No More Mister Nice Guy

With the current namby-pamby state of affairs in today’s society, it seems to be the vogue to describe everyone as “customers”, even in doctors’ surgeries (although I strongly suspect that in many areas, especially retail, the use of another “c word” is more prevalent…).

However, in true British style, there are areas of British life still conducting a staunch fight against this “customer is king” culture; instead showing a refreshingly honest and common sense attitude to this. Like wonderfully eccentric pubs who ‘gently’ educate their beloved patrons in bar etiquette.

“News flash: You are not next. You might have been in the bar queue longer than anyone else but that doesn’t mean you are next,” warning drinkers against waving money or clicking fingers to get served. In this age of corporate coddling and passive-aggression, how refreshing to be treated like a grown-up who can take a little plain talking.

“Hot Girls Get Served First” – extremely relevant, and as I don’t happen to be a hot girl, one stipulation which I experience regularly. And there are, however, some rules that also deserve less sympathy.

What about Eddie, the regular who always gets served before you do. Many will feel that he’s welcome to keep his local to himself. But in an age where we’re constantly told that companies wish to cater to everyone’s’ wishes, I still find this bloody annoying. Others drink here as well, Eds, so get fucked, boyo.

You might think that perhaps Eds has earned his place at your local pub, “The Bishops’ Foreskin.” After all, these places are about far more than purchasing drinks. It’s where we meet, talk, argue and share hours with neighbours, loved ones and the odd stranger and weirdo. Or, in Derby, the many. So let’s have some parity here.

And if this argument doesn’t convince you, consider this: restaurants such as Chinatown’s Wong Kei or US bar chain Dick’s have gained international acclaim for “surly” or “quite nasty” service. Perhaps “The Bishops’ Foreskin” is Britain’s rather good entrant in an international game of rudeness.

So there we go. And if you don’t like what you’ve read here – bite me. I don’t give a shit.






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