Saturday, 13 November 2010

On why it's tough being a barman

Regular readers of my whines will already know that I work in a bar as a barman and table monkey, and that I complain about it a lot, although I do enjoy it. It's easy money and sometimes fun. There sure are a lot of idiots though. The majority of people that patronise my workplace are probably intelligent folk, but the general lack of common sense displayed on a daily basis here never fails to baffle me.

Today, whilst despairing over the dumbness of people, I decided to compile a list of the most common idiots and idiotic doings (if you're one of the idiots in question, I mean no offence, but you ARE an idiot). Here goes:

- If there are four or five of you, and for some reason you choose a table with a surface area of less than 1 sqm and then order food, basic physics dictate that that table is not going to accommodate four drinks, four plates, your laptops and your elbows, all at once. When I come over with your meals in my hands, the logical thing would be to put your laptops away so I have space to place your grub. When I stand there holding your plates, I'm not doing it because I want you to eat from my hands, and I'm really not sure what you're expecting when you look at me blankly and don't comprehend why I don't serve your meals. If I have to ask you to make space, you are an idiot. I hope the food burns your mouth, except it won't because by the time you've realised that our tables aren't magic, it will have cooled down.

- People who sit down at a table, look at the menu, call me over, and then begin looking at the menu again, deciding what you want. Here's a tip for you - decide what you want, then call me over. That way, I don't immediately dislike you, and I don't look like a fucking chump standing there while you make your decision

- I have no problems with table service when possible - that's my job - but if it's busy and you haven't been served fast enough for your liking, feel free to come over to the bar and let me know what you'd like. Logically, this would involve making your choice whilst at your table, and then simply telling me your order at the bar. If you make the small effort to come over, don't then say, "Can I order something?" and walk back to your table expecting me to follow and wait while you peruse the menu (see above). And if all you want is a single drink, why not wait the few seconds it takes to pour, and take it back with you? I'll tell you why - it's because you're an idiot.

- Whilst I don't expect everyone to tip, especially in the above scenario, it's an accepted part of the service industry here - our basic wage isn't great and a lot of us rely on tips to subsidise that. I myself would not tip if the service was below par, but unless my waiter was rude or inept, they'd get their 10% tip. If all you consume is a single drink, I'd expect nothing more than a rounded up total - €3.50 for a beer that costs €3.40 for example. If, however, your bill comes to something like €59.90, and you say, "Take 60," I'd assume I did something wrong. Keep the 10 cents you cheap bastard, since you obviously need it more than I do.

- There are big fucking menus on every table and these menus list everything we serve. That's what menus are. If you ask me for a menu whilst resting your elbows on one, you're on the list. If you then do something like peruse our specialty tea list and then ask if we have one that isn't listed, I will have to bite my tongue - why, yes, we have lots of wonderful things that we deliberately omit from our invisible menus. There are of course, exceptions to this. If you want something mixing that isn't listed, as long as the individual elements are on the menu, I'll mix it. Cranberry juice with milk? Not a problem, you freak.

- Our menus are also not magic. To place an order, look at me and say the words clearly, to ME. If you whisper into your menu, it won't hear you and you will be asked to repeat your order. If you are asked to repeat your order, it's not because I love the sound of your voice you mumbling fuck, it's because I didn't hear what you said, so you should say it louder, not again at a volume and pitch that only bats can hear.

- A handful of people here are friendly to bar staff, and I appreciate that. You guys are my favourites. The majority of folk are pretty neutral, and you guys are alright too. A small percentage are utter fucking cunts - would it kill you to show some manners, maybe throw a please or thank you here and there, or at the very least fucking look at me when I come to your table. This last group is usually made up of rich wankers who clearly see bar work as the lowest of the low and therefore not worth treating with any dignity. They're also clearly the dumbest bunch - I'm the guy making your food and mixing your drinks after all and you wouldn't want me to take offence and add a little something extra, would you? Because I did.

- Actual conversation:
"What's in a Caipiroska?"
"Crushed lime and brown sugar, crushed ice, and vodka."
"Ooh, that sounds nice. Could I have one without alcohol."
"That would be a glassful of ice and mashed up limes."
"It costs €6.90. Should I substitute the alcohol with soda or ginger ale perhaps?"
"No thanks - I just want what it says here, minus the vodka."

I make the drink as directed and serve it..

"Heyyyy! All this is is crushed ice and a bit of lime!"


There will be more, I guarantee it.

