Letter from a Concerned Customer
LOST IN LONDON | Dear Hipster/Bartender (if that is your actual job) at The Westbourne
Dear Hipster/Bartender (if that is your actual job) at The Westbourne,
You really pissed me off.
Yes I know the sun has come out for the first time in weeks and possibly the massive influx of people to your pub has overloaded the neurons not damaged from too many lines of coke at the Drums concert, but I’m here to let you in on a secret: your job is to serve beer. I know because I too have stood at one side of that bar with power in my puny hand over the multitudinous seething masses of thirsty revelers on the other side and chosen, not as you have done, to do my job. Which is – to enquire from customers what their liquid of choice is – and then (wait for the big reveal….) to give it to them in exchange for money.
Yes, I agree, your flexed biceps demonstrating your tattoo ‘to love is to die’ and t-shirt saying ‘f*ck you’ is a truly innovative and unique expression of your individuality and deserves to be admired, and yes your hair may be styled in the fashion of a wave, but this does not mean you can spend ten minutes examining yourself in the mirror lining the bar ignoring the five deep crowd plaintively waving tenners in your direction.
Yes, I agree, sometimes customers are like cockroaches and you would like nothing better than squish them under your Brouges, and sure, it is annoying when they don’t smile, but I imagine that look of frustration is because you’ve chosen to play handsies with your hipster colleague instead of getting them a Pimms. And btw – the appropriate thing is to say to them ‘what can I get you?’ – not ‘why don’t you cheer up a bit?’!
Yes, I agree, ‘Californication’ by Red Hot Chili Peppers was a truly great album of the late 90s and does indeed require appreciation, but late Sunday afternoon behind a crowded bar is maybe not the best time or place to have a jamboree with your hipster friends whilst staring disdainfully at your potential customers for not also joining the impromptu dance party whilst wearing trilbys and an 80s knitted sweater.
Please sir, just give me my glass of Argentinean Malbec and let us both go about our business in peace.
Also read about Job-hunting in London, made that little bit harder