ViVa La Bottom Line: PART 1

It’s 9.15 am and right now the bar where I have worked for the past week or so is being gutted and ripped apart by builders. While they play grab-ass with each other and shout sexist remarks to passers by, I will be going through a course of re-education. It will begin in 15 minutes. The Bar/Cantina where I currently work is to be replaced with a Bar/Grill. We are going upmarket. The next two days is to be the managements idea of what it is like inside a brain chrysalis. We will enter as lowly Bar/Canteen staff, serving burger-eating, beer-swigging canteen-customers and emerge as Team Members, serving steak-eating, cocktail-drinking “Guests”.

I decided at 9.02 that this time rather than sit passively through the corporate re-education experience as a sarcastic and passive observer, this time I am going to make notes about the things I think and feel during that process, I am going to do my best to stay awake during the entire process and produce at the end a document that I will send to the CEO of the company. In short I am going to analyse and deconstruct the cryptic language of the corporate ideology and feed it back to itself. In even shorter I am going to provide extensive quality control feedback. In Uber-Micro, I am probably going to get myself fired.

We are to train at another bar. It actually belongs to different chain run by the same company. They are a step down in the cash-demographic they aim to capture. After our refit they will be 2 steps down. Suckers.

I don’t really know what today is going to be about. I assume that it might involve cocktail training and wine tasting. I don't know whether to wear my uniform or not. I decide that I will go for the best of both worlds and half wear it. I have put on smart trousers and polished black shoes with a T-shirt that says "I'm made of meat!" on it. For some odd Pavlovian reason I iron my T-shirt.

I arrive for coffee at 9.30am. A couple of other staff members are already there. My colleagues all arrive in jeans and T-shirts or summer dresses. It is to be the start of a three-day heat wave so some of the chefs are even wearing shorts. I didn’t need to wear any uniform at all.

There is a definite divide between front of house staff and back of house staff. The most obvious thing is the language barrier. All of our chefs are Polish. All of our KPs are Polish. They also tend towards the hired killer look: shaved heads and unshaved faces. Sunken eyes and hands full of knives. The oldest chef, has the darkest, most pitted eyes and couples them with the kind of moustache that would provide ample cover should he ever find himself in a gunfight. Perhaps buying him just enough time so he could get close enough to use his knife. Front of house is another story. We are like Abercrombie and Fitch. We are all English, except one of us who is French. One of us looks a lot like singer-songwriter Craig David.
Two of us are comely buxom-barmaids, a red-head and a blond, the blond is more buxom the redhead more comely. I am 29 years old, a freelance out-of-work journalist and broadcaster. I like to think that have a face that could be on TV but I have worked primarily on the radio. I have ‘radio hair’ right now. ‘TV hair’ is different. ‘TV hair’ glows like a sunset.

I am working in a restaurant due to the fact that there is a recession going on. I am working here because freelance work is hard to come by. Despite my obvious in demand skills (um… Broadcasting and um… writing I guess…) the only trade I can prove I’m any good at is carrying plates to the hungry, and then taking them away from the full.

I don’t think I’m the only one in this boat. We have an architect in out midst. And I believe the Frenchman is just biding his time until he can find a restaurant more worthy of his impossibly high standards of service. He's great, he's like a walking Bar Tender’s Guide. He looks, like a lover and a fighter. He looks like he might do both with a stiletto dagger gripped in the white knuckles of his bony fist.

We have three managers that will be going through this with us. Firstly there is our general manager. Sometimes she seems angry at life; sometimes she seems lonely inside, the kind of lonely that pushes people away for fear of being rejected. People have told me stories of tantrums thrown and of one particular waitress who was made to cry over a mystery diner report the day after her best friends funeral. To be fair she has never had a problem with me so at this point it's all hear-say. She seems to like tennis, we tend to talk about that. There is another manager who is a friend of hers. She reminds me a of general who has been promoted from the unit, not wanting to leave the safety of the rank and file, keeping her head low, asking for favours rather than giving orders. Then their is the third manager a natural, charismatic leader perhaps at little overly obsessed with statistics.

All of us are lured into the conference room above the bar by the smell of fresh coffee. There is milk and sugar, but no milk substitute. This strikes me as odd because two staff members and the general manager are all lactose intolerant. I am lactose intolerant. Milk makes me fart. I am glad to see that in this hot weather the windows will be open.

We are summoned to the table by music and some gentle coughing from our timid welsh trainer. She has put on Coldplay’s Viva La Vida. The lyrics of which are sung from the perspective of a man who at one time ruled the world, but sadly no longer does. “He sweeps the streets that he used to own.” Hearing that song, I can’t help being reminded of the fact that I used to have a pretty decent job. I would walk into bars look at the staff and consciously think. “My jobs better than yours mate” I thought the reason I had a great job because I was smarter or more motivated than most people; I thought it was because I had talent and verve. But that was when I ruled the world. Now I pour the drinks that I used to.... drink.