Friday, 29 October 2010

On the recipe for foot in mouth

Today, whilst waiting for a train from Vienna to one of its surrounding villages, Ebreichsdorf, I was sat on a bench with my girlfriend, discussing baby names. The platform was pretty empty except for a smattering of people and an old guy sat next to us, chomping on a pastry and minding his own.

The conversation began with a reference to MacGyver, details not relevant here, and me then saying when we have kids, we should wait to see what they're good at and then name them after someone respected in that field (this is actually a lie - my suggestions were things like naming them Food, if they're good at cooking). Anyways, Jamie Oliver was a name thrown out kind of randomly by Vicky and after a little discussion consisting primarily of me slagging him off, I said, and I quote, "I am not naming my son after that fat-tongued twat," following this up with a string of minor insults, ending with, "he's a good chef, but a cock."

Throughout this, the chap next to us had smirked a little. I assumed because he found the prospect of a crazy English couple (he later remarked how un-Austrian Vicky sounded, even when speaking in her native tongue) naming their firstborn McGyver, hilarious. It's a known fact that Austrians have no sense of humour so there's no way he thought we were joking. His smirk was justified.

He then, rather surprisingly, piped up with, "Do you know Jamie?" and I, rather arrogantly, assumed he was just showing us that he understood us and could speak some English relevant to our conversation. I politely responded that I didn't know him personally but knew his food. I may have even insulted him again to my girlfriend for good measure. The chap then proceeded to hand me a business card, showing him to be a professional chef himself, and announced, "I am a friend of Jamie's."

He and Vicky then shared some conversation in German that I chose to ignore, since I felt like a bit of a cunt, but it transpired that he and Jamie Oliver had indeed spent some time working together under the tutelage of a respected German chef.

Maybe I should be more careful who I insult in earshot of complete strangers in future - celebrities have feelings too after all - but really, what are the odds of a personal friend of a celebrity, sitting right next to me, in a country neither call home, at the precise moment I choose to briefly insult said celebrity, whilst waiting for a train to go to a village no-one outside of Austria has ever heard of?!

And if you're reading this Mr Gruber, I still think your mate is a fat-tongued twat.

Friday, 10 September 2010

On home comforts

I've been back in Grimsby for less than a week but already I've found a multitude of things to appreciate here. Things I've missed having only visited home a handful of times in the last two years, and things I kind of forgot about whilst settling into life in Vienna.

Since I'm a fat bastard these days, most of these things relate to food. People say English food is bland, but it's certainly no blander than the majority of Austrian cuisine I've had the misfortune to pay shitloads of money for at restaurants. And that's another thing - pubs here are so bloody cheap and since I love booze as much as I love food, that pleases me. At my bar in Vienna I'd pay around £17 for two Bulmers and a whiskey and coke. At my local here it cost me £8.60. My dad complained that his beer in his usual boozery had gone up to something daft like £2 a pint! That wouldn't even get him a half pint in Vienna.

The following are all brilliant things I've managed to fit into this trip that I won't get to sample again until next time I'm home:

Mum's lasagne - oddly I remember this not being a very popular tea when me and my brother lived at home but it's hands down the tastiest lasagne I've ever had. My mum's not a very adventurous cook but the handful of meals she makes regularly are spot on. Not exactly sure what goes into her lasagne and I'd like to keep it that way. Every time I come home I can guarantee my mum will have a lasagne ready and waiting for when I walk in the door. Cheers mum.

Wetherspoons - splashed out on a rib eye steak for £8 (expensive in my dad's eyes, but comparatively cheap as fuck in mine) and for once they cooked it perfectly. Two big meals and three drinks for a little over £20 - hard to find better value anywhere except at...

A carvery - a brilliant concept. Basically an all-you-can-eat Sunday dinner for £3.50. I could knock together a decent Sunday dinner back home but would spend more than that on the meat alone. It was top quality too. If I lived in Grimsby I'd eat these every day.

Matrix booze prices - I lost track of what each drink cost but I know for damn sure the bottles of Corona weren't setting me back £4+ each as they would in Vienna. And £1.60 for a double spirit and mixer. No wonder it's our hangout of choice.

Scotch eggs - I guess the concept of a scotch egg is a bit confusing but to me they're a perfect snack. And you can eat them like an apple without looking like a smug cunt. Seriously, it's impossible to not look smug whilst eating an apple, especially if you're reading a book at the same time.

