I love this pub. However I cringe when I think of how bad the customer services is. Seriously….if you don’t like being a waitress: QUIT. I’m sure you can find a job that doesn’t require having to speak to anyone, or even make any communication with anyone. Who knows, maybe you need this job, but seriously you are bringing people down. A bar is suppose to be a place you can go, mingle, meet people, have fun, catch up and have some drinks. Sounds pretty laid back. Your attitude, scowl as soon as people enter the pub, and lack of..well…let’s say life just doesn’t fit. Is that look of disgust you are giving me because I didn’t give you a tip? I wonder why.
So, two options: Cheer the fuck up or at least try to show interest in the awesome environment, Or get out and find something you would rather do and have people like you for. This isn’t your calling girl.
There are some fabulous people working here, you on the other hand are not one of them.
—Customer Service is Everything
This article appears in Feb 4-10, 2010.
being in the business i would say only maybe 20% should be serving out of that 20% about 5% are truly good servers the restare in it because they’re good looking or “cool”and don’t give a flying fuck
Where where where is this? Damnit I hate the “no proper names of people or places in Bitches” rule. Unless, of course, they’re famous people or big bad American chain restaurants.
This could be a lot of different places in downtown Halifax. The Economy Sweat Shop, The Barfgyle, and Your Fat-ass Shitstache come to mind (yes, I like my clever names for these places too. Thanks).
the catchy niknames is half the fun… people just don’t bother trying to come up with any.
shame really…I wouldn’t mind knowing either.
my all time fav. is the starvation army
Leave a note written on your credit card slip….someone is prone to read it.
“The Sore-Arse” back when it was just a urinal with picnic tables, before the dusky rose decor and the pizza oven.
if it that bad,you are an idiot to keep going back.fuck them,and fuck you,idiot.get a life,find a new stool to drink from,or stay the hell home in your mom’s basement.either works well.
the “sore-arse” as you so eloquently put it, was WAAAAYYY better when it was a ‘urinal with picnic tables’…that place has become a magnet for hipster hacks and their shitty taste in music (with the exception of an occassional metal or punk rock show)…
A room-mate of mine back in the ’80s was firmly convinced that he contracted scabies from spending too much time at the “arse”. He never accepted our theory that it just may have been the skags he was porking at the time. Now he’s a born-again bringing the light to the lady-boys of Hakodate.