Friday, March 25, 2005

I hate my local

As a rule, I love pubs...

I mean why wouldn't I? I like to drink, I like to socialise.

You'd think that living a short walk from one of the most popular pubs in Perth would have me in my element... you'd be wrong.

I hate my local. Last night I was reminded why I only go there about once every three months.

I get the distinct impression that most of the pretty young girlies who 'work' (term used begrudgingly) behind the bar think they're there to be seen. Serving drinks is of secondary importance.

At one point last night I, along with an attractive young pommy lass, seemed to wait for an eternity before getting served. We had enough time to strike up quite a conversation... actually we took our relationship from the 'complete stranger phase' to the 'good friend phase', before either of us even looked like getting served. Just when I thought the service couldn't get any worse the 'bitch from hell bar-wench' served the guy standing behind me... not beside me, not in front of me, he was not even at the fuck'n bar! The 'camel's back' was broken, so I gave her a piece of my mind (not a big piece, there's not too much left).

After finally getting my drink I went to head back into the beer garden where my friends were. I was gone so long that there was now a 'bouncer' stationed at the door leading to the beer garden (apparently there is a strict limit as to how many people are allowed to drink out the front) and he wouldn't let me through. Well I was already fired up, so I let him have it too.

"No wonder I hardly ever come to this fuck'n hell hole! I live down the road, it takes longer to get served at the fuck'n bar than it does to walk here! And now you're not letting me through a fuck'n doorway to go back to where I've been drinking all night, you've got to be fuck'n joking!"

I fully expected to get booted out for my outburst, but I think the guy was genuinely scared of me.

Other than that minor incident, it wasn't a bad night. I caught up with a few guys that I went to high school with and shamelessly flirted with Harro's sister's friend.

I knocked back the offer of a shared cab ride into Freo to go to Metro's or the Clink, I mean I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk...

Instead I walked home, and filled with the joy of Easter, I heated and greedily scoffed down half a dozen hot cross buns with lashings of melted butter... what a piggy I am.

Today it's lunch with the folks. Dad's got ten kilos of yabbies (sort of a cross between a prawn and a lobster for non-Perth readers) so I'm actually looking forward to it... mmmmm seafood.

In other news, I've all but given up on Top 5 Tennis with Kim, but I love my top 5 lists, so I'll probably devise another game, maybe involving the comments section, I'll keep you posted.


Listening to: Art of Fighting - Second Storey

2 Comments:

At 6:00 pm, Blogger bob francisco said...

waiting at a bar for that long is one of my pet hates. Its like the bar staff are just staring through you.

Ive got a theory about why it sometimes happens; bar staff will each cover a certain area of the bar, their territory if you will, and they wont serve anyone out of that range. So if you're standing right on the border between 2 staffs territories then each of them will ignore you, leaving you for their colleague to serve.

At other times its just plain lazy-ass ignorance, and it gets my goat, though usually im a patient fella.

bob.

 
At 9:34 pm, Blogger Melina said...

Your local bar sounds like a nightmare. I can completely relate to the minor flip outs on all the bar staff. The old bars in college were much like that and I flipped on a regular basis.
My bar is heaven, the bartenders are all older men and they dote on me. I walk into the door, they kick men out of the barstools so that I have a place to sit and my beer is waiting for me by the time I get my coat off.

 

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