Our trainer tells us that the company CEO chose this song personally. Four different people express the opinion that they hate Coldplay, and in particular they hate this song. I feel sorry for our trainer already; this is going to be an annoying two days for everyone, but especially for her. The likely hood is she'll be off doing this whole thing again in a weeks time. I am not ashamed to admit to my readers that I like Coldplay quite a lot, I was however ashamed to admit it to my Teammates. Trainer lady, flicks a strand of dark brown hair from her face and tells us that our CEO was at a Coldplay concert when he heard this song and had a eureka moment. In a flash of inspiration he thought Viva La Company!

Viva in English literally means ‘it lives’ but it’s kind of an expression for ‘Up With!’ Or ‘long live…’ Here Viva means something else. It is an acronym for “vision and Values” ViVa. As a result of this happy accident Viva La Vida has now been adopted as the company song. Vida a word meaning ‘Life’ has been replaced with ‘The Company’.

A projector has been set up linked to our trainers lap-top. We are shown a picture of our CEO doing Jazz hands with some embarrassed looking higher management awkwardly grinning in the background. One is a man and the other the woman. The woman has tightly tied blond hair and she looks like she is saying something through gritted teeth, perhaps she’s saying 'he's doing the fucking jazz hands again...' This is the first of many pictures we are to be shown of higher management doing something stupid or embarrassing.

We are told that our CEO ‘is a very passionate man.’ He is apparently ‘All about passion.’ Trainer lady tells us that at some point he will come into the bar/restaurant and that when he does, in one glorius act of synergy, we are to do Jazz hands and shout Viva!

We practice this. The first shout is lacklustre at best, the second slightly louder, the third pretty loud but angry sounding. Our trainer figures rightly that this is the best she is going to get.

I wonder about three things. Firstly I wonder if Coldplay are aware of this usage of their song. I wonder it there are in fact rights issues here as it could be argued that presumably using the song to promote synergy, the company wishes to make increased profit, a share of that profit should surly go to the artists who wrote it. Secondly as the lyrics spill from tin-pan Ipod speakers at a barely audible level, I wonder why the company song should be about former greatness. Surely they want us to think of glories to come. Perhaps Elvis Presley’s Viva Las Vegas might have been a better choice. Also Elvis is dead so if he ever did find out, he probably won’t be able to ask for PRS . I wonder if our passionate, jazz-hands throwing CEO has picked this song because he feels that he does in fact rule the world… I picture him in a high-end automobile, cruising through an episode of Top Gear, singing along, but purposely getting the words wrong, changing the tense in his mind. Thinking about how seas will rise when he gives the word... picturing roman cavalry choirs chanting 'ViVa mighty CEO' when ever he enters a room. It does sound a little like Ceasar doesn't it?

The third thing I wonder about is the polish issue, looking back at our new KP (dishwasher) and the man with the murder moustache, I wonder what they make of this. The words Vision and Values are quite obscure in the way that they are being used. Retroactively translated into broken Polish they could be deemed to mean good eyesight and low prices. Most likely though, they are wondering why everyone is being asked to shout ViVa whenever they see the guy in the suit.

For some reason we are shown more pictures of management, we see them wearing sombreros, we see them attempting to catch fish, not with a rod and reel, but rather out of the air. This is not explained until the end of the day.

My favourite picture is of upper management dressed up like characters from a pantomime. A close second it the one where they are dressed like Christmas foods. A Turkey, a Cracker and a Christmas pudding. In some of the pictures they actually look drunk. We are ten minutes into the training and I am starting to wonder: Who am I working for? When the hell do these guys stop dressing up like idiots and actually get some work done? I understand that they want to present the company as a fun place to work, But it appears more that I am being led by a troop of clowns.

Having been introduced to the managers in this way, we are asked to get to know each other through an icebreaker exercise. It’s pretty typical stand up and talk stuff. We are broken up into groups, we are asked to pair off with our opposite. front of house with back of house, as different as possible. I pick the new KP. We are told to find out our opposite number’s name, job title and relevant experience. We are told to ask them what they want to get out of the training. Finally we are asked to find out two things they wanted to be when they grow up.

This seems like an odd selection of questions.

The young KP has worked washing dishes in a Care Home. When he was a kid he wanted to work as a Fire Rescuer. I like the term, much more descriptive than Fireman. I tell him I have worked in a lot of bars and restaurants. I toy with saying that when I was a kid I wanted to be a woman... I decide that that's a step too far and tell him I wanted to be a knife thrower in the circus. I obviously don’t tell him the truth.

