Saturday (I don't want to blog about politics) night

I seem to have real trouble spelling at the moment. I had to amend the title of my last post twice, and I just spelled blog, blob. I might have keyboard dyslexia. Do you think I will be entitled to any benefits for that?

As you all know (because I won't shut up about it), I used to work in pubs for a long while. I've told a couple of funny stories about pub life on my blog; tonight I'm going to tell you a story that made my balls jump right up into my body and not come back out for days.

I was a bar supervisor in a town centre bar for about a year and I had an afternoon shift on Fridays that finished at 7pm. It was a fairly peaceful pub with little trouble, apart from Friday teatime. I don't know why it was but it always kicked off on a Friday teatime.

There were two of us working that shift; me and another lad, we'll call him Burt. Burt was quite a handy lad and I knew he always had my back if something went down. We usually dealt with whatever trouble a normal Friday teatime would give us, then got back to the job.

One day I'll always remember (I think it was back in September), we were pottering about cleaning up and re-stocking for then next shift when there was a loud smash of glass. All kick offs begin with smashing glass; an ashtray, a pint pot or a window, smashing glass is always the beginning to a fight. My hairs still bristle when I hear that noise, even now. Pavlov's barman is the same.

Anyway we heard the noise, turned round and there are two quite hefty fellas going at it like a pair of cage fighters over by the bandit. You've seen the UFC right, where they hug each other for ages?

So we ran over and broke up the bear hug. I had one chap in an arm bar and Burt had the other in a half nelson. My adrenaline was off the scale at this point and my belly was doing flip flops. That's ok during a fight. The adrenaline gives you the extra strength and reactions you need to do what is necessary. It's afterwards when you get the shakes and can't hold your fag steady.

The guy I was holding had bitten the ear off the other chap, who was bleeding quite heavily. He was still yelling abuse and trying to get away from me so he could finish the other chap off. Burts fella didn't seem to mind that fact that he was missing an ear, he also wanted back in to do some more damage of his own.

At this point it all went bad. Both chaps instantly calmed down, stopped shouting at each other and stopped resisting. Because of this I dropped my guard. I thought it was all coming to an end and I was more than pleased at this. The chap I was holding turned to his Mrs who was sat down, and started saying, "Get my coat, bring me my coat". I mistakenly thought he wanted his jacket because he was going to leave so I let go of him.

He calmly walked over to his Mrs, picked up his jacked and pulled out a homemade ball and chain. Not another wife, a bit of sawn off broom handle with a chain and a metal ball on the end. It looked like you could do some serious damage with it.

This gave me my second shot of adrenaline which just rooted me to the spot. I couldn't do a damn thing. Burt leg go of the chap he was holding, walked up to ball and chain man and shouted, put that away!. (Or words of a similar nature) He put it back in his jacket, put his jacket on and walked out with his Mrs.

That's the first and only time I've lost my bottle in a pub fight. Burt capitalised on it to the max and took the piss out of me for weeks.

People have tried to hit me with bottles, ashtrays, chairs and even a pie on one occasion. I think this time I got the double tap effect. That's where you think it's all over but it kicks off again and your second burst of adrenaline roots you to the spot (That's my excuse).

Me and Burt had to shift about 7 or 8 scrapping teenagers out of the snug once. They were going for each other with bottles and chairs. We kept running in, grabbing one and throwing them out, then doing it all again. Fortunately they started kicking off in the street rather than coming back in. What pissed me off was all the second shift were in the pub waiting to start. There were about five of them and they just sat and watched us. Not one of them lifted a finger to help.

I've worked in all manner of pubs and clubs, and seen or been involved in many such incidents. One lad who I had thrown out kept coming back to the pub and threatening to shoot me. Eventually he killed himself and I rejoiced.

One lad kicked off in a pool room, gave one off the staff a black eye, and ran out of the side door. I figured he was going to come back in through the front door so I ran through the inside of the pub to the main entrance. Just before I got there, half a paving slab came through the window. He had used the other half to clobber one of the customers who had chased him outside.

This lad got in his car, sped off the carpark and down the road, then crashed his car into a tree and got himself arrested. Not the sharpest tool.



"Do you want a faarking slaaap!" (I can't do the accent)

Do you want a slap? And in the funny, girly southern accent. I just pissed my sides out laughing. I had no choice and couldn't stop. He never said a word, he just turned his tail and walked off. (Apologies to my readers down south. You have a lovely accent. Really, you do).

6 Comments:

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