As you could probably guess this quickly spirals into a feeling of dread and without fail delivers me into an exceedingly bad mood. Unfortunately through no fault of her own my lovely lady bares the brunt of this display with child like tantrums such as crashing and banging on the way to the toilet or turning my computer on as loudly as possible.
Anyway, on this particular sunday morning I was hanging so badly I couldn't move. The day was growing older and I showed no signs of recuperating my sanity. The familiar nag of work was chiming with colossal bell tolls. One thing for it, I thought. Jump up get to the shop without any messing around... bacon, eggs, extra thick toast and a can of coke! It s was coming together like a plan from a John Hughes film and I began to pull the reams of cotton wool from between my ears and assemble some sort of order to my person.
As the hours flew by I was shocked at how short lived this seemingly dreadful hangover had been. An hour before work and I was jumping round like spring heeled jack looking forward to going to work to treat customers how they treat me and my fellow colleagues.
4pm... I arrived with big smiles on my face greeted by equally happy regulars and colleagues. There is no nicer occasion to host on a bank holiday sunday than a christening. What was to come next was unprecedented and to lead me into possibly the foulest of moods ever witnessed by anyone... ever.
10 blokes entered. "You do Carlin' mateh?" mateh? I thought that was a fucking bubble bath you moron! "No mate sorry." I replied knowing he was gonna ask for some equally appalling plebeian drink.
"Well what lager's you do?"
I had to answer in the most nonchalant way because it is a question that is asked 10 times a day. I get so sick of people not using their eyes to look. It really doesn't take long to survey what is on offer at a bar. These cretins clearly had no brain and wanted someone else to do the thinking for them.
"4 Fosters mateh." Do i look like a fucking baby in a fucking sailor's outfit? Come on!
"No problem"
The beer began flowing and with it the volume, language and a lack of respect for any living thing. They were boasting about fights had recently and showing off war wounds. It was hideous... I have never met a group of blokes that were all striving so hard to be the alpha male of the group. It was frightening, you only see this sort of thing with a David Attenborough narration over the top. They grew in numbers and the volume ever increased. It was piercing, deafening at some points. Where the fuck is the Tony? This was the one time I wanted to see Dennis Hopper's dopple ganger. I would have told them all to fuck off but I was beginning to regress into a state of supreme delicacy, my hangover was back and all thanks goes to this bunch of bellends!
By the time Dennis showed they were about thirty strong and had driven the Christeners out. Straight on the phone he was... name dropping Leicester's elite in scum bags to try and ward these scroats off. It was frankly a pathetic attempt at looking macho. There is one fundamental flaw Dennis... if they don't know the people you are talking about it won't make them think twice you fool! besides, the only measure he actually employed to rid us of these truly awful people was to ask us bar staff not to serve them. Not really the action I wanted taken, he could have showed a little more authority.
One of them approached the bar. "4 Carlin' mateh." 1, I have already explained to you that we don't do fucking carlin' and 2, i ain't your fucking matey!
"Sorry mate, can't serve you anymore." I had to bring my vocal tone down to his just so he would understand. This one was particularly vile. He wore 'Superdry' and thought he was cool. He had obviously been on the sunbed and his face contorted as a result of his relentless bullshit laughter.
"what? what you mean you can't serve meh?" I mean I cannot serve you. what is hard to understand about that, retard!
"Ah that is well out of order. listen yeah, not being funny" textbook way of opening a sentence when you cannot articulate yourself. "How much money have all of us put over the bar? loads yeah, and now you are chucking us out. You're gonna lose loadsa trade without us!" Fuck off mate, you ain't worth shit. like you are single handedly keeping this bar open. In case you hadn't noticed we are the busiest bar on the strip.
it's comments like this that can tip me over the edge. How dare he assume that you are worthy of any floor space in this fine establishment amongst tasteful members of the public.
In short... FUCK OFF!!!
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