Today, after being approached by a stranger in the beer garden of a random bar…
Her: “You look like Jesus.”
Me: “Is it the aviators?”
Her: “….”
Today, after being approached by a stranger in the beer garden of a random bar…
Her: “You look like Jesus.”
Me: “Is it the aviators?”
Her: “….”
Every time I go to the bathroom in one of my favourite local bars I look up at the plaster repair job above the urinal and can’t help but feel I’m being watched.
So I was sitting at a bar, minding my own business, when suddenly a random guy appeared out of nowhere and took the seat immediately to my right. Which I found somewhat peculiar because I was sitting alone in a booth.
He was completely unremarkable in every way and, as I was completely immersed in my drinking/writing, I paid him no mind.
At least I tried to.
[SPOILERS BELOW]
.
.
.
.
.
The correct answer is:
Bonus question: How many pints in my bloodstream?
6. The answer is 6.
The group of late 20-something women sitting three tables over from me are drowning out the conversation I’m trying to have and the music the venue is playing with their autistic screeching about the Kardashians.
Kardashians. Autistic screeching.
I’m thinking there may be a correlation.
I can’t stand children in bars/pubs.
I see every single one of these little brats as a Veruca Salt or Joffrey goddamn Baratheon. Constantly demanding attention, climbing over the furniture, hanging from the bar, ignoring spacial boundaries, generally getting in the way.
Fuck.
It’s bad enough when adults do it.
It’s 3:00pm on a Saturday afternoon and I find myself sharing a bar with a group of people celebrating their Primary School reunion. Which is apparently a thing people do. They all appear to be in their late 40’s/early 50’s and they’re all completely wrecked. Endless waves of Sambuca shots chased by pints of beer will do that to a person.
Because I’m totes sneaky and am always on the lookout for prime blog fodder I accidentally overhear the following quotes which, without the context of 40 years plus of shared experience, all sound somewhat deranged.
Christ. What a grim indictment on our society that the charity tin sitting on the bar needs to be chained and padlocked to the goddamn beer taps.
Or, from a slightly more abstract viewpoint, perhaps this image exemplifies how our collective hope is intrinsically tethered to beer?