Every year come February, the Six Nations rolls around. For many, Murrayfield becomes the shining beacon in Edinburgh’s crown, and the humble pub transforms into the communal living room of rugby supporters far and wide. Standing on the other side of the bar during this period, however, is an experience I liken to working in a field hospital during the Somme. Give me 3 AM closes during the Fringe and I’m there. The World Cup? Fine by me. Even a 10 hour shift on New Year’s Eve, I’m your girl. Six Nations, however? That’s a different story entirely. I run and hide from the Six Nations.
From my experience, customers throughout the tournament are not only rude and demanding, but incredibly entitled. Forgive me if I stereotype, but rugby fans often belong to a fairly high tax bracket and, unfortunately, this rarely seems to translate to manners. If deprived of their Guinness for a millisecond, their reactions would have you thinking Barbor had just closed down, or Rachel Reeves had announced an increase in inheritance tax (ahem). Having someone kicked out, or having to cut off the rowdiest amongst them, is almost an hourly occurrence. By 5 PM there’s bound to be someone spewing in every cubicle. Embarrassing, I know.
What happened to a little grace and decorum, eh? When did we stop remembering our p’s and q’s? I’m sure there are some excellent exceptions to behaviour like this, but as the tournament drags on, week after week, it gets a little exhausting. Rugby fans, if you’re reading this, please be nice to the people who serve you, we only make minimum wage.
“Guinness” by DavidDennisPhotos.com is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.