Nana's tea - I dunno how she does it but my nan makes the best tea ever (PG or Yorkshire of course). It's spot on every time. I guess it must be experience - not sure exactly how old she is but I'd estimate she's had about 400 years or so to perfect her tea brewing.

Marks & Spencers sandwiches - I could be wrong but I don't think there are any supermarkets in Vienna that sell pre-packed but FRESH sandwiches. Sure you can get basic sandwiches filled at any deli counter, but they're no match for the M&S chicken & bacon baguette, or its oddly creamy cheese and spring onion in soft white bread.

Fish and chips - Even in London I struggled to find a decent fish and chip shop but at least they existed. In Vienna we have kebab stands and hot dogs of various varieties, each one a little more rubbery than the last. I guess it might be partly due to it being landlocked, but even a good seafood restaurant is rare, and you know it's gonna cost more than a couple of quid. Fish and chips shits on that. You can keep your scraps though - they're just weird.

Super Noodle sandwiches - yeah you heard right. It's a known fact that everything tastes better in a sandwich. Mild curry and chicken ones work best. Also helps having good quality sliced bread, available in every supermarket here, and not that shit, stodgy, stale stuff they try to pass of in the likes of Billa.

This will be updated as I remember more hometown aceness.

Monday, 19 July 2010

On being utterly fucking shit at learning German

I've lived in Austria for over 2 years.

My German is shit.

I understand a fair bit and my vocabulary is alright but I can't speak it much past the basics, and 90% of what I say makes me sound like an idiot because my grammar is absolutely terrible.

I've tried and tried and recently went back to basics and bought a book explaining German grammar for absolute beginners but I really cannot absorb the information no matter how hard I try.

Basically what I fail at is this:

There are 4 cases in German (nominative, dative, accusative and genitive) as well as 4 basic ways of saying 'the'. This essentially means the word for 'the' could be any one of 16 depending on the noun used and its context within a sentence.

The cases themselves are confusing. I have no idea what those four terms mean even in English.

Last night I spent 2 hours reading the same 5 or 6 pages and learning the rules before attempting a few basic exercises.

I got 18/68 right, and a lot of those were through guesswork since even after studying for all that time I wasn't sure if I was applying the rules correctly.

It is completely baffling to me, and entirely frustrating since I am generally pretty good at learning new things from scratch with a bit of practise, and I'd say my grasp of the English language is above average.

When studying or being tutored I just cannot understand most of what is being said and all the grammatical terms and rules end up just floating around and making absolutely no sense to me. I kind of hear it, or read it, as follows:

"You have this, this, this and this. When this is said like this, or in a sentence with this like this, you need to use this word for this."

My girlfriend thinks I am overthinking things when attempting to learn but that's what comes naturally to me. For example in English, although I may not know all the rules or grammatical terms involved, I know how to apply them naturally, whereas in German I don't and therefore want them to be explained in detail, which both Vicky and my former German tutor were unable to do.

Here is a stripped down example of a typical exchange between myself and my tutor:

"Why does ein change to einen here?"
"Because of the case"
"What's a case?"
"The way it is used in the sentence"
"How do I know which case to use?"
"You just pick it up"
"You just have to practise"
"How can I practise if I don't understand what I'm practising?"

*she explains the cases for the 50th time*

"Do you kind of understand it now?"
"I think so"

*I successfully construct a sentence based on different cases*

"Good. Now try another

*I fail*

"Why was I wrong that time?"
"Because of different nouns used"
"So there are rules to learn but sometimes the rules don't apply and I basically have no way of knowing when they will or won't?"
"You'll pick it up"
"You just will, with practise"

And so on. It seems like I can study and study, but as soon as I get something wrong, I don't understand why, and I discover that what I thought I knew I basically just got right with trial and error.

Nothing has ever made me as angry as my inability to learn German, and it's made worse by the fact that other, dare I say less intelligent people, seem to be able to pick it up with relative ease.

