It’s never too late to learn (how to pull a pint)

As a parent, you often find yourself volunteering for all manner of things “for a good cause”.

Over the years, I’ve helped serve teas and coffees and sold everything from cakes to books to raffle tickets at school fetes, made hot drinks, sliced buns and served burgers and hot dogs at my son’s football club and acted as a “parent helper” at my son’s Beaver colony (although in reality I spent most of the time trying to make sure my bum-shuffling one-year-old daughter didn’t get trodden on by any of the boys).

So when the organiser of my kids’ cricket club said they needed parents to volunteer for a few shifts at the club’s bar over the summer term, I didn’t feel too fazed. Pulling a pint? Had to be easier than flipping burgers on a grill. Pouring out a G&T? I’ve made enough of those over the years to (surely) know what I’m doing. I’d never done bar work before, but this was going to be a piece of cake.

Mind you, I probably should have harked back to the two times in my life when I can say I briefly worked in “hospitality”. The first was straight after my A levels. I was taking a gap year and needed a part-time job to save money for travelling. I saw a job ad in the local library looking for a student to work shifts in a small, independent coffee shop in west Wimbledon (the posh part).

It was my first ever job and it sounded fun – it’ll be good to learn how to use a proper coffee machine, I thought, and I’ll meet other young people and we’ll all have a laugh together, maybe socialise after work…

But when I turned up on my first day, I realised it wasn’t going to be fun at all.

It was only me and the owner working there (who turned out to be the mum of a girl a couple of years below me at my school), and it wasn’t just serving cappuccinos, it was also making sandwiches and their fillings from scratch (I remember being shown how to boil eggs in a kettle for this), clearing tables, washing up and – the worst bit, I was about to discover – serving ice creams.

I lasted about three weeks.

The final straw came one day when a customer asked for an ice cream. We didn’t get many ice cream orders so I hadn’t had much chance to practise. After carefully scooping it up for her, for some reason I just couldn’t get it to sit properly on the cone. I gave it to her, she complained (she was a bit snooty anyway), I burst into tears and ran to take refuge in the kitchen.

The next day I handed in my notice (to pre-empt being sacked, I thought, although the coffee shop owner seemed rather surprised!). I got a job as a cashier in WHSmith’s after that, which was much more up my street.

My second foray into catering was in my second year at university. My house-mate Jo worked part-time in the campus coffee bar, clearing tables and serving coffee, and she made it sound so easy. I managed to get a few shifts (I think it paid about £3 an hour) a couple of lunchtimes a week – mainly to top up my money for going out.

I don’t remember much about it except that I ended up on dishwasher duty and, when I wasn’t there, I was sent around the tables emptying ash trays. Oh, and the supervisor told me sharply that my “tabard needed ironing”. Sooner or later, she told me they didn’t need me anymore. They still seemed to need Jo, but anyway….

Back to the cricket bar. On my first shift I turned up a bit before the designated time in the hope of getting some training and was dutifully shown how to use the iPad-cash till. I’d used one before in the football tuck shop so that was OK.

“Here are the pint glasses, those are the half-pint glasses, the wine glasses are here, the cans are in the fridge down there, and here’s how you pull a pint,” the parent-in-charge, Rhys, told me, seemingly all in one breath.

Everything is plastic because most drinks are taken outside to be imbibed on the edge of the cricket pitch (“make sure you give them a plastic glass when they have a glass bottle as they can’t take the bottles outside with them – but don’t give them a glass when they order a can, to save dishwasher space”).

The customers (also parents) started to arrive, as did the orders. I was ready and raring to go. Pint of Amstel? Sure. Medium glass of red? I can do this. That’s £9.60 please. Who’s next?! Hi, er, can I get two gin-and-tonics, one with slimline tonic and one with normal tonic, a Guinness Zero, a red Peroni, an apple Tango and a packet of pork scratchings? Ta.

