Three bed wetters and a tomato

subtle eh

When did the hard assed people of Belfast turn into a bunch of weenie whinny bed wetters? I'm not being rhetorical by the way, I want to know.....

It seems I'm spending most of my time wiping the moist eyes of fully grown adults who should know bloody better. For example there was a guy on Saturday who threw a major league tantrum because he thought the waiter was ignoring him. He wanted to see the manager, who at this point was shoulder deep inside an over flowing toilet. I figured that if I went into get him we would end up swapping places. No thank you very much. So I took off my apron and assumed the role of Glorious Leader for a moment. The gent was near in tears, I could actually see them building in the corners of his eyes, actual tears! Mother of all that is Sacred!

It took me a good five minutes to assure him that he wasn't being ignored. He had settled his bill and was finishing his drink, why would the waiter go back to him? In the ned I had to get him a taxi home, open the door of the taxi, put him in the taxi and wave him off just to reassure his ego that we all deeply love him and would never ignore him. Little did i know he was just the first of a night of bed wetters.....


Then there was the other bed wetter extraordinaire who asked me to change his steak as there was a grilled tomato on his plate.

What?

"Yeah I don't eat tomato, don't like them. Never have done, they taste yuk."

He actually said yuk. This fully grown, professional looking, man of about 40 maybe 45 years old said tomatoes are, "YUK". I was tempted to ask if they made him sicky in his tum tum. But I didn't.

So you want a new steak?

"Eh yeah...it's just the tomato....."

K....eh I'll see what the chef says. He'll probably just take the tomato off though.

He looked really upset, I mean it must have been a great relief to him that he had his wife with there to help him through this damn difficult time. She held his hand across the table as I spoke to him they way someone would as if they knew their friend was about to get bad news.

Good grief.

tomatoes don't kill people
waiters do

Clearly the plate didn't even make it to the chef. One tomato-echtomy and a plate change later and the plate was back at the crestfallen man's table again. Tomatoes, and I should declare I'm no expert, are very unlikely to move about on your plate of their own accord. I mean if you wanted to avoid a tomato on your plate it wouldn't be so hard. It's not like an unwanted sauce that oozes it's way around your plate covering all in it's creamy path. This incident saddened me some what. But worse was still to follow....


Stereotype or not Irishmen and men from Belfast who may not consider themselves to be Irish have an ability to drink alcohol in large quantities. We, I say we but I really don't count, know our way around a bar, we know the required etiquette such as ordering Guinness before other drinks. We know that we need to order our drinks quickly or we lose our turn, it's not like ordering food were a certain amount of humming and haaaa'ing is expected. We know what happens if we get a bad pint, the nice bar man changes it. If we spill some punters pint we buy them another before we get our teeth kicked in. We know these things, we aren't taught them, we just know them, or so I thought.

Bed wetter the third was a go-get-em slick professional type, would have been called a yuppie in the 90's, you know the sort. He came to the bar, ordered a vodka, got said vodka, paid for said vodka, end of transaction. It should he noted he only bought one drink which means he is a tight git or has no mates. I reserve judgement. Ten minutes later the doorman is looking for the Glorious Leader, who was still up to his shoulder in blocked toilet. I retrieved him. Bed wetter the third had run to the doorman looking for satisfaction as his drink had been spilt and the bar staff wouldn't get him another one on the house and was now demanding to see the manager.

Good grief, again.

The Glorious Leader wasn't having any of it. BW III was getting shirty and demanding another drink.

"But why should we, we never spilt your drink?" Countered the GL

"But my hands never touched it!" he answered.

"My hands never touched it"? Good Holy Fuckwalla! Now all he needed to do was to stick out his bottom lip, stamp his foot, and claim his sister had done it and he would have been just like me, when I was five that is.

Negotiations went on for a further five minutes until the GL realised he still had an over flowing crapper to deal with. He took BW III to the bar, got him his drink and insisted he hold it with two hands this time. Well I laughed, hard......

Men of Belfast, what has happened to you? Grow an fucking set again will ya? Tomato never killed anyone, if you spill you drink get the fuck over it and just buy another, and if you want another drink just bloody say so. I'm embarrassed for you, you're turning us into the English......

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