Seb/Sab

The week after Patrick the Perv left was a mixed bag. We had a chalet of 5 policemen and women and a 5 year old girl and a group of 7 young lads and ladettes, the 2 groups didn't mix especially well. One good thing was that the 5 year old was desperate to help us out with anything she possibly could so we pretty much didn't have to serve or collect a single plate the whole week.

Unfortunately the week was made slightly less favourable by one particular guest, an Australian by the name of Seb. He was one of the lads, 19 years old his name was actually Sab, but everyone prounounced it Seb. That annoyed me for starters.


The group were blessed in that on the first night we had our first snow fall since Christmas. This was a little too much to take for young Sab who ran outside, bumping into beams and walls as he went and started throwing snowballs at anything that moved. Myself and A had been up since 5am and were sitting in deck chairs having our after work, wind down cigarette. Sab approached us with a look of malice in his eyes balling snow. 'Don't even bother, we're not playing', A warned. He then proceeded to throw one at A and one at me from a range of about a foot.


'This is War.' he shouted.


Now, I don't know about anyone else but in this situation, I am pretty sure it was down to A and myself to decide whether or not this was war. This was Sab's first strike. The next came the following night...


It didn't help that during service he would just bang a wine caraffe on the table and shout my name until I filled it. I was already feeling quite anti Sab at this point. After work that evening a group of us all piled into my flat for some drinks and a bit of a social. I was having a lovely time until I turned to my left and there, in my bedroom, my personal space, away from work, was Sab, sucking on a cigarette and ashing on the floor. Not happy.


The final straw came on Wednesday morning, mine and every other member of staffs day off. The only possible opportunity for a lie in the whole week. This particular Wednesday however I was awoken by a thick Australian accent at 9am shouting 'KYLE, KYLE' (my roommates name), 'KYLE, LET'S GO RIDING'. He had come down to my flat and walked into our space without a care in the world. Kyle, also not at all happy with the situation had apparently drunkenly agreed to go out with him the next day.


As I prayed for him not to enter my room, Kyle managed to get rid of him by rambling drunkenly in Welsh for a while. I now firmly lock the door every night before bed.

The next day, in a quiet revenge attempt, I stole a pair of his socks, ha, take that Sab.