Tuesday, 13 July 2010

On being afraid of the dark

A couple of months ago my girlfriend scared the shit out of me. We were in bed at hers - she was fast asleep, being one of those annoying people who fall asleep instantly, all the time : "Goodnight Vi..." "Zzzzzzzzz!" I was struggling to drop off, as per usual, and was amusing myself by contemplating my breakfast for the following morning (it was a bacon and egg bun and was very tasty). I noticed her breathing become a bit ragged and get more worrying, as if she were hyperventilating. She was also making these pained groans, so I gently nudged her and held her hand to try and rouse her. She woke and looked at me for a split second with a sleepy, trance-like expression - nothing too worrying - but in a flash her expression changed to one of pure and absolute horror, and the fear in her eyes at seeing me was palpable. I've never seen anything like it. She let out the most bloodcurdling scream I've ever heard from a person in real-life and began flailing at me, scratching at my face and kicking as she tried to recoil. Not only did she not recognise this thing in her bed as me, but whatever she saw for that waking moment was utterly terrifying. I had to grab her by the wrists and repeatedly say "Vicky! It's me, Stuart!" a couple of times to calm her down.

Apparently she'd been having a dream where she was staying at her mum's and they were sharing a bed because weird stuff had been going on in the house such as a guitar playing by itself and shadows being seen. There was a demonic ghost type thing after her and just as I woke her she'd been cowering under the covers in her dream as this thing gradually crept up and over her.

I still can't shake the scream and feared look on her face. It really was the most unnerving thing I've ever witnessed.

She's pretty easily spooked at the best of times, which until recently I've enjoyed, since it means I can scare her with the tamest of pranks. It's not that I enjoy being a jerk, I just think she needs to man up a bit. Also I enjoy being a jerk. I remember one time not long after we got together. We were sharing my bed and I got up to get some water, reached the doorway and screamed in horror as if I'd seen an intruder in the living room. Her first instinct was to scream and then throw the book she'd been reading at my head. Nice move Vicky - might as well make things a bit easier for any would be attacker by taking me out for them. Judas.

Anyway, I say until recently, because for the last few nights I've had to keep the light on when I go to sleep, if I'm spending the night alone. The reason being because I'm a pussy. Just kidding - it's because of something I experienced for the first time in my life a week or so ago. Sleep paralysis.

I had no sensation of ever falling asleep or waking up, but post-event research tells me I must have gone through a period of REM sleep and then came out of it. Except sleep paralysis being the utter cunt that it is, only my consciousness came out of it, leaving my body completely paralysed except for my eyes. As if this in itself wasn't terrifying enough, my consciousness had brought with it some elements from whatever dreams I'd been having, at least that's what research tells me was happening. Here's what I experienced:

I was lying on my side looking across my room and could hear police sirens outside and see the red and blue lights on my ceiling. Except the lights were all.... wrong. Then, very faintly at first, I heard a woman's voice from behind me, although it definitely wasn't that of my girlfriend who was lying there. The woman was babbling incoherently and becoming louder and I tried to turn around to see but found I couldn't move anything at all. I experienced an acute sense of panic and danger and tried to scream but couldn't make a sound. This lasted around 10 seconds after which I finally screamed like a girl and woke Vicky.

She assumed I'd simply woken myself from a bad dream, which I guess is the same assumption I'd have made had our experiences been switched, but as bullshit as it sounds it was all very real. I was awake, paralysed, and experiencing some surreal and terrifying shit. Further research tells me that my experience was really mild compared to those of other sleep paralysis sufferers. There's a recurring apparition associated with the phenomena, involving an old hag, which sounds fucking hideous. Google it.

So, since then I've been afraid to sleep with the light off, although now that I think about it, that's dumb, since if I experience all these ghastly hallucinations with the light on it's going to seem a whole lot worse. Also, I kind of want to experience it more vividly so I have a less boring story to write about it. I'd like to meet this crone and maybe reveal that she's not so bad after all. Or shit my pants when she attacks me in my not sleep.

Thursday, 24 June 2010

Fuck you, yoghurt!

I woke up far too early for work in a shitty mood. Details not important here. I decided to head in early so I could visit the supermarket, buy tasty breakfast, and sit in the bar eating it in comfort before opening and being interrupted by idiots.

I craved something healthy yet sweet, so grabbed a big pot of yoghurt, some grapes and looked forward to having that with muesli and honey. It's not a full English, but it is more delicious than it sounds.

Yoghurt in hand I strolled towards the checkout, only to round a corner and bump into someone coming the other way. It wasn't a violent bump, and afterwards I could see that she'd been carrying nothing but an apple which, unless it was laced with explosives or had a stalk that had been whittled to a point for later use in fruit-based hand to hand combat, doesn't account for the force with which my massive yoghurt decided to explode. All over me. A surly shop assistant came over and handed me a single tissue which was of no use at all, so I handed her my destroyed, yoghurt soaked carton and went for a replacement. She muttered something at me in German which I chose to ignore because I'm rude and covered in goo.