Apart from the fact that I am ashamed of my own failures, I lie to the KP because he wouldn't understand the words Marine Biologist and then I would have to explain. ‘You know… with dolphins and that…’ The ironic thing is at one point I actually did want to be a bar man. I liked the idea of dishing out life-advice to customers in a quiet little bar somewhere in the deep-south, perhaps with a hound dog on the porch lookin’ out for twisters. The reality of the bar experience changed my mind. It made me want to go to University and learn how to do something else. I don’t reveal this fact to the group because it’s personal. My dreams are my own.

The hardest question of all of them is, ‘What do you want to get out of the training?’ I have no idea what to say. Really I just want to get out of the training, I want to be left alone to do the good job I know I can do. I don’t want to go through the embarrassing ritual of having a multi-million pound business crawl towards me on it’s knees and beg me to love it. I look up at the pictures of our CEO doing jazz-hands. How could anybody not love that? Especially when it’s paying you the lowest amount it can legally get away with.

I decide to ask the architect what to say. She says she’s going to say cocktails. I decide to say cocktails too; it’s much easier that way. This is team synergy in motion.

It’s time for us to feedback to the group. No one baring the Craig David look-alike wanted to be a bar man or a waitress when they grow up and he's lyeing. He claims he wanted to be a part time footballer and work full time for The Company. Everybody laughs. This is not a case of things being funny because they are true.

The trainer points at the different groups like a blush conductor, of the front of house staff I hear ‘She wanted to be an actress, or a singer’ repeated again and again, as to back of house, one of the Polish chefs wanted to drive a dump truck. The one that looks like a hired killer wanted to be a builder. When it gets to our group the KP stumbles over relating my answers, He say ‘He was work in many bars… and he want, with knives… I don’t know… Circus?’
I jump in to help. ‘I wanted to throw knives in the circus, or just you know… just fight with knives... for money’ people laugh nervously. The full time barman gag went down better. It’s probably too early for me to be making this kind of joke. I’m left a little embarrassed. They don’t know if it’s true or not.

‘Well thank god you don’t work in the kitchen… And what did he want to get out of the training?’ says our trainer. ‘Cocktails’ says the KP.

‘Good’ she says and writes the world Cocktails on the board. The answers to all the other questions are disregarded. Apparently it is not important what we have done before, or what we wanted to do with our lives, the only piece of information that is flipchart worthy is what we want out of this training session.

Then it’s my turn to talk about the KP. We have not talked about what he wants to get out of this. I decide to make it up. I decided to do what Craig David did, to kill them with kindness, but to phrase it in a way that will be completely obvious did not come out of this KP’s mouth. Controlling my face and voice I tell our trainer that, 'He wants to come through this with a greater sense of Team Unity' She looks a little shocked, but really happy that this has come up. She writes it on the flip chart, then spends ten minutes telling the KP that she is sure that this will happen, that this is what the training is really about. Never for one second does she acknowledge the fact that I obviously made it up.

Despite the fact that it’s on a piece of flipchart paper somewhere, I can’t remember what anyone else said they wanted to get out of the training. Even though I was trying to concentrate and actively trying to remember, it has totally slipped my mind.

Trainer Lady flips the flip chart and begins to draw a picture of a bus. ‘This is The Company Bus,’ she says. My heart sinks. What does the company bus have to do with how to make cocktails? But as she keeps drawing it begins to make sense, sort of… She tells us that she wants us to think of the company as a school bus. She asks us where on the schoolbus we sat when we were kids. Did we hide at the back, behind all the seats? Not at all comfortable with where we were, or did we ride at the front so that we could hop on and hop off easily? Or did we ride in the middle of the bus, happy balanced, in it for the long haul. She draws a picture of out CEO driving the buss doing jazz-hands. What is it with jazz-hands?

I think about my days on the School Bus. I remember conversations with attractive teenage girls, I remember a little bully with a big mate that never said a word. I remember playing mercy with a friend of mine and smashing my hand through a piece of Formica panelling.

I once saw an Episode of Trick or Treat with TV magician and hypnotist Derren Brown in which he regressed someone back to child hood by having them drink orange squash and draw a crayon picture of a pussycat. This is the first of a few activities today that make me feel like I’m back at school.

I look at the bus. We have been given post-it notes and a selection of multi-coloured pens. We can write what we like and then stick it onto the bus to show where we feel we are riding on the company bus. Are we hiding, are we desperate to get off, or are we in the middle, where we obviously should be. I feel carsick.
We are told that this excersise will be anonymous. But there are three colours of post-it note and everyone has a different pen. I draw someone diving in front to avoid having to sit through any more of this training then cross it out. I draw someone being squashed beneath its wheels with a beatific smile on his face then screw it up and put the evidence in my pocket. I draw a school child dreaming of being a bus driver as the darn thing rushes past his stop. Finally I just write the word ‘fine.’ on my post-it and stick it in the middle of the bus. This is in fact a very back of the bus thing to do. I am extremely uncomfortable; I just don’t want the extra discomfort of having to explain why.