“The pub I worked at was in a tourist town but with a lot of students. We were close to a major city, so we also got a lot of, I’m struggling for a better way to say ‘entitled rich scumbags’ here. You know the sort, Mr. Arrogant, the major businessman commuting from the suburbs.
This particular night we had been pretty slammed. I think it was a weeknight, so not a lot of staff. Closing down was taking a while. We called the last call and gave everyone the twenty-minute warning to drink up and leave. This one group ordered a round for last orders, knowing that they would have twenty minutes to drink them. ‘Mr. Super Entitled Wanker’ ordered a pint.
We merrily went about cleaning up and that, and notice that half an hour over last orders, this group hadn’t left yet. Mr. Super Entitled Wanker still had most of his pint as well. We gave them a quick heads up that they really needed to leave, as we were almost done and would be locking up soon. We were super polite, and they all nodded and said sorry they were just finishing up. All good.
They were the only people in the pub, minus a couple of our co-workers who stayed after their shift for a drink. They were still in uniform and were helping with clearing up the floor, so they were clearly colleagues.
Forty-five minutes after the last orders, the group was still there. Mr. Super Entitled Wanker still had around a fourth of a pint. I walked over and started to say I was sorry, but they needed to leave.
Mr. Super Enitled Wanker said, ‘But I haven’t finished the pint I paid for.’
I responded with the super polite customer equivalent of, ‘tough spit.’
Mr. Super Entitled Wanker responded, ‘You can’t just serve us and then kick us out when we haven’t finished.’
I retorted, ‘With all due respect, we gave you plenty of notice and have actually given you more time than we should have to finish up.’
Mr. Super Entitled Wanker gestured to my co-workers and asked, ‘Why are they still allowed here?’
I responded, ‘They work here and are helping with shutting the place up. We were a bit understaffed.’
Mr. Super Entitled Wanker retorted, ‘Well, I’m not leaving if you’re not telling them to leave too.’
By this point, his friends were clearly uncomfortable and were trying to get him to leave, but he was belligerently refusing because he hadn’t finished his pint.
Mr. Super Entitled Wanker said, ‘I tell you what, if you won’t let me finish my drink this is what I’m going to do with it,’ then pulled the nearly full pint over my head.
Setting the scene more, I was a five-foot-nothing college student at this point. Mr. Super Entitled Wanker was easily a foot taller than me and clearly had no trouble with wasting money on one pint.
I wish I could say I dodged the stream and roundhouse kicked him in the throat, but I think I was too shocked from someone being this much of a dirtbag and sort of just stood there. He put the glass down and laughed. Then he realized none of his friends were laughing and sort of booked it out of there.
He didn’t get very far because he didn’t reckon with my battle-ax of a colleague chasing him out of the pub and down the street. I have an image of her dragging him back by his ear, but I think that’s wishful elaborating on my imagination’s part. But she did drag him back and informed him he was barred for life, and to crawl in a hole and die, or words to that effect.
I worked service for years and have so many more stories, but this one just sticks in my head I think because of how unnecessary the whole situation was. I teach now and people who say they don’t know how I do it have obviously never dealt with entitled and wasted adults.”