Friday is market day in the village. We usually get there around midmorning, buy our fruit and veg for the week ahead and then pop into the fishmonger´s and the butcher´s. Laden with heavy shopping bags, we like to have a coffee or a soft drink in a bar before eventually returning home.
There are several bars in the village and we have recently started visiting an establishment, run by Brits and therefore known as the ´British bar`. The handy thing about the place is that they have a little library with English books and as Ian is an avid reader of thrillers, he borrows a couple to see him through the week. You can also buy PG tips, brown sauce and other ´essentials` to satisfy any cravings you may have for UK delicacies. Furthermore, they sell free range eggs (€1.50 for a dozen) which are much tastier than the supermarket equivalent. The only fly in the ointment is the appalling attitude of some of the people who run the bar. Ian has often moaned about one particular guy (whom I shall name Grumpy) whose lack of friendliness could even be described as plain rudeness. He is one of these people who think they are doing you a big favour, allowing you to be their customer and he is the only person ever who has managed to serve Ian and take his money without uttering one single word. “Hello, what can I get you? A cortado (coffee with just a dash of milk)? Certainly, sir. Coming up straight away. Do sit down, I´ll bring it over to the table.” Sentences like that don´t feature in Grumpy´s linguistic repertoire. So until now we´ve simply put up with the atrocious service, mainly because of the convenience of getting our hands on some reading material. Until yesterday that is when Grumpy simply went one step too far.
We entered the bar just before 12 o´ clock and – as usual – had to greet him before – surprise, surprise – he actually mumbled “Mornin´” back to us. (Without a smile of course. Steady now – wouldn´t want to overdo it, would we?) We ordered our drinks at the bar and took them over to a table. A few minutes later a friend came in, invited us to a coffee and again, we ordered at the bar and carried the coffees over to the table ourselves. When we eventually got up to leave, Grumpy dragged himself over to our vacated table, grabbed some of the cups and glasses and muttered darkly but very audibly: “Ok, I´ll clear up your mess then.” I was gobsmacked - for a few seconds – after which I seriously had to bite my tongue so as not to cause a scene. (I had even helpfully stacked up all cups and saucers, put the spoons in one cup and separated used from unused sugar sachets – yeah, well – don´t ask, that´s me!) Sure thing, you are entitled to get annoyed if somebody at home doesn´t clear up after themselves but if you run a bar, please correct me if I´m wrong here, isn´t clearing tables part of the job??? We often do take our empties back to the bar, actually, to save the person serving a bit of work; however, we don´t tend to be quite so cooperative when dealing with such a miseryguts.
Well, the camel´s got the hump now and its back is well and truly broken. ¡Basta ya! Enough is enough. Bye bye British bar. Incidentally our friend has suggested we should give the bar another try and said it might grow on us (like mould) but we´re not convinced. We´ll be joining the village library next week and we´ll stock up on English goodies when we´re in the UK next month. As for the eggs (not good for your cholesterol level anyway), you never know, I might be able to persuade Ian to have a couple of chickens of our own. Then again – pigs might fly and, even more unlikely, Grumpy might one day realise that he is in fact running a hospitality and not a hostility business.
Thank you for visiting my blog. I hope you´ve enjoyed it. Do look in again sometime soon. Goodbye and have a nice day ;)