1. The Arts Student
Not unlike play-schoolers, the Arts student is a simple creature. They are in college, but at the same time, they’re really, really not. Arts usually consists of three types of people; those who want to teach, those who didn’t get enough points for “a real degree” and those who simply wanted to go to college, period. As an Arts student, one should expect finger painting and will usually spend more time commuting than in class, regardless of where you are travelling from. 2. The Science Student The Science student is like the middle child of college. Although they have a basic level of intelligence, they didn’t get enough points for Medicine and therefore, are kind of irrelevant to the college food chain. As a sub-species in general, they’re quite unspectacular and are easily forgotten. I mean, they don’t even have their own stereotypes! 3. The Ag Student The Ag student, frankly, is just lucky that they live in Ireland; a country where shovelling shite onto potato fields and shoving their hand up a cow’s arse is a career! They can be spotted in their club GAA attire and trackies and usually possess the principles of an elderly Christian woman living in midland Ireland during the 60’s. They don’t really understand the workings of The Big Shmoke, but are still mighty craic on a night out, even if they’re wearing their county colours with their jeans… 4. The Med Student The Med student is renowned nationally for its ability to ace the glorified memory test that is the Leaving Certificate, and is often rich enough to get grinds to cheat their way around the HPat if they don’t pass it the first time. Most Med students come from parents of the same career, or just didn’t know what to do with their lives so they let their points choose for them. 5. The Business Student The Business student is the basic white girl of college, who will not be seen in public without a Starbucks cup clutched in one hand, and the latest iPhone model in the other. They will remind you upon first encounter that their daddy makes more in a day than you can even hope to make in a lifetime and more often than not, will be on their way to get a burrito and a decaf-frappe-mochachocha-ArianaGrande-latte. 6. The Computer Science Student The Computer Scientists are a weird breed. Out of the ten percent of them that aren’t Asians half their age yet twice their IQ, the numbers are made up of those who spent more time playing Call of Duty in their teenage years than the rest of us combined. They are the socially awkward, hardcore meme machines of our time who are a tad too familiar with the internet and their own hand! 7. The Engineering Student The Engineering student practically lives the life of Hugh Hefner…if this were an alternate universe in which all of his Playboy models were male, because this course is a pure sausage-fest! With a ratio of two hundred and twelve guys for every one girl, engineering boasts a populace of guys who kind of know what a girl is, but only through contact with the chicken fillet roll goddesses of Centra. If you’re a girl in engineering, the odds are good, but sadly, the goods are odd... 8. The Law Student The Law student, as with those in Arts, can usually be split into three categories; those who already consider themselves lawyers, those whose parents are lawyers, and those who watched a few too many episodes of Suits and later realise they have made a terrible mistake. The not so humble Sutherland-dweller will turn their nose up at you if you’re outfit is not worth more than Whitney Houston herself, and rumour has it that if you try to go into the building in sweatpants, you will burst into flames on entry.
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1. NOT RESPONDING TO MY GREETING It seems pretty basic to reply to a simple “Hi, how are you?”. Considering I have to stand behind a till for eight hours straight having the exact same weather-related conversation back-to-back, the least you could do is smile and say hello. 2. Not Placing Money into my Outstretched Hand I honestly do not understand this. I cannot wrap my head around how customers can ignore my open hand - often reaching past it - to place their money on the counter instead. Why can't you make it easier for the two of us! 3. "Oh Crap! I Forgot Something, Give Me Two Seconds!" There are few things in this world that annoy me more than people who get to the counter and then realize they forgot something. And what's worse is the queue is always half way down the shop, and instead of the customers being annoyed with you, they shoot me death glares for “allowing you” to run across the shop to grab milk. 4. MONEY STORED IN BRAS OR SHOES It is always the most disgusting, dirty and unhygienic people that do this, and that is really why this bothers me so much. It's the sweaty, wrinkly old women that stink of cigarettes and brandy that feel the need to pay with tenners drenched in boob-sweat. And what's worse (yes, it can somehow be worse) is that they do it right in front of you! One day I’ll rub your change against my crotch before I hand it to you. 5. PAYING IN PENNIES You are the worst person ever. No matter how many times I assure you that "It's grand, seriously", it is NOT grand. There is nothing worse then me having to count out fourteen Euro in coppers! Under no circumstances is that OK. And the icing on the cake is that it's always when the shop is absolutely jammed with people that these idiots show up to wreak havoc. Sometimes I feel like they can sense the venom on my teeth when I smile goodbye, or at least I hope the feckers do! 6. THE "WHY DID YOU JUST TEST MY MONEY" GLARE In this day and age, con artists are more common than selfie sticks, and you can't be too careful. We have money testers which we use to scan ALL notes before accepting them because the owner got sick of us taking in dud fivers and tenners (yes, apparently those exist) so the machines were bought. I was told by a co-worker that any dud notes taken in will be taken from our wages, so naturally I don't won't that to happen so I take five seconds to scan the notes. But there is something about it that customers cannot comprehend. I find it awkward enough having to do it right in front of you, but when you stop mid-sentence in our conversation because I'm testing your money, and then stare in shock as if I've just accused you of shoplifting, it makes me feel even more awkward. 