -- his favorite stories usually begin with, "When I was younger and much better looking..." and then if he feels he's lost you or just needs to reassure himself he says, "you know, I really was good looking in my younger days" ...and the story continues.

One of my favorite things about working there are the stories that I get to tell about him later on that day -- and there are always stories. He's curt, blunt -- but gets efficiently to his point without icing the cake. Sometimes I feel sorry for the new person who runs into him on a bad day -- I watched him fire someone over the phone one day-- I can only imagine what what said on the other line -- but this person had made the mistake of calling in sick only one hour before their shift on a Saturday night and I think they said something like, I'm sick and I'm really sorry that I won't be making it into work today. On my end I heard -- "Well, I'll be really sorry when you don't show up and you lose your job." -- Just like that, phone hun up, job lost. He looked at me afterward and said, "I just don't have the fuckin' patience for that shit today." I laughed, but I think it was more of a nervous laugh and I was happy that it wasn't me.

Okay, okay....he's not all bad. Considering what he has to put up with -- a staff full of 18 -20 year olds I suppose it's just what you become -- thick skinned and blunt. He opens up once in a while -- apart from his stories that begin with when he was younger and better looking. He's got 2 daughters - twins, and is happily married. He confessed to me the other day, "Look Margaret -- if I don't run a tight ship here my family life will fall apart and that's too important to me so this is how it's got to be for my sanity."

He's good dealing with his female staff as well -- and here we thought it was all 'cause of his wife and kids. Turns out, he's the only boy in a family of all sisters -- 4 to be exact. Makes our job a little bit easier. Although he does tend to exaggerate some of the problems we have as women just to get a laugh now and again.

I've been working at O'neils for 5 months now but in this pub industry -- just as it is at home, there is an extremely high turn over rate so now I've become one of the long termers. Other long termers, Magda my friend from Poland -- the only other staff that is my age so it makes a nice change to come in and to have someone to talk about life in general with, not just how drunk we got last night or who's shaggin who. Of course Cara -- Belfast, Ireland. She, like most people from Ireland tell it like it is.... love it. So I'm a long termer with the best of 'em, and with good hours as well -- this, of course, being my cake. I do. Working 5 days a week, 3pm - 8pm. They're good hours because I can get up, have some coffee, do some writing, go to the gym, have something to eat and still get to work a few minutes early to have a cup of tea -- yes, I said tea..... oh the effects of this country.

The wages here in the UK are crap -- really they range from £4.45 - £5.35 p/h this is all according to age. The rates will go up on the first of October -- £4.60 - £5.52 p/h. It's not all bad though -- I can suppliment my wages with tips, depends on whether the Irish are over or not. The locals are tight, I mean tight! The Irish -- well they're usually over here for someones stag party, birthday party, or just to watch the football so they haven't a care in the world -- they love some good banter and fortunately I do as well.

My life really revolves around work -- it plays a bigger role than most jobs. I've come to love my job and the people that are a part of it -- both my staff and some of the regulars. Work is both my means of employment and my social life all wrapped up into one. Everytime I walk into work it's like I'm transcending into a different world, or perhaps a different country -may be its the smell of stale beer, the mustyness of the basement venue but whatever it is, it's great.