So I was in work tonight, pulling pints of lovely Real Ale (we have six on at any one time) when this, what can only be described as, youth (bare in mind I am no old aged pensioner at 25) walked in and asked if we had Fosters. “No, if you took a moment to look at the pumps you will find we don’t have Fosters”.
“Carling?” Comes the reply
“Well yes, perhaps if you opened your eyes and looked precisely 5 inches in front of your stupid face you would see the pump”.
“Five pints of that then”
And lo, in come his four towny mates. They stand by the bar, effing and blinding like its an American frontier town with Lovejoy behind the bar, until they are refused service on account of their inebriated state and are politely asked to leave by the gert big Mackham I work with.
Sometimes I really do despair. Bad beer, bad taste in company and terrible language in front of people who had asked them several times to keep their language in check. I use bad language frequently but I don’t in front of people I do not know, or am not friends with, as it is just downright disrespectful (my Grandmother would say it is disrespectful anyway and she’d be right).
