Sunday, November 19, 2006

Pulling More Than a Pint.

Bloody Hell, I think. I'm never going to win these bastards over.

There are two types of good barman.

The first is the type who can pour a drink correctly and in a timely fashion. Not the greatest of feats, one would think, but even the briefest research in any city centre drinking emporium will quickly establish what a rarity this is.

The second is the one who can do the above. But can also remember your name, what you do for a living, what you like to drink and when, will remember a snippet of a conversation you were having three nights ago, knows all of his customers, is liked by them, will introduce you to new people with common interests, will give you a few drinks 'on the house' if you nip round and collect some glasses for them and is generally knowledgeable, helpful, and will make you feel happy that you walked into the emporium in the first place. They are Very Rare Indeed.

And as such are Made Guys.

When they go out of an evening, they know everyone. They rarely pay for drinks. They get in all the clubs for free and 'lock-ins' are the norm.

I have been working behind this particular bar for a few nights now. I also live there. It is ten years before now. I know now that these were to be the last of my genuinely carefree days. (This is just an observation. There is a lot to be said for having things to care for and about.)

And I am getting NOWHERE with the regulars. It was an unusual city centre pub in that the bulk of the clientele were regulars. All of whom new each other. But did not know me. And they are not letting me in.

I will never be Made at this rate.

One witticism, one wry observation and I'll have cracked it.

Upon request, I begin pouring someone a pint. Noticing that there is more air than beer reaching the glass, I begin to feel uneasy.

I am on duty alone, and have not been shown how to change a barrel.

I am alone due to rather complicated relationship the landlord and landlady 'enjoy'.

He is Australian.

She is Enormous.

'You know,' she confided in me one afternoon in the kitchen, 'we originally got married just so he could stay in the country.'

Her hand flew up to her mouth and her eyes went wide.

'Goodness. It sounds awful when I say it like that doesn't it?'

I assure her that on the contrary, it sounds like a fairy tale and she seems content.

A person will believe anything if they need to badly enough.

Anyway. They had one of their periodic rows and she'd gone to visit her parents in Devon, and he had gone into a sulk.

I apologize to my customer, secure in the knowledge that he will now not be putting my name forward and dash to the flat upstairs whilst still pondering my strategy for conversational gold.

The living-room door is shut. This is odd. Landlord and Landlady always keep it open. I try the handle. It is locked. Very strange.

I bang on the door.

After a moment Landlord opens it, looking flustered. Well. He was probably a bit surprised.

Actually, I think to myself in the space of a few milliseconds, he looks a bit red in the face as well. And a bit sweaty.

I cannot see the television, but can hear it.

Of course. He has been working out to one of those exercise videos, I think.

Whilst fully clothed.

It must be a particularly energetic routine, because the unseen woman I would suppose to be presenting it is panting and wailing fit to burst.

This, I also think, will explain why he is clutching a rather damp-looking towel. At waist height.

I am then rather surprised to hear a deep, male, guttural German voice emanating from the unseen television:

'Aah YEEZZZ. Thass iz GUUUUDDDD!'

Rather puzzled by the whole thing, I explain the non-beer situation and return to my duties.

Beer duly arrives, and Landlord returns to his abode.

I am still puzzling over how to win the acknowledgement of my clientele. I mean. One Funny Story would do it.


***********************************************************************************


I am quite slow about this sort of thing.

It all hit home after about five minutes.

I never bought a drink again.

But did have to suffer numerous drinking sessions with Landlord (he always paid) who would inform me in some depth quite how much he 'loved his wife'.

Who? Free Willy? You'd fucking have to, I thought. But did not say it. He had just given me his Sega Megadrive after all.

24 Comments:

Anonymous energyturtle said...

WOW

www.energyturtle.com

12:01 am  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Good God Turtle Person. I'm still correcting the syntax.

12:05 am  
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2:03 am  
Blogger Cynnie said...

Hmm..
remind me to tell you about the time I walked in on 350 lb Jamie ( a post operation shemale)
giving head to a 17 year old stock boy at our local walmart.
It's a knee slapper

11:13 am  
Blogger Cynnie said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

11:13 am  
Anonymous Dave said...

'Aah YEEZZZ. Thass iz GUUUUDDDD

Been waiting for days for the story. Thanks for the release...

2:02 pm  
Blogger looby said...

Hee hee - yes, sehr gut!

9:24 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Anon: Fuck me this sounds ACE! Where do I sign?

C: Do not tell ever. At least not here. This will not be one of those blogs where the comments are better than the posts. Shit. No. That's already happened more than once hasn't it? Fuck. Ok. Do tell.

Dave: Welcome and thanks. Although I may have to put you on the naughty step with Mr_Glide and indeed myself when it comes to piss-poor innuendo.

looby: Welcome back. I am concerned about your recreational viewing habits.

9:57 pm  
Blogger Pickled Olives said...

I love that it took about 5 min for his actions to register. it's refreshing to hear you were not jaded as a young adult.

It's sweet in a way.

2:04 am  
Blogger Amanda said...

:0) Glad you told us!!!

11:33 am  
Blogger pocketpunk said...

were all the regulars asking for a good head or no head

1:20 pm  
Blogger mr_glide said...

Well done, you've pulled that off spectacularly.

Don't worry, I already have my coat on.

6:09 pm  
Blogger FOUR DINNERS said...

yer made me laugh. ta. Borrowed a tenner off a barman when I was 20 and said I'd pay it back Friday. Never made it in. Went in Sunday to pay him back and he'd died of a sudden heart attack. I put a fiver in his collection.

8:46 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

PO: Not un-jaded as such. Just slow.

A: Good good.

PP: Oh dear. You're not a patch on M_G

M_G: For reasons unclear, that made me laugh. Out load (is there any other way? Do these internet folk know something I don't?)

Dinners: Sounds like you need a chuckle. And what is one death when it saves you a fiver?

11:32 pm  
Blogger * (asterisk) said...

Oh that's an embarrassing situation for him, but wonderfully profitable for you. Way to go, TD.

9:20 am  
Blogger Rachel said...

People really will believe what they need to - a sad, sad human truth.

As always, funny and spot on [and that really IS the truth. No really].

12:46 pm  
Blogger mr_glide said...

The internet knows EVERYTHING.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=silent+laughing

1:09 pm  
Blogger Clarissa said...

I don't get it.

*kidding*

8:33 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

*: He could of just pressed 'pause'. Still puzzled about it. But it gave me my much needed Funny Story and I became a Made Guy.

Rachel: You are not sounding too good. But thank you.

M_G: You have too much time on your hands.

Clarissa: Oh dear.

9:29 pm  
Blogger Lee said...

How nice of god to send you a miracle like that...

12:17 pm  
Blogger mr_glide said...

That much is true. I am deathly bored at present. Work currently holds little interest.

12:03 pm  
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