So somehow in life I’ve ended up as a bartender and it’s a living as the term goes. Basically I pour people pints and nod as they talk about beers being ‘craft’ or ‘hoppy’ (all beers contain hops, it’s a bloody stupid phrase). I’m no connoisseur and work for a chain pub but I do get to meet a varied cross section of society on a daily basis. Now I can put forth enough knowledge to not appear a complete dunce or at least I hope that is the case. In truth it keeps a roof over my head and it’s an easy job if you can deal with the unsociable hours.
Now this post is all about a situation I found myself last month which I thought only happens in fiction, or rather that imagined ideal of what a traditional bar should be. Now I’m sadly not talking about George Orwell’s ‘the Moon Under Water’ but more the ‘Long Branch Saloon’ circa 1879 or at least the ending was.
Well I looked up from closing down the bar to see a customer I recognised. This man, let’s call him Dave although outwardly a regular guy you’d see on any British street and would probably avoid has one notable claim to fame in that he has just been released from prison for previously assaulting a man he found in bed with his ex girlfriend, well its more how he assaulted the man that is memorable. Now many people tell stories about ‘kneecapping’ other people and pretending that they are everything your mother warned you to avoid in pleasant company. From all I have been able to gather Dave is the real deal as when he relates his crime of passion he states that he used the first thing which came to hand to assault the man mid coitus which just so happened to be a tin of refried beans. Dave doesn’t have much imagination and to embellish his story with this detail would be well beyond his scope. But he has always been polite to me, so I stick with the mantra of ‘there but for the grace of God go I’.
Now Dave was with a very slight man, dressed in a suit who looked completely out of his depth. After the customery nods and hellos this man steps forward (I’ll call him Jerry) and offers to buy a round for the whole bar. I was taken aback, there were about thirty other people still in the bar at this point and I asked Jerry if he was sure. To which Jerry began to claim that it was his birthday and that he was already retired by his mid twenties and money was not an issue. He claimed to be a very well off gentleman, well into being a millionaire and that he was in town as part of a business venture to buy out Mothercare. Well not one to look a gift horse in the mouth I began taking orders, even with my doubts to his real financial state if his card payment went though I would happily play the role of the barman and dutifully did my part. The round came to well over £100, and that is with a few extra drinks added on for both stocks and the bar staff. Well Jerry’s bank authorised the payment so now I could cross seeing a ‘round for the whole damn place’ as Tracy Byrd puts it off my bucket list. In fact Jerry tried to buy another round later on but I had to refuse as we were closing up.
Sadly this memorable event does not have an overly happy ending. In trying to find another bar to drink in after mine was closed I informed Jerry that some other late night drinking establishments may be a little rough for his tastes. His response was to say that he was an ex member of her Majesties Royal Parachute Regiment, this did not seem probable in fact I’d have placed money on the fact that he was lying but I don’t know enough about the armed forces to call him out and quiet frankly did not have the want to. I tried to be kind and make them call it a night as this poor fool had already taxed his credit card and he had some how ended up drinking with a man known predominately for class-A drug use and beating people with tinned goods. Now Dave and Jerry kept making plans and decided on getting a taxi to the nearest city which had a casino. I was invited along but declined for three reasons firstly I had to close the bar, secondly I had already decided Jerry was a liar and ultimately Dave scares the shit out of me. Well they ordered a cab and jumped in with their bottles of bubbly, I waved goodbye and then quickly locked the front doors.
I saw Dave tonight which prompted me to write this post, I’ve never seen Jerry since and all Dave said in passing when I enquired if he won at the casino was with a blank look on his face and no emotion bar a slight tinge of sadness was ‘He lied to me’. I had no idea how to respond to that and quickly found a table to clear at the other end of the bar. I have no idea what the moral of my tale is, if it even has one but it is all true and I did most definitely enjoy my bottles of Duvel curtesy of Jerry.
