RSA - Ridiculously Simple Attainment
Don't you love my pseudointellectual attempt to take an acronym for one thing and say it stands for something else, when the two things are essentially the same anyway? Well, is it better than my pseudointellectual attempt to achieve coherence and sanity by verbally vomiting onto a worldwide blog website?
Yes, anyway today was indeed the day I trundled into uni at 9:00 on a Saturday (AM, by the way, I'm not trying to draw the same picture of relaxation and sociability as mister Billy Joel here) in order to spend seven hours supposedly being able to prove that I am competently able to responsibly work in any venue with a liquor license. Well, according to the certification in my bag now emblazoned with my name, apparently I have proven that. How, you may ask? And well you may, since I myself am asking the same question.
When one spends seven hours listening to some typical Aussie ocker talk about the do's and don'ts, the can's and can'ts, the ifyoulike's and the notinyourfuckingworstnightmares,d'youknowwhatimean,mate?'s of the whole liquor industry, and then has to answer a quiz on what he's spoken about, then hmm I guess that could be shown as some form of proof. But when the speech of this oratory ocker is interspersed with such subtle and mysterious hints as "Remember that, it'll be in the quiz later" and three different revision periods, during which he essentially asks questions that are later revealed to be verbatim copies of questions from that same quiz, and gets us to answer them as a group so we have an entire set of answers rehearsed in our mind... And furthermore to this, when someone answers a question like "What's the maximum penalty for serving an intoxicated person" with a response like "50 penalty units, which is $5,500" and he corrects them by saying "No, just write $5,500, that's fine"... Well hmm, I don't know about you but I begin to get a certain level of dubiety in exactly how much competency is actually proven by the administration of this test.
Of course, considering I now have that certificate which gives me license to clean up steaming piles of people's vomit and to have my eye gouged out by a pool cue while trying to break up harmless disagreements over the time-honoured male conflict of "Whatthefuckareyoulookingatmotherfucker?", I'm not going to argue with the system. But I do think it's worrying that all you have to do is spew out lines that have been rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed, and then you can (technically, although obviously not legally) sell as many bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label to as many inebriated 15-year-olds as your heart sees fit. And naturally, if you need proof that these people are still responsible servers of alcohol, they have that certificate. Remember, you can't fake that...
Hmmmm
Yes, anyway today was indeed the day I trundled into uni at 9:00 on a Saturday (AM, by the way, I'm not trying to draw the same picture of relaxation and sociability as mister Billy Joel here) in order to spend seven hours supposedly being able to prove that I am competently able to responsibly work in any venue with a liquor license. Well, according to the certification in my bag now emblazoned with my name, apparently I have proven that. How, you may ask? And well you may, since I myself am asking the same question.
When one spends seven hours listening to some typical Aussie ocker talk about the do's and don'ts, the can's and can'ts, the ifyoulike's and the notinyourfuckingworstnightmares,d'youknowwhatimean,mate?'s of the whole liquor industry, and then has to answer a quiz on what he's spoken about, then hmm I guess that could be shown as some form of proof. But when the speech of this oratory ocker is interspersed with such subtle and mysterious hints as "Remember that, it'll be in the quiz later" and three different revision periods, during which he essentially asks questions that are later revealed to be verbatim copies of questions from that same quiz, and gets us to answer them as a group so we have an entire set of answers rehearsed in our mind... And furthermore to this, when someone answers a question like "What's the maximum penalty for serving an intoxicated person" with a response like "50 penalty units, which is $5,500" and he corrects them by saying "No, just write $5,500, that's fine"... Well hmm, I don't know about you but I begin to get a certain level of dubiety in exactly how much competency is actually proven by the administration of this test.
Of course, considering I now have that certificate which gives me license to clean up steaming piles of people's vomit and to have my eye gouged out by a pool cue while trying to break up harmless disagreements over the time-honoured male conflict of "Whatthefuckareyoulookingatmotherfucker?", I'm not going to argue with the system. But I do think it's worrying that all you have to do is spew out lines that have been rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed, and then you can (technically, although obviously not legally) sell as many bottles of Johnnie Walker Black Label to as many inebriated 15-year-olds as your heart sees fit. And naturally, if you need proof that these people are still responsible servers of alcohol, they have that certificate. Remember, you can't fake that...
Hmmmm
posted by Sean's Beard at 11:34 PM
1 Comments:
I have some alcohol that needs to be served responsibly. When are you next visiting the dress circle of New South Wales?
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