It’s the season of the snow in.
People in warm climates can’t really appreciate the snow in — days stuck inside the house and unable to leave because snow is piled so high outside it’s impossible to move. It’s fun for the first 48 hours but gets boring when all the food is gone, the Netflix queue is empty and you’re ready to strangle those you love the most.
Imagine getting snowed into a place other than your house. It happens. People get snowed in at work, the gym and even the home of one night stands. This guy has an even crazier story — he was snowed in at work but his job is working as a bartender at a pub. He retold his experience to The Guardian.
I stepped outside, with chef Danny, 18, only to be beaten back by the howling wind. I took one step into the road and sank to my waist in snow. Then the voice of our waitress, Katie, also 18, echoed from inside: “The radio says they’ve stopped ploughing the roads. We’re stuck!” I shuddered as the reality of our isolation set in – suddenly the Lion felt like the last place left on Earth.
The evening shift comprised Katie, Danny and me, fellow barman Rob, 22, and 25-year-old head chef Stuart. We’d worked together for years and were good friends. The landlord was away that night, and our only guests were a friendly couple in their 50s from Sheffield.
Alright, so you’re snowed in, but at least there are two women available. One is old and married, but the other, she’ll be ready to go in a day or two. You know what I mean by ready to go. Wink wink. OK BUT THIS IS SERIOUS! They’re snowed in! Stuck! Nothing to survive on but…um…free food and booze.
For the next nine days we worked by day, looking after our guests, and by night we ate and drank like kings, feasting on all the finest food from the specials menu – steaks, pies, roasts – washed down with an ale or five. After all, if we didn’t eat the food, it would go off, as would much of the ale. We stoked the fires until they roared louder than the wind outside and had a party every night. We drank, laughed, watched movies and played Monopoly before staggering drunk up to bed in whichever guestroom took our fancy.
Katie’s bed! Amma right? You old wanker!
But much like being snowed in at your own place, shit gets old real quick.
It was also strangely liberating being cut off from the world; the pressures of daily life ceased to apply. But when we ran out of cigarettes on the eighth day, the smokers – Katie and me especially – began to suffer. The novelty was wearing thin. I remember wondering if anybody outside was thinking of us. At first the phone had rung constantly, but now it was silent.
On the ninth day I’d had enough. I was determined to get back to my life. Perhaps I’d gone stir crazy, but I could see the snow had begun to thaw a little, so I went outside to dig out my car. I dug for seven hours until I could get inside. Then, as I turned the key, I heard the chug-chug of a diesel engine and two yellow lights appeared through the mist. The snowplough had arrived to dig us out.
This all happened back in 2010, and the guy still works at the same pub. He’s probably still trying to work off a nine day bar tab.
[H/T: The Guardian]