Number Twenty: Responsible Service of Drunks

So I achieved my RSA today.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the hospitality requirements for today's working environment, RSA stands for Responsible Service of Alcohol. I decided to acquire mine so I can find night work while at Uni so I'm able to feed myself. Plus, I think working in a bar would be pretty fun. And Maz and myself have decided that we are going to work at Purple Sneakers in the near future, anyway. There is no one more indy than us...

I started the day feeling anxious; unsure of where I was meant to go to find this mysterious training building; smiling to myself about how groovy Tanya's father looked standing on the station with sunlight trickling through his hair and illuminating his designer glasses. My attempts to wake the man sitting next to me on the train, who had fallen into a sleep deeper than the Indian Ocean, failed bitterly and I was forced to climb over him as to alight the train. I was surprised at when I first arrived at the small room where the course was held: out of over twenty people, only three of us were of Australian decent. The others I supposed were foreigners on temporary Visas who were attempting to find work as to survive. There were the Japanese, Chinese, at least ten Frenchmen, Canadians, Lebanese and a handful of Brazillians. I was fortunate enough to make friends with one such man from Brazil: he looked to me to be around twenty-years-old, however was only my height and stature. His hair was something not to be desired, with channels of nothingness created by gushings of gel (one of those '90s messy looks), but his accent made up for his appearence. He told me of how he had left his homeland to live in New Zealand for almost two years, lying to employers at bars about his lack of prior experience and came to Australia in September of last year to discover that he didn't only need experience in this country to serve alcohol, but qualifications to boot. He told me of how I should travel as to find myself.

A man with a name like Denieze Andre Drebe couldn't ever be wrong, and he got me thinking about travelling overseas to "discover" my true self. I've never had an urge to go abroad; I like being around familiar faces and sights and smells and sounds and weather patterns and cultural expetations. I would really love to move out to Bathurst to study, but I would never be willing to live in another country. I think I have the insecurity that I would never have somewhere to return, where at CSU I can just start up a conversation with someone about a typically Aussie topic; like the poor state cricket has found itself in or Ms Gillard's push for a national curriculumn (which I support strongly). You can't get that taste of home in other countries.

But just bceause I've had chocolate cake in the past, doesn't mean I have to live off it for the rest of my life, does it?



Lovemeg