I work in a bar where we fill up old eskies with ice and serve it to the public using a plastic cup, essentially, this place is where dreams go to die and roofies go to fizz.
It's not uncommon on any night to serve a man four jugs of rum and coke (though most prefer cracking open the cans with their remaining teeth) nor is it uncommon to find women named 'Shanae' slumped over the toilet vomiting up their six midoris plus the two vodka cruisers they skulled in the car park. But with this deplorable clientele and questionable working environment comes a diminished responsibility and you will often find me out the back playing snake on my iPhone 6 (Nokia 3310).
In a way, I prefer working in an insidious cave of a workplace, compared to working in one of those idealistic 'dream' workplaces where they encourage you to 'bring your dog' to work day. 'Hey everyone, on Wednesdays, we wear our pyjamas!'
Do you know why they do that? Because you are going to be working so damn hard that you won't be sleeping, let alone going home to feed your dog. Don't be fooled by their supposedly laid-back attitude, at the end of the day, the employers at Apple and Google aren't putting up with any stupid mistakes and the thought of being yelled at whilst I'm in my jammie jams in front of my colleagues seems particularly embarrassing.
I think for now I'll just keep pouring the rums for Bazza and leave my dog at home, he doesn't need to see that.