I was living with my grandmother when I worked in the pub just a short distance away. I must have been a casual employee and not part time as I did not receive sick pay or holiday pay.
The workers at the nearby concrete factory drank in the saloon bar of the hotel. They would be more suited to the public bar. As they emptied their pockets of change, concrete dust from their pockets spilled onto the carpet and mixed with beer spillage, set the carpet like concrete. The carpet in that bar had to be cleaned frequently, and often.
One of them was a bit different to the rest. He was well liked by his mates even though he was a bit of a pretty boy, with long curly fair hair. He wasn't as overtly ocker (rough uncultivated male) as the others were. He may have been ten years older than me. One day he quietly asked me if I was camp. Lol at that word. The way he said it was so loaded. I replied no. I was nineteen years old and had been hunting for sex with men since the age of 13, yet I denied myself what I think might have a pretty good time with a rather hot guy. I didn't want anyone at work to know I was 'camp'.
Of life's regrets...
I saw not the owner but the hotel manager who was an ok bloke and told him I would be away for two weeks visiting Queensland. I told him I would return on a certain date and would be available for my usual shift that day. I returned to work only to be told there weren't shifts available. I can't remember now how long it took, but I did get my old shifts back. I think it was only a day or so.