Beer garden beast, assault and abuse - why pub work during Fringe shouldn't be right of passage

All the stories in this piece are true - but some of them aren’t pleasant. Many are aggressive and contain threatening language.

My arms were aching, carrying three huge plates up the slippery wooden steps to the back of the packed beer garden, squeezing through huge groups, desperately protecting the food, the cutlery holder swinging precariously from my fingers under the burning hot dishes.

I make it, phew.

“Who’s having the fish and chips?” A very fixed smile on my exhausted face.

Blank stares before: “Oh was that you? Sorry yea that was me. Oh wait no, I think I got the pie. Oh did you? Remember that pie we had last night at that other pub. I might have got the fish and chips actually, is it with mushy peas? Can we order drinks off you too right now?”

And then the kicker: “We ordered four meals, not three. Where’s the last one?”

The smile stays in place but my eye’s turn to ice. “Still in the food lift pal, I’ve only got two hands.”

And then the response: “No need for the attitude love. Learn some respect. Stupid bitch”

Rinse and repeat.

Read more: Here are the top 5 theatre shows from the Edinburgh Festival’s opening weekend

The highs and lows

The first pub I worked at in Edinburgh had a huge beer garden, one of the biggest in the city. I don’t think legally I can name it - maybe I can but I won’t - but I had a great time working there. The toughest job I ever did, and will ever do.

The beer garden was like a mythical beast, demanding sacrifice after sacrifice. Keeping it clean, bringing scorching plates out there. It was a baptism of fire for my time in the industry, and it’s still the image I see when I think of the Edinburgh Festival. During the festival, you couldn’t move. Every section was rammed from first thing in the morning to last thing at night. Shifts, for minimum wage, were long - 12 hours, 15 hours, many of us on AFD’s (All Flipping Day - but not flipping). We would all compete about who was more exhausted, who had served the worse customer. War stories from beaten and battered soldiers with blistered feet, burnt arms and running on energy drinks and one hour sleep.

At its height, it was pure and unbridled joy. Young, hyper, lively staff working until they bleed, then heading out as a merry clan after work, gossiping, laughing, dancing and causing utter chaos until the sun rose again. Making friendships that could last a lifetime, or just a summer. Living for the moment - a montage of laughter and love, nestled in our hearts.

At its worst, it was sexual harassment and assault, it was bullying, cruelty, belittling and demeaning. A real rollercoaster.

I was 18 at the time, still in my mind a child, and I didn’t realise the adult world was full to the brim of people who couldn’t emotionally cope with getting their garlic bread as a side instead of a starter, but having a lasagne launched at my head really opened my eyes.

I didn’t realise grown men didn’t like being told “no, you can’t bring in your own drink, you have to buy it from the bar” but having a man in his 30s threatening to leap over the bar and rape me, again, taught me well about the adult new world I was entering.

The solution? A joke from a colleague afterwards to make you smile, perhaps a sneaky shot of tequila in the back bar area, then back out to face the crowds and the next atrocity.

“What do you mean you’ve run out of Pimms? This is a joke. You’re a bloody joke. Get your fat ass to the shops to get more.”

You learned as best you could to let it wash over you. To quash the injustice, to take up smoking and daily pints of cider. To fall more and more into the culture, only socialising with bar pals, they’re the only one who share your shift pattern and routine, the only ones who understand what each day is like. The only ones you let off steam with. It is all consuming.

I have many pictures through out the years - but very few by myself, and I didn’t want to incriminate any of my former colleagues with the wilder ones! | NW

As time goes by...

As the years went by, I became war weary. Bar staff in Edinburgh often measure their length of service by how many festivals they have under their belt.

“This is my fifth festival, I don’t think I have it in me to do a sixth.” Most of us did a lot more than we initially set out to do.

I changed pubs a few times, left the roaring monster of a beer garden, which barely saved my burnt arms as hot plates seared them during the long walk.

But the culture, the people stayed the same.

The amount of vomit you have to clean up never varies, the fights, dragging grown men out of the pub single handed. It’s all the same. A horror show on repeat.

“Women shouldn’t run bars” I was told spitefully in a packed pub after we ran out of Deuchars IPA. “You should kill yourself.”

“Ok love, cheers for the tip” I wink, moving on to the next customer.

I pride myself that I can take an insult better than anyone else I know. In fact, it’s gotten to the point that I can now only take insults and criticism. Genuinely - compliments or congratulations, even gratitude, makes me feel awkward and weird.

Despite the 10 years I served, for Edinburgh and for the festival cause - I never could work out why people were like this. Why people feel the desperate need, even when they are on holiday, when they’re out enjoying themselves, when they are having a great time, to make someone else’s day utter hell.

Anyone who can enlighten me, please do.

Read more: Edinburgh Fringe Theatre Reviews: 1984| I’m Almost There | Little Deaths

Please. I’m begging you.

The Edinburgh Festival runs on the bloodied feet of an army of low paid, badly treated hospitality staff, and there’s no one I trust more to keep it going.

But my wish is that, whatever you face, be kind. Be patient. Be understanding.

Whether you live in Edinburgh and are furious at the crowded streets and coaches full of tourists, or whether you’re visiting us for the first time and didn’t enjoy a show, or there was a ticket mix up. Try not to take this out on those around you, and especially on those who are putting their sweat and tears into keeping this experience going.

Bar staff are made of tough stuff, steel to the bones. But they shouldn’t have to be.

To the bar staff

To all of you out there, pulling pints, clearing tables, dealing with the all of the hundreds of thousands of people all in the space of a few weeks - thank you.

Take the highs when they happen - throw yourself into it, fall in love, make friends and embrace the wild life. And every time someone tries to trip you up - I’m sorry. You don’t deserve it.

Good luck.