It wasn’t just remembering which fridges to find which drinks in, or where the bottle opener was, or whether they wanted ice, or which plastic glasses to use (or whether or not I should indeed be offering a glass) – it was the sheer act of remembering what they’d ordered.

“Two pints of Amstel, a pint of Pride and a Tea,” came the next request. I poured the three drafts no problem. However, I wasn’t sure I’d heard the last thing correctly. Tea? I didn’t want to point out the bleedin’ obvious – we’re a pub, not a tea room – so I asked him to repeat it. He did, this time thankfully pointing to the shelf behind me. I turned around – oh, Tea! Of course!

However, my first real challenge came when I had to make an Aperol spritz. I’d watched my friend and co-volunteer Rachel make one about 10 minutes before and it didn’t look the easiest cocktail to make (I’m not really an Aperol drinker), but she assured me that even the little orange measures were labelled with what should go in each one (soda, prosecco, Aperol etc) so it should be OK.

So when a lady asked for two, I thought I had it in hand. Slice of orange. Done. Few bits of ice. Easy. A measure of prosecco. Oh dear, it all seems to be foam (have you ever tried pouring prosecco into a tiny measuring cup? No? well, try it and see how much liquid actually ends up in the measure!). Oh well, chuck it in the glass anyway. Pour in the required amount of Aperol. Top up with soda. Give to customer. Smile and repeat.

While I was making them, I did explain to the lady that I hadn’t worked behind a bar before. She smiled. “Oh that’s OK, don’t worry.” By the time the cocktails were on the bar however, the foam had all disappeared and the drinks looked a little – lacking.

I turned away to do something else and Rachel said to me, a bit sheepishly, “Judith, we think the Aperols look a bit on the small side….” Hmmm. They did look a bit diminutive. And the customer looked a bit anxious. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, so she suggested I just topped them up with a bit more soda. She seemed happy enough with that, so off she went. Tom Cruise I was not, but I was giving it a go.

Next challenge – a guy ordered a Large Glass of Pinot Grigio and a Large Glass of Sauvignon Blanc (among other things). I located the Large Glasses and the two wine bottles. Poured each drink up to the line. Turned around, presented them to the customer, turned back, started to get whatever was next in his order.

“Excuse me – which is which?” he asked.

I looked at him. And at the two identical-looking glasses of vino. “I’m really sorry, I have absolutely no idea!” came my reply.

He looked a bit taken aback. He was clearly more of a lager man himself, so he had no idea either. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem.”

Luckily his lady companion soon made her way up beside him and did a taste test. Phew. (Mental note to self: next time, pour one glass, remember what it was, give it to the customer, tell them which wine it was, repeat with the other one.) Well, you learn by experience, don’t you?

My third challenge – and not such a grave error, but embarrassing enough for me anyway – was when a customer asked for a packet of scampi fries.

I went over to the crisps rack and could see that there were two types of fries – one bacon, one scampi. He didn’t specify which one, so I tried calling back “which one?” but he couldn’t hear me above the din (and anyway, he was talking to his friend) so I took both packets back and showed them to him.

“Bacon or scampi?” I asked innocently. He looked at me like I was a bit slow.

“Er – scampi fries. Not BACON fries.”

Duh! I don’t eat scampi so I’d just kind of assumed they were the same thing.

“Oh yes! The clue’s in the name!” I joked. Luckily, he saw the funny side – or at least, pretended to.

My second shift, a few weeks later, was easier, but much busier. The queue went out of the door from the minute we opened, at 6pm, and didn’t ease up until about 8pm when cricket practice finished and I clocked off – just before all the kids were due to come in and put in their orders of Lucozade and crisps.

Of course, there are perks to this volunteering – you’re helping out in the community and you’re also supporting the other parent volunteers who give up their time to coach (and look after) your kids and generally help make their lives even more fulfilling.

Oh, and you get a free drink of your choice. Whether you’ve got time to drink it, though, is another matter…

Do you volunteer in your local community or for your children’s clubs/schools? Leave me a comment below, I’d love to hear your volunteer stories!