I’ve slaved away in the great service industry we call hospo for the last nine years across bars, restaurants and cafes.

I’ve woken up at 5am (ick) and knocked off at 9am (also ick), but when I start to feel like I’m done with it, summer rolls along and hospo goes back to being the funnest summer job in all of Jobland. Even with the rude customers, the dreaded drink running shifts, the broken glass that splinters into your main arteries and the butthole chafe (especially the butthole chafe).

Here are some top reasons why (in my professional pint slinging opinion).

Friends!

Hospo is the most social industry, unless you work in Professional Hanging which I made up just then, so you probably don’t. All of your colleagues are just about under 30, you work in a team that’s close as balls, and nothing makes for a better bonding experience then cleaning up vodka lime soda vomit and boozy piss.

Almost all my closest friends I’ve met through hospo work, AND I got a hot foreign boyfriend out of it, so, fuck yeah meaningful and fulfilling work relationships! Fuck yeah vodka lime soda vomit and boozy piss!

Dollarydoos!

As boring as it is, part of me looks forward to summer solely to fill up my bank account with dat sweet hospo cash. Hours are hanging fat, low and reachable across the board, and most places feed you a staff meal.

If I’m a good Christian girl and behave myself, I can manage to pay my rent and feed myself in a week’s wages (plus tips!) and have three weeks’ worth of pay to piss up a metaphorical wall.

Flexible As Fuck!

Wanna go to bed at stupid o’clock? Easy as shit. Wanna wake up when it’s still nighttime and go home at 3pm? Consider your life hacked. Scratch that, consider your life as breezy as vodka lime sodas and piss.

Go to the doctor whenever you feel like it, the Post Office is no longer the enemy, eat hot eggs for breakfast every single god damn day! Go spend your summer days tanning at the beach in your brand-new leopard print thong bikini and make your pocket money in the evening. Tell your parents you’re a lady of the night. Chug pickle juice. Live.

Real Good World Skills!

I truly and honestly reckon that without my time in bars and cafes I would be less of a hard worker, and consequently, less of a sick cunt. I can happily work a 14-hour shift, survive off left over canapes and handle drunk fuckwits with a smile and a cheeky shot. I look at the still steaming puddle of vodka lime soda vomit and piss, pull up my bootstraps, and dive in.

When the going gets tough and the printer in the kitchen stopped printing dockets an unknown time ago, you get tougher and save your crying for the walk on your break. But you got this, cause your sweet summer job in a beer garden gave you the skills to be a cool calm mountain of a problem solver.

Any job that takes away from your summer of going actually bare foot wild and living your best life does feel kind of lame. But a summer job slinging pints, waiting tables, steaming milk and lugging bin bags full of vodka lime soda vomit and piss through the rain? And getting paid for it? The greatest place to be.

(Lead image: Party Down/Starz)