Archive Article: 2000/04/07
Rebecca –
the barmaid
REBECCAS feet ache. Shes been on the go all evening, pulling pints behind the bar in the Three Kings.
As holiday jobs go, its OK. Its convenient, too, just round the corner from her parents house, where shes spending the Easter holiday from university.
"Ive got experience in the union bar," she had told the landlord, Ted, when she went to see him about a part-time job. He was impressed with her initiative. Impressed with her smile, too. The fact that Rebeccas mum and dad live in the nice house on the hill – the one with the bit of paddock that hes been trying to buy for 20 years – had nothing to do with it.
Its a bit different to the union bar. More expensive. No plastic glasses. Altogether more sedate. A dozen people here constitutes a busy night.
Rebeccas a pretty girl. You cant help but notice that. The punters certainly didnt fail to notice, sitting in their usual places, gossiping and putting the world to rights. When they hear shes studying politics it always sparks a fierce debate on the state of the economy.
Its as if some of the customers dont have homes to go to. Ordering another drink, then another, then another. "Better make this one just a half, though, or Ill be in trouble with er indoors," they say.
Rebeccas got a special smile for each and every one of the punters. "Do you want it stirred," she asks, leaning forward, maintaining eye contact for a second longer than most of them are used to. She knows its good business.
She knows, however, where to draw the line. And she certainly wont stand for any funny business. "What do you think youre doing," she screamed at George, that time his hand brushed her knee. He claimed he was reaching for the complimentary cheese. She said he was a pervert.
The publicans wife is a little jealous of the attention Rebecca gets. "Do that top button up, girl – what sort of place do you think were running," she barked at the nervous Rebecca of her first day.
Rebeccas tired of being called "luv". And shes bored with hearing stories about the customers college days (always far better, far more raucous, far more challenging intellectually than todays students). Either that, or theyre bemoaning the pointlessness of higher education (you only learn by doing things not by reading about them).
Shes tired of being asked about "school", too. "Universitys great," she tells them, feeling guilty for not using the holidays to do more studying. Still, she needs the money and pub work will look OK on her cv – dealing with people and dealing with money.
Her boyfriend came to stay for a couple of days and sat in the pub. Marcus didnt get on with the locals. He tried – but it didnt quite work. They werent interested in his latest pet subject, Balkan history and they certainly didnt want to hear about the rag week antics. "Posh git," one of the regulars called him.
Rebeccas still quite fond of this pub. Its cute in a homely, traditional sort of way. "A real gem of a pub," she says.
But you wont find her celebrating here next summer when she graduates. Shell be in the new swanky wine bar just down the road from the uni campus. "And if Im pulling anything then, it wont be pints," she laughs.