Stoodents

They're back and they're drunk and they seem to spend very little per head.

Maybe their loans haven't come in yet, or more likely the cheque from the parents hasn't cleared but they still fill out the place to capacity. The student night admission fee is small but they seem to spend even less inside. It's a night of picking drunken students off the floor and herding them to the exits trying to avoid any bright purple vomit they've covered themselves in.

Their night seems to involve, waking up in time to catch the later edition of neighbours, eating toast/toasties/beans/yesterday's pizza, drinking a few cans, then drinking a few more cans, maybe get together in a subsidised student bar and get some shots, catch a bus into town along with 45 other equally inebriated fellow students, two scared sober folk and one increasingly irate driver. On arrival in town it's time to head to a cattle market bar on their quiet midweek promotions and drink discounted economy spirits in excessively large measures. Then after two or three of these identical looking places, with no doubt a different colour of alchopop in each, they stumble towards our door.

It's then that the sad economics of having a nightclub premises, which can only take money for five hours a night and can only make money when those five hours have enough punters in, kick in. It's a midweek, most regular, working and moneyed folk know not to go and have a big night on a school-night, so we're left with either the dregs or students. Thankfully they opted for students. The cleaners bill maybe more in the morning but how else can you get hundreds of folk eager to stand in a queue outside, waiting for an hour 'til we find the space to let them in, all to pay us their un-earned money.

This is all fine and dandy, but do they have to be such pricks about dealing with the staff. The mindset clearly goes, "I'm in Uni and therefore smarter than you" which may possibly be true, but I'm the one who works here and don't have to put up with you. Not even for one second. Now go back to your middle class parents and whine to them because I don't give a monkey's.