I hastily grabbed a replacement giant yoghurt from the shelf. A little too hastily since I didn't grab it so much as push it off the shelf for it to smash on the tiles at my feet, covering my shoes in itself. At least my outfit matched now, and with the heat being what it is today, I will smell delicious later. And by delicious I mean like a tramp's pocket.

This time I got no assistance from surly shop assistants so I did my best to keep calm, went to the exit, apologising and leaving with no yoghurt other than that I was wearing.

I'm having bacon sandwiches for breakfast.

Monday, 7 June 2010

On the adventures of Bram Sawyer

Today I went and looked at a castle in Austria somewhere. I don't know exactly where since I'm ignorant. It was a big family outing planned by my girlfriend's mother and if you've read my previous posts you'll know that where I'm concerned, the words 'big', 'family' and 'outing' combine to equal 'fear'. That said it was enjoyable enough as decrepit old castle ruins go, although since I understood barely a word of what the tour guide said, my personal highlights were seeing a wild falcon and a fire salamander, staring at a couple of slugs bigger than anacondas, having a big red beetle fly at me, and managing to pick SEVEN ticks off of my legs before they burrowed into my flesh and began to eat me - older post readers will again appreciate this.

Austria is host to an amazing and unexpected variety of wildlife - I see numerous things for the first time pretty much every month. It's as if someone went around the world gathering sackfuls of things that would amaze and freak me out and then walked slightly ahead of me dropping them in my path.

In the evening, the weather was still burningly hot so Vicky and I decided to take a dinghy along to a river in her home village with the intention of 'rafting' downstream back home, my raft being an old, dubious looking dinghy, and my nigger* being Vicky.

*I'm quoting Mark Twain here before you all start calling me racist

I've never been in a boat on wild waters before and had to control it myself so I was pretty apprehensive, yet also excited to be fulfilling some of my Twain-esque fantasies. And when I say control it myself, I actually mean lounge at the back whilst Vicky did all the damn work as this was my intention. I was expecting a relaxing evening.

Vicky's mother, sister, brother, his girlfriend and their kid had all come along to see us cast off, which I obviously enjoyed since I love being the centre of attention, especially when it involves clambering through branches and mud and maneuvering my 6'3" 210lb frame into a rickety old boat, whilst striving to maintain an air of relaxation and confident masculinity. In case you can't tell I'm being sarcastic. The experience was made even more pleasurable by the completely baffling presence of a bunch of strangers (an old man, a couple of kids and a few Turkish-looking guys) who were just stood along the tiny bridge, looking at the completely unremarkable water before them.

Anyways, we managed to get in, and I instantly felt sinky, but it was kind of peaceful and figured I'd enjoy it while it lasted. My job was to look out for obstacles at the rear of the boat and make sure we didn't crash, but I found it difficult because I kept getting distracted by insects. First I was terrified by a Mayfly because I'd never seen one before and its sting that isn't a sting looked lethal. Then a spider with a bright yellow abdomen tried to steal the oar I wasn't using (Google has so far failed to tell me what the spider was - I guess it may have just been an ant carrying a lemon).

In my head we managed to travel around 3 miles downstream before disaster hit although in reality it was probably a couple of hundred metres. We came snagged on a branch and pushing off caused the branch to get mad and bite a hole in the rear of the boat. We were going down! Maneuvering a sinking dinghy to the shore proved particularly difficult, especially with such a useless and fat first mate as I so by the time we managed it the back half with me in it was pretty much entirely submerged. We clambered aboard with the help of Vicky's brother, although to be honest he just stood there laughing and then inexplicably fell over whilst standing completely still, which amused me greatly.

I then had to carry a dinghy bigger than me across a field whilst completely drenched, and this was the highlight of my weekend. Good day to you all!

Saturday, 5 June 2010

Get Down's tonight

Sometimes a dull day is made much more tolerable by a small and insignificant thing. I'm working in the bar today, grumpy because of all too-frequent lack of sleep and bored shitless because the people of Vienna have better things to do than sit in a bar with a grumpy, bored guy drinking coffee and eating overpriced sandwiches.

There's a DVD rental place in the downstairs area and just now a couple came in with their son who was probably around 18 but it was hard to tell because he had Down's Syndrome - he could have been much older or younger. He was in tears and inconsolable despite the couple's best efforts.

