I've noticed something worrying about my life. I don't particularly like weekends.
That might just be the most controversial statement possible to make, but it's true. I started to realise this at Reading as Saturdays and Sundays would be very lazy days only punctured by a regular trip to the campus nightclub on Saturday.
The problem is that with university comes relative freedom during the week. Whilst my uni schedule for my MA degree is heavier, I really enjoy going in and studying and having whole days spent out the house being sociable.
Whilst Reading had a Saturday night out, Kingston sadly comes with having to work at the weekend which means if I'm not at home then I'm down the pub working. It makes the weekend a complete non-event.
Today saw me work the late shift with a new member of staff. As she is a Duty Manager, the responsibility of locking-up the entire premises fell to her. The only problem was that this was her first time locking-up.
As a natural worrier, I wasn't filled with hope when I had to remind her to cash up the till and my confidence certainly wasn't helped when I accidentally broke the mop head - which I was later told happened regularly.
She counted up the credit card receipts whilst I moped the floor, we made sure we had turned off all the plugs in the kitchen, I quizzed her on what she had turned off and then we made for the exit. I went out and put the rubbish in the bin and she quickly locked up.
I left hoping that we had done everything correctly and thinking about how stressful working in a bar is.
God, I hate weekends.
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