Don't see it as being a waitress; see it as being an anthropologist

Busking on the medieval streets of Ghent isn't quite as financially rewarding as I had imagined, and so I've taken a job in a bar to 'top it up' — where they have tricked me into being a waitress against my will. Oh god. Am world's best barmaid but world's worst waitress. It's going to be a nightmare.

"It's going to be a nightmare," says my new boss. "Because the Champions' League football is on."

I sigh. I don't tell him that once upon a time I was an art director for Champions' League football. I don't think he'd give a shit, somehow. He needs someone who can carry vast trays of beer; not someone who can waffle on for half an hour about one font.

"Don't worry," says my friend Cathy, who works for the Samaritans and always says the right thing on the phone. "Think of this job as the perfect role for observing people in. Don't see it as being a waitress; see it as being an anthropologist!"

This is a brilliant idea. I thank Cathy for her encouragement and feel better about things.

On my first day as an anthropologist I drop a fish pie on the restaurant floor. On my second day as an anthropologist I give all my customers the wrong change by mistake. "Sorry," I keep mumbling. "I'm from Ireland so I'm not used to the euro..." (Um, what?). On my third day as an anthropologist I offend a woman by telling her she looks like a potato. "As drunk as a potato! I meant you look as drunk as a potato!" I say in a panic, trying to correct the Flemish phrase I'd just cocked up and not making things any better for either of us.

And yet, somehow, I make more tips in three shifts than I do in an entire week of busking. Sacre bleu! Could it be that these people actually prefer having drinks spilled on them to listening to me play Man on the Moon over and over again on Veldstraat?

I am shaking my head slowly in disbelief.