Proposals, tears and flying pies: my life behind the bar on football’s concourses | Honor Pullman
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From the Den to Old Trafford, via Craven Cottage and the Emirates, I saw it all during my years pulling pints for fans. I was 17 when I started working at football grounds for some extra cash on the weekends. As the youngest of three girls, I could easily have followed my older sisters into a Saturday job at a local cafe. Instead, I signed away my life (and social life) to a hospitality agency, in exchange for a tenner an hour, flexible shifts and a variety of unflattering uniforms.
![[Millwall fans support their team at the Den.]](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/028b777f3c6cf3ed759f3e4a14d864d498828e51/91_0_4273_2566/master/4273.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none&crop=none)
As a diehard Hull City fan, I was no stranger to the concourse, but I wasn’t prepared for the trials and tribulations of working in them. From Millwall to Manchester, I’ve seen it all – proposals, tears (mainly my own) and flying pies. In a baptism of fire, I was thrown into the Lions’ den (literally) when my first shift behind the bar was at Millwall. My attempts to make conversation with the other teenagers lining up at the staff entrance were futile; they were the first team and I felt like the wide-eyed apprentice. Like a line of children on a school trip, we snaked around the stadium, allocated to kiosks by a woman in hi-vis armed with a clipboard.
![[Honor Pullman.]](https://i.guim.co.uk/img/media/670bf34ff4daf92c7c4f6b63b3831ed58ec987ac/0_344_1200_952/master/1200.jpg?width=445&dpr=1&s=none&crop=none)
I felt out of my depth, sweaty and embarrassingly overdressed; my patent school shoes were literally shining out among the sea of Nike trainers. I had no idea what to expect, or what to do, but it became obvious when the kiosk contained only plastic cups, three Carlsberg taps and some Twix.
Up until then, my only experience with Millwall fans had been when I donned my black and amber scarf in the away end, understandably not receiving the warmest welcome. Despite their reputation, the fans were polite. I even had a regular who proposed to me on several occasions, but I wasn’t convinced that 60-year-old toothless Steve and I were the best match. Another memorable encounter was when two blond American women asked whether we sold seltzer. I gestured around my kiosk and replied: “What do you think?”.
