Magaluf Lads Holiday
It all started with a Magaluf lads holiday! Quite a few people have messaged me now with feedback (much appreciated!) on my blogs and many of whom are ex workers. So I thought one thing we all have in common is a story of how we ended up here, so for anyone interested, here’s mine!
This is actually taken from my book, not that I’ve finished it or wrote many more chapters to be honest but when I do, this is chapter number 1! 🙂
I stood reading the toilet walls, trying to hit the bowl as I swayed about with a merry grin on my face, looking at the state of the cubicle I don’t think they would notice if I missed! Giggling was coming from the next toilet as what sounded like conquest number 50 something was about to drop her knickers for that good looking bastard outside, that’s why none of us lads have pulled all holiday, I thought to myself, it’s these touts fault……they pull all the birds!
As I came out of the toilet in Planet Rock, (later became the Venue, then Mulligans upstairs and now has the classy name ‘Hot Pussy!) another Oasis classic belting out the speakers I realised the lads had gone, left me all alone in a foreign country, surrounded by strangers and miles from home!!….well actually they’d just gone to the next bar. I had a decision to make, they were gonna be in one of 2 places, Boomerang or Carwash, that’s where we’d ended up the last 8 nights, so why would tonight be any different.
Boomerang was my venue of choice, that’s where they’ll be so off I went, slight stagger from the cocktail challenge with Fids but far from ready to go home. As I walked up to the door I felt that anxiety rush that was now ingrained in me after spending 2 years of my life pulling every type of fake ID out of my pocket (until my 18th finally passed) and begging inside that they would just let me in. Of course this feeling was for no reason whatsoever on the streets of Magaluf, even my spotty 19 year old baby face strutted through every door in town without a dodgy NUS card in sight!
The doorman looked up at me and grunted
‘got a stamp?’,
I stopped, showed my hands and arms, no stamp,
‘that way’ he said, and pointed me back up the stairs to walk down the other side of the barrier.
Just as I was about to head down the stairs a short Spanish guy looked at me and very to the point shouted;
‘oi!, where do you work’??
I thought for a second before I answered, it was clear he was some kind of authority figure and both he and the grunting doorman stood waiting for my answer. Shit, what do I say? why does he need to know that? if I tell him I work at Maccy D’s will this mean I get turned away????
Before I had a chance to answer he barked at me again
‘you’re a worker aren’t you?’
Shit, now what, ‘a worker’?? what does that mean?? I work on the drive through, been upgraded to a white shirt after getting all my stars but does this mean i’m qualified as a ‘worker’???
Erm…’a what?’ I stuttered?
In my head having flash backs to being 17 and the long walk to the entrance of Institute Bar in Hull knowing I was going to get to the top just to be turned away. I reckon that feeling of walking back down from that door must be on par with walking down the Wembley steps with a losers medal! As soon as I hit 18 that passport went everywhere with me!
‘A worker’ he snapped
‘You work in Magaluf don’t you??’
Ahhh, a ‘worker’, the term I would come accustomed to and hear a thousand times over the next 15 years, it determines those who visit for a short break, also known as a ‘tourist’ from those that visit for bit longer, get a job for the season and become known as ‘a worker’ not quite a resident but don’t EVER call them a tourist!
‘Errrm, no, sorry I don’t, i’m on holiday, I go home Tuesday. I work at Mcdonalds’
Shit!!, why did I tell him that?? it’s bad enough my mates taking the piss but at least they get free Big Macs, now he’ll never let me in his club!
He looked at me as if I was lying,
‘you like it here?’
‘errrrm, yes, love it, thanks’
thinking please just let me in!
‘well if you like it here i’ll give you a job and an apartment, better than Mcdonalds’ he laughed, which even rose a smile from the grunter.
‘Errrrm, thanks but i’m ok, I go home Tuesday, back to England’
They looked at each other for a couple of seconds before the grunter waved me down the stairs.
Phew! I was in, he’s mad I thought as I ran down the stairs, pulled back the stinking curtains to see all our lads already on the dance floor having the time of their lives as ‘put your hands up in the air, put your hands up in the air’ rang out the speakers, officially our holiday song!
It was 1999, you could not have found a better set of lads to go away with, most were still living at home with parents, either at college or working and the only thing we had to pay for was a bit of board to mum and dad and the rest could go on beer, which it did 3,4 or 5 times a week.
This holiday had been unbelievable, the previous years we had gone to Faliraki and Kavos and had amazing times but this one was by far the best yet, 27 of the best lads you could find, all out the same football team back home or connected to it, all ready to go mad for 2 weeks in the sunshine!
