Bar fights (shameless repost)
While I was at college I had a holiday job in a rough-ish pub in Wolverhampton. It was a bit of a bikers' pub and had a bad reputation for that, but I never saw any trouble from them. I used to work in the bar, not the lounge, and there was a group of young blokes who used to come in most nights, and get smashed Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. When they were pissed there would usually be arguments and sometimes a fight. It was always obvious when they were going to get physical - you would see one of them strutting around, touching his groin, psyching himself up. It was like something off a David Attenborough programme.

One Friday evening one of these blokes came in, obviously the worse for wear. He started arguing with another bloke: they were standing face to face, yelling at each other, both rubbing their (own) groins as hard as they could. The landlord, who was out the back, was ex-army and a boxer: he kept a 2-foot long iron bar under the counter just in case. I yelled, "Keith, get out here". He yelled back, "Hang on a minute." Suddenly the two blokes started laying into each other: beer went flying, glasses smashed, innocent people leapt out of the way, and their friends started to join in. "Get out here now Keith," I yelled as I (foolishly, and quite out of character) jumped over the bar and went to break the fight up.

Just before I managed to lay a finger on anyone there was a meaty hand on my shoulder pulling me back, and another meaty fist reached out to grab one of the fighters by the collar. "Get behind the bar, you soft arse, watch the till", growled Keith as he separated the ring leaders and defused the situation in an instant. I sloped back behind the bar, happy that he'd waded in, not me, and wondering where I got the idea that I'd be able to do anything. That night Keith showed me the switch for the panic lights - ultrabright lights you switch on if there's a problem, which temporarily stun everyone. "Next time, throw the switch you daft cunt."

Incidentally, the blokes in the bar used to call me 'Bamber Gascoigne' because I was at university, I wore glasses, and I could work out their change without using the till.
(Smale is stuffed, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:47, 3 replies)

I yelled, "Keith, get out here". He yelled back, "Hang on a minute."

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 13:55, closed)

Now I'm reading that in the style of R Kelly's Trapped in the Closet.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 14:02, closed)

That's how I read everything.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 14 Mar 2013, 14:08, closed)