It’s a jungle out there, no more so than for the bartender of any whack-ass club, ‘specially this brother.
Taking care o’bidness is a priority. Peoples want they drinks WHEN they wan’em, HOW they wan’em and they don’t want no jive talk. But sometimes a dude press it too far, start representen’ for no meaning.
That’s when a brother gotta stand his ground. Jus’ like in the yard, you feel me? In the big house. You back-down, you just a pussy. And you know what happens to pussies. Yeah. They get fucked.
Anyways. Last Friday night in the club. I’m just about to call time. It’s mad late – nearly eleven in the pee-emm, blud – and Dapper Terry steps to the bar, brandishing a more-than half-empty pint-glass.
Dapper Terry: Just stick a half of Carlsberg in there will you, son?
Mofo testin’ me.
Me: I’ll have to pour a half-pint glass, Terry.
Auld Les and Kev The Sweep are watchful. They want to see how I handle this.
Can I handle the club, or can the club not handle me?
DT: Aah that’s aalreet, just put it straight in here…
Me: Orders from the committee Terry.
DT: [looks around] There’s none o’theym in, man.
Me: There’s also the Weights And Measures Act, basic food hygiene –
DT: Aye alreet.
BOOM. He gets his standard half-pint of Carlsberg and I get my props. However, dissing a man in front of his crew is never wise. Auld Les and Kev The Sweep will not let him forget this one. There’ll be payback.
He might accuse me of giving him the wrong change sometime.
Me: Another Tetley’s, Les?
Auld Les: [draining the last of his pint] Looks like.
I begin pouring.
Me: And that’s ‘time’, gentleman. Thank you.
The pumpin’ sounds of Smooth FM from the radio on the corner of the bar are getting a little hectic so I turn it down some and begin wiping tables. All six of them.
Takin’ care o’bidness, yeah?