I Can’t remember too much more from that night but I do remember looking around, having a good think the next day whilst recovering on the beach. Most of the lads had made it out of bed and down to Palma Nova beach, some in the sea, some looking rougher than others. Dicko looked especially bad, his first day he had ran and dove straight into the pool at the Gil and Gabarda Hotel, head first which turned out to be less than 2 foot deep- the shallow end! The pool was that small he’s lucky he didn’t hit the other side. No serious damage but a great looking graze down his face from the pool floor and a great laugh for the lads! Undeterred he strutted off that first day down to the beach to get a tan, fell asleep after his drinking sesh caught up with him and woke up with the best tan line i’ve ever seen! he pulled down his shorts to reveal a white, perfectly shaped knot from his short ties blazoned into his skin!
As I looked around the beach, sun shining, all the lads there, bikini clad women everywhere, my mind wandered back to the previous night- what if he was serious?, what if he really would give me a job? i wouldn’t mind a bit of this!
I told the story to a couple of the lads, not sure if they believed me to be honest and they laughed it off anyway, not like I was going to actually stay now was it!
3 days left, 3 days to convince just one of the lads to stay with me and that would be me staying for the season!
“if it wasn’t for our lass I would mate”
“don’t be daft I’ve got kids!”
“just started my new job”
“you’re full of shit and won’t do it anyway”
pretty much summed up my conversations for the last few days of the holiday, a couple of them came close to cracking and sat thinking about it for a day but in the end all said they couldn’t do it. None of our lot had done anything like that before and to be fair I don’t think any of them believed I was serious. Gutted, I quite fancied this now!
It came to the last day of the holiday, I had sounded out the guy at the club (just in-case) and spoken to some of the staff in there about working in Magaluf, none of them did much to put me off the idea!
“best thing you’ll ever do” was the standard response, which wasn’t helping me get on that plane!
As the lads were busy packing and shaking off the final hangover I took myself off to find our rep, we had booked a 2wenties holiday and I don’t think they were too happy considering we filled half the hotel and the only thing we bought was 10 of us went to Pirates!
I can’t remember the reps name but I went to ask him what would happen if I didn’t get on the return flight (I was very green to travelling in those days).
‘Nothing’ he said
‘Nothing?’ I replied?
‘no mate, I will cross your name off the transfer and your lads can say you’re not going when they check in at the airport’.
Ok well that’s a bit easier than I thought, part of me was hoping it wasn’t possible so I’d get the daft idea out of my head!
‘why?’ he asked
‘I’ve been offered a job at Boomerang, I don’t really want to go home.’
‘It’s sound in there it’s where all the reps go, it will be the best thing you ever do!’ he wasn’t helping.
I went back into the room and Fids was just folding away his yellow jumper that he thought he ‘might need at night if it gets chilly’ ha ha yeh of course mate that’s a known problem in Mallorca the last week of July!! Gave the lads a good laugh when he unpacked it though.
‘Come on get packing’
‘I’m not going mate’
‘Shurrup dopey!’
‘i’m not, i’m gonna take that job at Boomerang’
As the lads gathered in the reception word had got round I wasn’t getting on the flight, comments went from ‘you’re a f***ing idiot’ to ‘you’re a f***ing legend!’
Once they knew I was serious, they had got together and had a whip round, well 2 actually, the 1st was the biggest bag you’ve ever seen of left over toothpaste, shampoo, after sun, sun cream of every factor, deodorant and any other kind of toiletry you could think of. The 2nd part was what they had left in pesetas, they gave me just over £250 between them!
‘If it doesn’t work out Fish there’s your flight home’ I nearly started crying, this is really happening, I can’t change my mind now!
It was a very strange feeling watching that coach drive away with all the lads on-board heading off back to Hull, this daft idea I had just got very real!
As instructed I turned up that night at Boomerang, 10.30pm before they opened the club, stood there with my suitcase.
The Spanish guy saw me, introduced himself as ‘Alvaro’ looked at the case and started laughing.
‘have you done bar work before?’ he asked
‘never’ I replied
‘used a till?’
‘yes’ I said
‘well if you’re good you can have the job, if you’re shit – next flight home!’
…………………..and the rest is history 🙂
If anyone wants to send me their own story of how they ended up here then please do, I’m going to have some guest blogs on here and if I get a few decent stories of how you came to be a worker then I’ll do a bit of a feature on it.
Thanks for reading and please share if you like it.
