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Melanie Ho

Jumbo screens may flash proposals, but people don't come to the sevens to ask the Guinness girls for marriage. Phone numbers, sure.
After two hours working as a Guinness girl, I left with a black PVC purse (not a choice - it's part of the uniform) with enough hypothetical dates for all of next week, a random smattering of business cards and a handful of change, proving in fact that:
a) I can't sell beer
b) People don't drink Guinness in the morning, and
c) I should have worn heels.
My boss seemed a little  surprised I didn't returned engaged. Maybe the dress - black, sleeveless, styled similar to straight-cut tennis dress - wasn't short enough. Then again, I was here to sell beer.
Guinness anyone?
Armed with endeavour and zero sales knowledge, I'm told my patch is a zone on the West side concourse. Only experienced girls get to go to the South Stand.
Among the first potential customers is Ivan Torpey. The head of performance at the Hong Kong Rugby Union, breezes by and declines. His boys have just been hammered by Tonga. Forget the sports drinks.
Guinness anyone?
Eventually, a visiting Frenchman in Hawaiian shorts agrees to fork over HK$50 for a pint and I'm in business. The next two  go like hotcakes, but to sell the fourth, I'm forced to convince non-drinking racing driver Ross Jamison to buy a beer for his friend.
The Guinness girls - hawker, I'm told is the official name - are sectioned off into different parts of the stadium, with each  buying four HK$50 pints of beer for HK$190 in total. All this means is that without tips, a Guinness girl would earn HK$10 for every four pints sold. The girls trawl up and down the aisles and only a few shout like they're selling hot dogs at the baseball. All of us, however, step around kids who have yet to develop any sense of peripheral vision.
Guinness anyone?
I sell the next four before the action stalls and it's time for a straw poll. Is it me or Guinness, I ask a few suspects?
'Guinness,' says one.
'Can you send the Pimms girl down?' asks another.
I'll get right on it.
Would I be selling more if I were wearing heels? I step on to my tip-toes and then back down again.
The consensus is yes.
Absolutely everyone is passing through the stadium, including a man who once chided me in Lan Kwai Fong for carrying groceries in a plastic bag, even though he later revealed he owns a SUV. I applaud the  cheek of an 11-year old trying to buy beer and after venturing outside of my allotted section, I'm shooed away by Emily, a manager at Mes Amies, who informs me my services are not needed in her well-supplied section. She thanks me for my co-operation.
Guinness anyone ... please.
'Sorry, come back later because 12:27 is too early to drink Guinness.'
'It's too  heavy,' another offers as an explanation. He follows by taking a bite of a hot dog.
A man visiting from Los Angeles asks if I'm actually a journalist or if this is all just a prank. Smart guy.
Two other guys motion me over to buy beers number 19 and 20.
'Voulez-vous acheter du Guinness?' I ask during the France-Australia game. The boys in berets decline. I take a mini-break to make inquiries about the uniform.
'Do you feel you're at a disadvantage because your dress comes down longer than the other peoples'?' I ask a 'colleague'.
'No,' says one Guinness girl whose dress falls way below her knees.
'So tall people don't sell more?'
Apparently, no one has bothered to poll the issue.
I return from a two-hour stint, having sold 25 pints, which according to the boss Lawrence, isn't so bad. But as I remove the black contraption holding the drinks, a girl says the opposite. 'So little? You're lazy.'
Guinness anyone?
What a pint of the black stuff will set you back at the Sevens: $50



Guinness anyone ... please