Pearoast: Inbred Customers
Plural years ago, I lived on the Greek island of Kos. Winter jobs were few and far between unless you didn't mind working in a bar. Fab for us foreign girls, as the only Greek girls who'd do bar work were also Ladies Of The Night. Taking my prerequisite tits and eyelashes for the "interview" i.e. a beer with the bar's owner, I started the very next night. 8pm til 4am - top notch, I could sleep all day at the beach. (The "leather saddle-bag" look was de riguer for one's skin in those days.) I digress........

Kos is one of the smaller islands, currently populated by 30ish thousand. Originally however, it was only inhabitted by two families. A case of, "Jethro, Oi married moy sister an' it never did me no 'aaaarm... ye'll be weddin yur cuzin moy son" etc. Descendants of these original inhabitants can easily be spotted today...
Cue the pair I had to not only endure, but humour, as I was their favourite barmaid (no idea why). They introduced themselves as uncle and nephew, Nikos and Stephanos. Thought they were the Greek equivalent of Laurel and Hardy. (I am related to Stan Laurel but that's another digression.) Boy, did they identify with me. Maybe that's because I'm a dog-lover and they had one. Only theirs was imaginary. And it liked to play with me behind the bar. And because I couldn't see the little terrier twat ( I assumed it was a Jack Russell by the tone of it's yap) I'd frequently trip over it as I was hurrying about my work. Kept standing on it's stupid imaginary fucking tale, to which Nik & Steph would supply the high-pitched howls/yelps of agony. The only way to shut them the fuck up was to kneel on the floor, patting Terriertwat and giving him nuts (again, I'm making assumptions with it's gender). All in a night's work, for which I was renumerated with 7000 drachma and 750mls of Cutty Sark.

Worse still, on the odd occasion I got a night off, say every couple of months, they'd spot me out with my dog. Who was Real. Lovely dog he was, Gorby - a pointer whom I'd hand-reared. Gorby was quite partial to the odd whiskey himself, so he'd accompany me out for the evening. Cue "Laurel & Fucking Hardy" with their yappy little twat who would attack poor old placid imprinted Gorby. See the psychiatric needs...... Paint them purple...
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:01, 1 reply)

I like the way
you write. Well done.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:34, closed)