7. IMPATIENCE I hate when customers get impatient with each other. I'm sorry, but I cannot help it if the person ahead of you in the queue also has a trolley-load of shopping with them, so when you stand there sighing constantly and quite loudly over how long it's taking as I scan through it, you're helping nobody. And most of the time, I will deliberately stall just to get my own back at you. But that's not all, after the tutting and sighing, what elicits a smack is when the next customer starts unloading their shopping onto the counter before the other customer is finished and before they have been called. Go away! 8. LAST MINUTE SHOPPERS This is by far, the worst thing on the list. It seems no matter what time the shop closes at, about a dozen people will walk in sixty seconds before the doors shut to "quickly grab one thing". You belong in hell. Do you know how tiring it is to work ten hour shifts? Do you know how anti-social our hours are? For most of our shift, all we can think about is clocking out at the end of the day and skipping out of work. Even if it does just add five or ten minutes to our day, those seem like the longest minutes of our lives. So don't even bother apologizing. So as you may know by now, I spent my summer living and working in the deep south of America. I shared a bedroom with three others, and after a while without any form of sexual relief, I got very horny. It's 4 am and I'm lying in bed after just getting in from a night out. My three roommates are asleep (snoring quite loudly might I add for three women) and I am on Grindr searching for my Prince Charming for the night. *You have one new message* I started chatting away to some guy that was staying in the hotel, a baseball player who told me he was attending the college closest to us. He had a nice body, slick haircut, handsome face and he seemed really friendly in the messages we shared for about thirty minutes. Then he picked up the courage to ask me to go and meet him. I was still quite twisty (drunk) and I was feeling particularly eager down below so I crept out of the room and headed down the hallway quietly. We planned to meet in one of the stairwells and then we were going to go to his room for some fun. However, as I approached the stairwell I got a message from him. Listen...I need to tell you something. I'm not actually 21. I just turned 18. I'm here on vacation with my family. *Internal cringing ensues* By that time, I was already at the stairwell (which had small glass windows on them) so I peered through. Not only did the little shit lie about his age, but he looked nothing like his pictures! I'm not fat-shaming or anything, because I'm not exactly ripped myself, but he was a solid seven stone heavier in person and he looked about fifteen. This was not the guy I had been messaging! Safe to say I ran faster than I had in a while, straight back to my room and back into bed. I closed the app and locked my phone. I never did find out how long he waited there for, but the twelve messages that greeted me in the morning said enough. Y u do dis? "Don't trust nobody apart from our staff, ain't nothin' round here but lying thieves," warned the hotel receptionist through a full set of silver teeth. In Ireland, students apply for J1 Visas; which basically enable them to work in America for the summer and then spend a period at the end travelling the States. We had chosen Myrtle Beach in South Carolina, a tourist spot Christened the "Dirty Myrtle" by literally every other state in the US. We had high hopes before arrival however, as our other option had been a city in which you had a 45% chance of being involved in a knife related crime if you went out after 8 PM. Plus, our employer had sorted out discounted accommodation for us, so we didn't have to worry about searching for that ourselves.
Our trip from the airport had been a pitiful affair; with the taxi driver first questioning/low-key mocking our choice in location for our J1 and then warning us to avoid passing the "rape woods" after dark, because the side of the road that had a pathway on it had no street lights and vice versa. We didn't pry much into how it had come to be called that. He also informed us of the fact that we had arrived in the middle of "Black Bike Week" and recommended we stayed indoors for its duration before dropping us off at our hotel and taking a $10 dollar tip for a five minute journey. I use the word hotel quite generously of course. It was more like one of those shitty motels from movies where drug deals and prostitution reign, with a seemingly permanent damp smell permeating each and every surface. And rather unfortunately, it was to be our home for the best part of three months. After our rather scarring encounter with the receptionist, we made our way through the hotel towards the elevators. For anyone who has ever watched a horror movie featuring a hotel, the resemblance here was uncanny - dimly lit corridors, dark carpets stained with marks I preferred not to question, flickering lights and pale walls that were peeling onto the floor. Although the bullet holes in the elevator were probably the icing on the cake. There were three floors in the hotel; which we later discovered had each been allocated to certain horrors; - the first floor was for animals; dogs, cats, guinea pigs, birds. It was a fucking zoo! If anybody walked through the hallway anytime after midnight, the place burst to life with barks, howls and scratching on doors. - the second floor (where my first and second rooms were located) was assigned for prostitution. Although obviously unofficial, I personally witnessed dozens of questionably dressed men and women taking others into their rooms and with walls as thin as our hotel, nothing was left to the imagination... - the third floor was reserved for smokers (ideally - but obviously not limited to - tobacco). We usually avoided this floor because it stank of weed, and I mean it was unbearable. The stale smell in the air fought its way down the bloodstained stairwell (I wish I was messing) and all throughout the floor. It was about 6 o'clock in the evening when we arrived at our room. There was a gag-inducing aftertaste of week-old Chinese food in the air that we never managed to get rid of. Not ideal to say the least. The television was running, and the local news was on. Someone had been shot dead outside a hotel on the beach that the rest of the Irish summer students were staying in. There had been a shootout between two biker gangs and someone had been caught in the crossfire (who we later learned was an In-Law of one of our Co Workers). We stared in utter terror at each other; literally speechless and I genuinely felt that my life was in danger. "We can't stay here," was all I could muster after about ten minutes of silence. |
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