Two years ago I was starving. No, really, I had six oranges and a loaf of white bread sitting on the counter of my shared house in Oxford, England, and I didn't know what I was going to do after they ran out.
I had broken my foot two months earlier and had been hobbling around on crutches ever since. My previous job, working at The Oxford Story exhibition on Broad Street, had made it clear that the tourist season could wait for my broken bone to heal. However, a month into my recovery they explained that the local Job Centre - those responsible for my work permit - had found that I'd neglected to fill out a single form. I was forbidden to return to the job, and forced to find alternative employment.
I was taking classes at Oxford University's Hertford College at this time. That's the college that lays claim to the famous (if copied) version of Venice's Bridge of Sighs. Although my class schedule encompassed less than three hours a week, the reading, researching and studying that went along with them made my weeks hectic. I needed another job, and I needed a job that would accommodate my schedule.
A pub called The Folly Bridge Inn, located just a few hundred meters from where I lived, proved to be just the thing. A sign outside stated "Bar Workers Urgently Needed." I went in one day, with no former experience working behind a bar, and asked to see the owner. A fellow named Eddie, looking not unlike a bulldog, came out of the kitchen. After a brief interview, he hired me on the spot. I started work the next day.
Eddie, and his wife, Elvira, patiently taught me everything I needed to know about working in a real English pub. I met the locals, picked up the lingo and even managed to learn the lost art of "drawing" a shamrock on the white foam of a pint of Guinness.
After the term ended a few months later I started working full-time at the Folly Bridge. I moved out of the university housing and into the spare room of a family I met while working behind the bar. I even changed my plane ticket to America, extending my stay in England for another six weeks so I could be there to help after Elvira gave birth to her and Eddie's second child.
It was with a heavy heart that my time to go finally came. Eddie and Elvira and some of the regulars organized a "Piss Off Piss Up" at the Folly Bridge the evening before I left. There was snooker, darts, music and, of course, many pints. I received cards from my favorites, and a few presents that I treasure to this day.
It might not have been the best paying or most challenging job I've ever had, but the experiences I had in England that year were infinitely more interesting as a result of my time working in the pub. And, if nothing else, I'm the only girl I know who can draw a shamrock on top of a pint of Guinness.
Katie J. Brown, Freelance Writer, Philadelphia, PA
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