Taking on the Toastie Bar

Getting to the Baptist Church at around 10pm, I met a crew of brave, feisty individuals from CU before splitting up our tasks. Not wanting to spend my night buttering bread in the kitchen, I jumped on the job of handing out toasties and advertising outside the Union, and I won’t lie, I was just really looking forward to wearing the giant foam sandwich costume – a huge part of the reason I volunteered in the first place. But alas, it was out of commission for the night after being attacked the previous week by a vicious pack of students (you know who you are…) with a voracious appetite for foam, so the costume had several large bite-sized chunks taken out of it. You know, standard St Andrews.

After munching on a couple of free toasties (come at me bro!), the Toastie Bar opened its cheap, yummy doors. Even though business didn’t pick up for a couple of hours, we had a steady stream of customers, which meant that there were plenty of toasties to deliver. Before that night, I’d been completely schnackered every time I went to indulge in delicious toasties, and being there completely sober, though strange, was an amusing experience. After all, there is nothing better than seeing the joy on the face of someone who is completely schwasted when they receive their piping hot Abomination.

There is a point in every Toastie experience when someone is schnackered enough to start playing the piano and singing Beatles songs at the top of their lungs. That night, I am proud to say that those drunken people were indeed acquaintances of mine. Like I’ve said, it was weird being the sober one in all of this.

After an hour or so of delivery duty, I set off with some fellow volunteers to brave the cold and advertise. You get all sorts of reactions when you tell people that their favourite toastie joint is open for the night. There is the inebriated, “ehmahgawd, I love toasties! 50p!!! Let me hug you!!!!!!!” reaction, a personal favourite when I myself have bumped into Giant Toastie. Then there are the, “I’m-too-good-for-a-50p-toastie” people, who swanned pass us on their way to Empire or Dervish. Or maybe you were that guy who told me to do some very naughty things to myself, walking off with a very drunk cow-onesied person, for what I am sure was an unforgettable night.

The biggest rush of the night was twenty minutes before the 2am close, when a hoard of people descended upon us, fearful that they’d miss out on the biggest perk of a StA Friday night.

It took a full hour to clean up – you can’t imagine how long it takes to scrub all those melted-cheese machines – but my fellow volunteers and the free toasties made the experience worth it.

Would I work the Toastie Bar again? Maybe… Depends on when they get that costume back into commission. 

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