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Our Crack Little Crack
Little Crack has had bar jobs in the past. We’ve had jobs in busy, buzzing, frantic bars where the tills can’t do maths and you have to add up seven drinks, three bags of crisps and the right change for the tab machine, all from a £20,
The Crack's Little Crack
in your head with sound pounding in from every direction and a dozen impatient drunks trying to catch your attention. We loved it. We were fast and efficient. We were also massively obnoxious but we got the drinks delivered quickly. That’s why we hate today’s young bar staff deeply and with a furious contempt that constantly threatens to propel us over the bar, seize one of those lumps of entitled flesh we call barstaff these days, reach down their complacent throat and pull out their lazy organs one by one until they understand what it is to have a real job, limited drinking time and a sense of fucking urgency.