You're having a bad day?... Give this a try 4
- Andrew Bloomer
- Feb 5
- 4 min read
Back in 2011 - I was leaving a normal Sunday shift; after 3 years of almost exclusively working Sunday evenings, I had decided as the GM of this site, I would not be working Sunday nights unless absolutely necessary.
Sunday Evenings are jinxed...
On the Sunday in question, around 4pm I pack up my stuff and did my final walk round of the punters when I come across a middle-aged lady. She was dishevelled, maybe even a bit dirty, with an orthotic boot on one leg, carrying a perished plastic bag wearing an eclectic mix of clothing which included a jumper with a wolf on it, shiny tracksuit bottoms and she did not smell the best…
It would also appear that she was partially if not totally deaf; I welcomed her in and after a little bit of basic sign language and shouting we came to an understanding.
She wanted a “PINT OF GROLSCH” and to “EAT SOMETHING”
I served her the pint and left my Australian supervisor in charge of making sure she was served something to eat. I collected my belongings from the office and walked out the pub to enjoy an evening at home with my girlfriend.
She sat at a round table of 8, on her own in the middle of the restaurant. I am touched to see my supervisor looking after the lady. Taking a sample of each of the types of chips (4 in total) we serve on a side plate so she can understand what she can order.
At about 11pm that evening, around closing time, I get a call from the Supervisor, letting me know there’s been a bit of an issue…
The call goes like this, feel free to add in the Ozzie accent for your own pleasure…
ME: Hi Mate, what’s up?
SUP: Hey Mate. Ummm well, it’s a bit difficult to explain but I think that lady who came into the pub this afternoon might not be the full picnic, if you get my drift…
ME: You can’t say that!
SUP: Well, you see she’s s**t herself on one of the chairs in the middle of the bar and then refused to leave…
ME: Ahhhh..
SUP: And seeing as I’m the one doing the scooping with the marigold’s right now, I’ll take my chances!
The phone call wraps up about a minute later with the finality that you might imagine from a supervisor who is a little miffed he’s been left to deal with something like this!
SUP: She was removed and been told she can’t some back
ME: What happened to the chair?
SUP: Well, I tried to throw it in the bin but the KP has fished it out, ripped the cushion off and taken it home
ME: Well at least it’s gone to a good home!
SUP: Yup! Also, Sunday’s can get f**ked
Time moves on quite quickly as only it can in Hospitality and about 3 weeks later I am running a busy brunch service on a Saturday morning. For context, the pub is a large open-plan space and this was the heyday of the brunch-hype so we had probably 70-90 covers seated, waiting for food or gorging on eggs.
Brunch has a hum to it, it’s not like breakfast (almost silence) or dinner (almost deafening) – the sound swells and builds like timpani in an Orchestra so when the service first starts it is quieter and builds to a crescendo. Imagine my surprise to see the same lady from weeks before hobbling into the restaurant.
I am less than impressed and make a beeline for her – and explain that she cannot be here and has to leave. Unfortunately, what happens is the lady becomes very loud and quite insistent that she wants to have a,
“PINT OF GROLSCH”
This does have the unhappy coincidence of being loud and eye catching, it silences the Brunch hum.
What happens next is observed by the whole restaurant as it grinds to a silent halt…
Me; an able-bodied and posh sounding man is escorting a potentially disabled lady, potentially low economic status, potentially vulnerable, definitely incontinent person out of my business.
For those people sat in that pub, at that moment in time in South West London – I looked like Ebenezer Scrooge and Miss Hannigan from Annie all rolled into one.
It was not a good look…in fact, it looked God awful.
However, my resolve was true and the Rubicon was not about to be crossed…
I used myself as a sort of human shield / s**ty bouncer to guide her out of the business and I was having to speak forcefully and loudly. The pub was pin-drop silent and everyone was staring at me, I wanted the ground to swallow me up!
Whilst I don’t necessarily know if I shouted this at her, my voice carries and it had reached it’s own crescendo.
“NO, you have to leave. You’re not allowed in this Pub. You’re barred”
It appeared as a hate crime and having unintelligible language thrown at you by a disabled woman is mortifying for both parties. The pub had 2 sets of glass doors, designed to create a buffer for heat and cold dependant on the weather but they were entirely transparent and NOT sound proof. I managed to convince her through the 1st set of doors and she shouts with some clarity;
“WHY ARE YOU KICKING ME OUT OF YOUR RESTAURANT?”
And I answer in equal tone and volume
“BECAUSE LAST TIME YOU WERE HERE YOU S**T YOURSELF IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PUB”
And I close the external doors on her
I had never witness unplanned synchrony in the wild until that exact moment when every single person looked directly at me, in complete silence, shrugged as if to say ‘Fair Enough’ and ‘Thank You’ and went back to their Eggs Benedict and Pancakes, just as if it was just an ordinary day in Clapham Junction.
Which I guess it was...
The End, for now…
All the best
Goose
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