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This is a question Twattery

Nigella Pussycat says: Tell us about utter twats doing remarkably twatty things. Or have you ever done something really twattish to a friend, loved one or pet? In summary: Twats

(, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 13:30)
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Two for one twattishness...
A couple of years back, my wife and I had popped to the local pub for lunch and refreshment (for her, I was driving and so being a good man/evil corporate consumer opted for famous brand of sugary Cola)

After a rather nice eating session, the pub was filling up so we decided to call it a day and pay, before it got too busy.
Off we go to the till, table-identifying spoon in hand and arrived behind an elderly lady ordering for her table.
Alas, it was either a very large food order or a mortgage application, as we were there for a while. But "not a problem" thinks I, for am well fed, it is a nice day and my mood is good, so I happily wait.

Eventually the order is complete, a spoon deployed and happy elderly lady is off back to join her family. "Who's next please?" asks the man at the till, looking in my direction.

"Ah.." I begin, readty to proceed. But before I can even lift my foot to take a step forward into my rightful place at the till, a shrill voice calls out "Yes! I want..."
I look to my right, and from nowhere a harradrian has arrived at the bar, stealthier than a velvet-clad ninja in a black room, and hurridely shuffles her way along to the till, in a blatant act of queue jumping.
The man at the till smiles the warm smile of servers everywhere and says "Yes love, what can I get you?", and said harradrian proceeds to order a round of drinks.

I look up at the sign over the till that says "Food Orders". Yes, I am definitely in the right place. I look at my wife. Yep, she's in the right place too. I look at my hand. I can see it, so I'm probably not invisible. My wife looks at it too, then back at me with a "what are you lookin at your hand for, you daft twat?" expression. Definitely not invisible.

So dear reader, what do I do? I queue. I do not rant, I do not rave, I do not even protest, for I am a gentleman and an Englishman, with generations of queueing and politeness coursing through my veins. I stand my ground and queue harder than I can remember, an indignant beacaon of How Things Should Be Done, shining against the darkness of the rude and the impolite.

As the harradrian conducts her business and I am busy queueing, another middle-aged lady appears on my left. "Are you in the queue?" she enquires, looking at me and failing to observe my wallet, spoon, coat or infact the general "I am in the queue to pay" aurora that is emenating from me.

"Nay good woman, my wife and I are waiting for the next train to London" I am tempted to say, but looking at her again I realise that 747s fly at a lower altitude than how far above her this snippet would be.

"Yes, we are" I reply with a smile, expecting her to form up behind us.

"Oh, okay" she replies warmly, but proceeds to move exactly nowhere.

Harradrian's business concludes and she starts to move off.
"Next, please?" enquires the barman, waiting for his next customer

"I am!" states the woman to my left, making her way forward towards the till.
This was too much, even for my vast reserve of Gentleman-ness and Patience. I can deal with one person taking their time. I can deal with another person moving down the bar to take the place that was rightfully mine. But the line is drawn at the cheek of someone pushing in who had the brazenness to stand next to me and ask if I was queueing.

Inside, I snap. But again I do not shout, I do not threaten. I simply step forward and say in a pleasant, non-threatening voice "I'm sorry but she's not. We were here first and I would like to pay, please"

The woman looks at me like I've started to publicly masturbate on her shoes. The barman looks at me like I'd admitted to being an acquaintance of Gary Glitter.

"There's no need to take that tone!" says the barman as he takes my spoon and rings up my bill in silence. He grunts as the amount is displayed and looks away in disdain as I enter my PIN. Something inside snaps again, and this time the ancient Celtic blood in me boils forth. "PUT THE SPOON THROUGH FUCKING HIS EYE!" The voice in my head rages. "STICK HIS CARDREADER SO FAR UP HIS ARSE THE WIRE LOOKS LIKE A TAIL! WE'LL SHOW HIM THAT TONE!"

But I ignore the voice. I withdraw my card from the machine promptly and put it back in my wallet. My eye lingers on the five pound note nestling in the rear section (steady there!) I look at the barman's suddenly expectant face, and then down at the small bowl of coins on the bar with a note on it reading "Tips for Staff. Thankyou".

I then have my revenge. The finest, sweetest revenge any Englishman could have in such a situation. "You'll be lucky" I mutter, putting my wallet away and heading for the door, leaving shocked woman and barman behind me.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 15:27, 5 replies)
You should have given the barman a tenner.
With a note saying "This ten pounds is what I deem fit to pay for my meal and drinks, should you wish to dispute this please contact this number." and walked out.
(, Fri 13 Apr 2012, 21:00, closed)
is a legendary reply, probably the biggest laugh this morning/afternoon so far!
(, Sun 15 Apr 2012, 14:20, closed)
I had a similar experience
Spent about 45 minutes waiting for the card machine, albeit at a table with friends so wasn't too bad, but was getting increasingly annoyed at my requests to pay. I made a big show of walking out. They were suddenly very keen to take payment.
(, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 2:01, closed)

You mean a harridan, you giant spastic.
(, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 13:42, closed)

Yes, I do. You giant spastic. :)
(, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 14:32, closed)
You don't know what "contemporary" means, do you?

(, Sat 14 Apr 2012, 14:51, closed)

I stand corrected. What I really meant was acquaintance, an error which has now been rectifited.
Looks like I'm a twat too.
(, Mon 16 Apr 2012, 16:38, closed)

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