Currying Favour
There was a nasty, mean spirited, offensive local (called Neil) that regularly (every day from lunchtime until closing) sat at the bar drinking pint after pint of cheap, nasty, brewery's own, pilsner. Neil would normally drink well into double figures of pints and still be reasonably coherant. Coherant enough to annoy staff and customers alike. So dislikeable was this chap that someone once undid the quick release on the front wheel of his bike. He lost teeth, but that's another Story.

We'd just finished a very busy lunchtime, and the chef was about to close the kitchen when Neil came in and asked for a pint and a curry, finishing his order with "...and ask the chef to spice it up a bit."

Which chef did.

When I went to collect the order chef told me to try some of the curry sauce. Knowing that it would be comparable to Satan's Saturday morning kebab shit, I tried the tiniest bit. It nearly blew my head off.

So I happily delivered it to Neil.

Neil had drunk about 1/2 a pint by the time he started tucking into his curry. With each mouthful he seemed to be getting more and more drunk. Drunk on curry... new one on me.

After a couple of minutes I heard a crash and looked round only to see Neils plate upside down on the carpet, and the man himself making a swift but wobbly exit, hitting both sides of the door frame on his way out.

I never saw him again.

Sometimes I cry myself to sleep.

Sometimes I shit my pants in my sleep because I asked someone to spice a curry up... will I ever learn?
(ralphseviltwin, Thu 27 Jul 2006, 16:30, Reply)