A few weeks ago at work, I had my head slapped down on my desk, shuffling between procrastination, drooling, and contemplation. I was contemplating on ways I could raise more cash to hit my target of 15k to reduce my mortgage.
When I managed to unglue my head from my desk, I approached my work colleague for ideas; she suggested for me to get a part-time job. She already had one because she was saving to buy a house with her partner. It made sense. The extra income may make a huge difference to my cause.
My part-time job as a youth
I’ve only ever had one part-time job in my life. Most people I know had about 10 different ones. That was the problem with kids, they knew nothing about commitment. They’d change jobs as frequently as their weekly crushes, innit?
All through 6th form and University I worked part-time in a local hotel to help fund my baked bean and cheap bottles of wine lifestyle. I initially started working there when I was 15, as a waiter in the silver-service restaurant; serving pretentious portions of À la carte dishes to pretentious people. I Absolutely hated working there for 2 reasons:
- The head chef was a complete wanker. He would constantly shout at every little thing. And when I say, “shout”, I mean scream his fucking arse off like he had just shit his pants. I’m surprised he didn’t die of a heart attack. I, still to this day, have no idea why chefs can’t treat people like human beings during work; shouting is so unnecessary.
- It was extremely tiring work. The restaurant was always busy, and I would be constantly running up and down transporting food from the kitchen to the restaurant in extremely hot conditions. Granted, I only worked in 4 hour shifts, but it was a hard fucking 4 hours, especially straight after school, trust me.
But I stuck with it for three years because the money was good, I needed to work somewhere, and minus the chefs, everyone else I worked with was pretty cool. However, as soon as I turned 18, that was it, I immediately asked to be transferred into a different department which didn’t involve catering food or interacting with the kitchen staff. Yes, I became the friendly barman that everyone loved!
I loved working the bar; the people I worked with were young, fun, and had no problems with getting tanked up during working hours- my kind of people. The hotel got a lot of banqueting bookings, usually weddings and sorority Lodges. I worked behind the bar from 18, all the way through University, until I graduated when I was 21. After graduation I got a full-time job, consequently hung up my cork screw.
Reliving my youth
A few weeks ago I contacted my old boss from the hotel and enquired whether I could get a few weekend shifts for extra cash. I had a pretty healthy relationship with everyone at the hotel, so they happily took me back. For the past few weeks I’ve been working behind the bar during the weekends, apart from the Lord’s day, Sunday. And you know what? Nothing has changed, and I love it.
A lot of the old people that used to work there still remain, along with the same chilled out vibe I remember. Granted, I have to deal with some absolute idiots that usually complain about the price of the bevy’s, like I priced them myself. However, listening to them rant always provides good humour, because no matter how much they complain, the prices ain’t gonna change.
Extra earnings from my part-time job
I make approximately £85 (before tax) + tips per week from the hotel, so that’s £320 per month (without tips).
All the money I make from my part-time job will go directly into my property project account. I’ll tally it all at the end of the project.