Drink: Gallons and gallons of low quality, Darjeeling tea
Temping is a young person’s game. A lot of us have felt the dirty need to take on some quick fit employment for a quick money fix to put some fresh crumbs on the table. Throw in a dodgy job market, the absence of a steady career, and the recent conclusion of a degree, and suddenly I’m a temp agency’s wet dream.
You may end up at the same place regularly, maybe moved around a bit, or usually called in for one-time events. It can be fun or, more than likely, extremely painful, but it’s a bit of money with no-strings-attached. I guess it’s a lot like being a prostitute – you tell yourself it’s just this one time, and it’s only for the money, but you keep going back every time your agency pimp calls you up. Oh, and you always feel the need to shower afterwards too. You dirty little hospitality whore.
I do enjoy casinos, there’s nothing like a bit of gambling followed by mild disappointment and remorse (I’m not very good), but wouldn’t it be nice if on
Although they’re not overly apparent, I have several ‘mild compulsions’ – habits, if you will. Now, they are by no means as severe as those suffered by the unfortunate souls afflicted with OCD; merely little quirks, as I’m sure/hope everyone has.
In order to pay my way through university/buy teabags/keep the landlady happy/buy useless things on eBay, I work in a popular cocktail bar. In my capacity as a bartender, I often find myself encountering individuals of a less than desirable manner – especially after they’ve spent a few hours quaffing bad-decision juice. Of course, this is part and parcel of the job; however there are certain habits of the common patron that really get on the nerves of bartenders (or, as our CVs state, professional mixologists). 
Wales, my current country of occupation, has recently introduced legislation whereby retailers are required to charge £0.05 (US$0.08, ¥5.99, KR 0.54, infinity First Zimbabwean Dollars) per disposable plastic/paper/hemp/fur shopping bag used by the customer. It doesn’t sound like much (unless you are an Old Zimbabwean), but it’s just enough to make you risk walking home clutching your newly-procured goods precariously in your arms.