Sunday, August 12, 2007

The Last Chance

Seriously. I know I’ve mentioned my local Emporium of Alcoholic Beverages before, but FUCK ME.

I occasionally frequent for two reasons.

1: It is situated one minute and thirty seconds walk away from my current abode.

2: The clientele are so uniformly appalling. It’s like a zoo or something. But a zoo full of people who can’t wait for the next film starring Jason Streathem. It’s like they’ve rounded-up all the twats and put them in one place so that Normal People can avoid them. I have to look. On occasion.

I HATE The Last Chance. It is a horrible place. But on the odd time I frequent, I always walk away feeling better. You know. About myself. Because I’m a prick, and think that mingling with the underclass secure in the knowledge that they’ve never read the Guardian makes me better than them. It doesn't.

Tonight.

I’ve mentioned Imaginary High School Friend I feel sure. He lives across the street from me. I am not convinced that he isn’t stalking me.

I bump into him. He insists we drink together. I have ABSOLUTELY nothing better to do. We retire to The Last Chance.

The following events occur:

1: A random woman informs me that ‘Steve’ got the job. Great. I do not know anyone called Steve.

2: A man I have never met insists I am ‘staring him out’ and attempts to head-butt me, fails terribly and falls to the floor. Apparently this means I am ‘queer’. According to him.

3: A Very Large Man also insists that I went to high-school with him. I’ve no idea who he is. He doesn’t seem to mind. But insists upon shouting my name a lot.

4: I ask my ‘friend’ – the one I apparently went to high school with for several years without realising – who a guy I faintly recognize is. It transpires that said guy is the biggest coke dealer in this small town.

5: Coke Dealer and Very Large Man retire to the car park for the world’s quickest cigarette and Very Large Man goes straight to the Gents afterwards .He probably needed a wee after his two-second cigarette. He was very chatty afterwards though – that cigarette perked him up no end.

6: Very Large Man, whilst reminding me of the non-existant fun we had at high-school – where we never met – randomly thinks this would be the perfect time to take his shirt off. So we could see his tan. And the fact he’d had his back waxed. In the pub.

I’ve had a busy week. I finish my drink and go home.

18 Comments:

Blogger thinkpink said...

Sounds like a lovely night out!!

12:09 am  
Blogger xx Lulu xx said...

Wow, sounds like Nesbits R Us!

11:00 am  
Blogger Misssy M said...

The older I get the more I think the whole idea of pubs is bizarre. Crap booze, full of nutters and usually a bit stinky. Why bother?

I nearly got beaten up by a larger lady in one a month ago. (See the blog for full details, "Fight Club" post)and haven't been in to one since.

11:49 am  
Blogger Peach said...

ugh, such humour you found in such a dire place

come to my local, it's cool!

11:51 am  
Anonymous Kaija said...

My pals and I refer to those as "dirtball nights." Part of the charm of being able and willing to socialize along a wide (and sometimes appalling) continuum is feeling out where the edges are...the lines in the sand, so to speak, that you call the limits.

That being said, sounds like quite an entertaining night!

1:53 pm  
Blogger mr_glide said...

Christ, you sure can pick 'em. Cunts to be bothered by, i mean.

Having said that, on my quite unwanted MySpace profile, some objectionable div called DJ Perfection keeps emailing me with a request to 'drop some dope lyrics on his ass'. I am not into this sort of thing.

3:59 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Pink: It was far from ideal.

Lulu: Not even that sophisticated.

Missy: I'm beginning to think you are right.

Peach: I'm sure.

Kaija: I'd rather the line were miles away now.

m_g: I'm with you on that.

8:05 pm  
Blogger bittersweet me said...

at least it wasn't QUIZ night

8:56 pm  
Blogger fwengebola said...

Where can I get these cigarettes?

10:16 pm  
Blogger Mr Farty said...

I'm a prick too. I shop at Asda because I want to feel beautiful. Compared to the retards I meet there, I do.

11:38 pm  
Anonymous Emily said...

Fuck that colleague of yours, you have stolen my life. I'm always the one approached by people who are convinced that they know me. And they're always so offended when I deny it.

It's not like I'm Ms Average - I've got a big fuck-off septum piercing and no hair.

I have a large tattoo depicting a 6th-century Welsh monument.

Perhaps there's a town somewhere where everyone looks just like me...

4:24 pm  
Blogger Clarissa said...

He had his back waxed in the pub! That's a lot of service for the local.

9:21 pm  
Blogger Beth said...

Still. Good news about Steve though?

10:19 pm  
Blogger Brennig said...

Damn! Clarissa stole my line.
:-)

But this sounds like an interesting and stimulating evening in the company of one's peers. Maybe not.

The only thing missing is Sky Sports on large plasma screens every 20 feet.

10:40 pm  
Blogger FOUR DINNERS said...

my kind of place! where is it? I must pay it a visit.

5:43 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Me: I know better than to walk in there when there is a heated argument taking place about the registration number of the Starship Enterprise. ('Which series/film' etc. Jesus. It comes to blows.)

Fwen: I don't know but apparently they are terribly expensive and give you a bit of a snuffle.

Farty: I often wonder who the bigger twat is - us for thinking we're above it or them for being cunts.

Emily: Welcome. Didn't we go to high-school together?

Clarissa: Very good.

Beth: I was delighted that anyone there knew someone who had a job.

Brennig: It's the sort of place that ASPIRES to the plasmas.

Dinners: Glad you're feeling better.

8:06 pm  
Blogger tea and cake said...

Bring back smoking in pubs, I say!
At least it stops the smell of b.o., urine from the latrines, and that man can share his quick fag with everyone.

11:14 pm  
Blogger Tired Dad said...

Tea: It is true. When pubs stank of smoke they were bearable. Now they stink of the high-school disco. And it is not good. Oh. And believe me. you wouldn't want to be sharing anything much with the gentleman in question, unless it is the accomodation at Her Majesty's pleasure he shall be enjoying at the end of the month. This is true.

9:37 pm  

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