Confessions of a Kelsey’s barmaid

I think most people will know what I mean when I say the word ‘Eliminator’. It conjures up images of an opaque green concoction, or perhaps brings back best-forgotten memories of a pounding head and intense nausea the day after downing multiple pints of the stuff.

What I associate with the Eliminator, however, is the constant stickiness of the blue Curacao on your hands, the knack of opening imitation (yes- how cheap can you get) Lambrini as fast as is humanly possible, and the acute embarrassment I once felt after making someone an ‘Eliminator’ when, in fact, they just wanted a ‘lemonade’ (in my defence, no one asks for a lemonade in Kelsey’s).

As you may have guessed, I’m one of those lucky people employed by the iconic establishment that is Kelsey’s Bar. It’s my first and only bar job, and I’m still getting used to the routines and scenarios which this entails. I’d never even heard of the phrase ‘and one for yourself love’, but now doing a jagerbomb with a local Leamingtonian is not out of question on an average weekday night.

Even though my experience in bar work is lacking, I think it’s safe to say that a job at Kelsey’s is a fairly unique experience.

In addition to seeing a lot of people you vaguely know from uni, about 50% of which show signs of recognition, you get quite a few local characters in there. There’s the eclectic Italian pensioner who told my housemate (in the nicest way possible), that he’d ‘snip snip’ the balls off her boyfriend if he ever cheated on her.

There’s the man who tells anyone who’ll listen about the large golden syringe used in his recent knee operation. And there’s the nonsensically happy man who arrives alone to dance to the jukebox. It’s quite a juxtaposition with us Warwick students, but somehow there never seems to be much conflict.

So why do we love Kelsey’s then? It’s hard to pin down exactly what it is about the place that makes it such a phenomenon. Cheap drinks and late opening hours certainly help, but it somehow seems more than that.

There’s something comforting and homely in the sticky floors and brightly coloured walls; a charisma in the blaring music, TV screens, and irrelevant disco light.

It’s like an old friend, one that you can always guarantee to be ready to greet you at 2am after a failed trip to Smack. The ultimate symbol of such familiarity is surely embodied in the Eliminator jug itself (which in case you’re interested, comprises 9.2 units of alcohol and at least one of your 5 a day).

And I absolutely love feeling a part of all this. Since working there I’ve become even more affectionate towards the place. Except when I’m cleaning up after the rugby boys’ circle on a Wednesday, and then I find myself really wishing I’d got that job at the Bread Oven in first year.