The music in the bar is provided by me - I plug my iPod into the loudspeakers and let it do it's thing. I happened to glance towards the stairs just as one song was ending and another beginning and I'm glad I did because what I saw brightened my mood considerably. As 'Sing Me Spanish Techno' by The New Pornographers began, the kid stopped bawling and started dancing, and he was really going for it, waving his arms and grinning widely whilst still standing on the stairs - he looked like he was fighting off invisible eagles or something, and really enjoying it to boot.

I'm not sure how PC it would be, but I think I'm going to look into employing a Down's kid to dance randomly on the stairs every day.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

On dinosaurs

Y'know how some things you take for granted and then sit and think about and are all, "Fucking hell! That's amazing!" Dinosaurs are one of those things. Like, as a kid, you just assume everyone thinks they are the shit, and they're part of your daily life, and then you grow up a bit and actually realise what dinosaurs are and are truly appreciative. Imagine those fuckers walking around today. Zoos would be way more exciting, because let's face it, partially submerged hippos and nonchalant giraffes just don't cut it, whereas a maneating dragon with wings would.

Also, cows. They're considered a bit wack by today's animal standards, but have you ever truly considered a cow? Close up they're more impressive than they get credit for. Same goes for horses.

I should point out that I'm not in the least bit stoned right now.

Tuesday, 6 April 2010

On wasted miracles

I've taken to amuse myself during slow shifts at work by attempting feats like throwing books on to shelves from weird angles, or chucking things into tiny bins from miles away, with the down side being that if I pull something amazing off, there'll be no-one around to see it. Just now for example, I dropped an ice cube, caught it on my foot, and then flicked it back up into a glass on the bar.

I once killed a fly, in-flight, by chucking a peanut at it from about 3 metres away. There was a small swarm of them fart-arsing around in the air by my open patio door. They were buzzing, but at that weird low volume and pitch where if you tilt your head at a certain angle you stop hearing it for a few seconds. Bastards. They weren't even doing tricks or anything so I nonchalantly cobbed a nut at them and sure enough, when I went over to retrieve my nut (nuts are pretty expensive considering they're just nuts), it was lying next to the fresh corpse of a fly. Unfortunately I was completely alone when I did it so everyone I tell calls bullshit.

Tuesday, 2 March 2010

On dreaming of Hollywood

A dream I had last night made me wake with a smile:

The dominant image I'm left with is that of a film poster for a film I was desperately trying to sell to execs somewhere. It was basically a photo of a man with the wings of an eagle, riding a lion, and the tagline I was trying to sell it on was this:

"The biggest man in the world, with an eagle's body, on the back of a lion"

I think that may also have been the film's title. I couldn't understand why no-one was interested, and persisted in pitching it, with utter seriousness, over and over:

"But what is the film about Stuart?"
"It's the biggest man in the world, with an eagle's body, on the back of a lion"
"But... the story?"
"It's the biggest man in the world, with an eagle's body, on the back of a lion"

What would Freud say?

Friday, 15 January 2010

On knobheads

I'm pretty misanthropic at the best of times, but once in a while I meet someone who reminds me where my misanthropy comes from.

Some right cock came in the bar last night. He was probably an ok guy but I hated his affected 'coolness'. He was a nerdy Indian looking English guy who looked like he worked in a bank but spoke with a cocky assuredness that made me want to punch him. First up he came over and asked what bottled beers we had. I began listing them and he said, "Yeah, Heineken sounds sweet. Don't reckon a bigger beer will be good right now with all the shit I put in my body last night." Yessir - I too have been drunk before and even indulged in other things, but I don't feel the need to share it with complete strangers. Then later on he came up, clapped me on the shoulder and said, "I'm off for a piss yeah, but bust me another Heineken on that table please." I should have literally busted the bottle and left him with a pile of broken glass to drink. Bust me a Heineken?! Who says that?

When I went to settle their bill he said "Thanks, you're a cool guy," which would have been decent of him, except he then made some lame joke about me being a cool guy for letting him off his bill, which had never been alluded too and made no sense. We're not old friends, we've shared no banter, so stop this act please. No-one on his table laughed. He then gave me a tenner for his 7.80 bill and when I gave him his change, rather than him saying I could keep it, he said,

"What the fuck is this?"
"It's your change."
"I know but why you giving it back to me?"
"It's your change"
"Shut the fuck up!"

He then handed it back as a tip proclaiming that "us Northerners gotta stick together," and finishing with, "Stay real bruv." I have a somewhat irrational hatred of twats like him.