Last Thursday night I bounced down to the local to catch the Germany v Italy match, excited because the (rarely) lovely Italians were exhibiting a touch more talent than they did at the last World Cup (useless bastards), and the Germans were allegedly the team to beat. Well, that didn’t exactly work out as planned, did it? The (alleged) German machine was less than impressive, making for a somewhat disappointing match. ‘Ah well…’ I shrugged, ‘there’s always the final to look forward to.’ You would think at my age I’d know better than to support Italians in a final, no? I have half a mind to write a harsh letter to UEFA asking for my money back, that which I invested in booze and assorted accompaniments including, but not limited to, a couple of sausages, only to watch one team not show up to play. Kind sirs, if the match is less than expected, then you must pay my ass for the inconvenience/torture of watching it. Nkt! Monsieur Platini
So how are all you doing today? You good? Everything okay? All is right in your world? Good to hear.
I’m going to continue ranting about the local now.
So my local underwent refurbishment at the end of last year and as a result has started attracting the yuppie crowd, they who allegedly spend more money than us broke ass regulars. Now the proprietor extraordinaire, Mkubwa, is a good friend of mine and I’m only too happy to celebrate his successful revival, seeing as the aforementioned broke asses were all of five geniuses with a penchant for not paying their bills on time, if ever. Problem is, yuppies in the bar often cause complications, no? See the thing is, I like a quiet bar, I figure if I’m meeting someone for a drink, then we’re looking to engage in conversation, conversation in part enhanced by the lack of ear splitting music. Alternatively, if I’m in the bar all alone, then odds are I’m feeling a bit reflective, and my reflections are often aided, I’ve found, by soothing mellow tunes in the background.
But these 20-something yuppies? They don’t get it. They are yet to make the vital distinction between going out for a drink and going out to party. These buggers are always out to have a good time, burning cash on cheap beer and tequilas, dancing maniacally to anything with a beat, shouting themselves hoarse over the excruciatingly loud and shitty music, the kind of music you hear in bars popular with barely legal types who got their ID’s only a few months ago. You know the music I mean, right? Rihanna, sijui Avril, then LMfuckingwhatever… noise, sometimes catchy noise, but noise all the same. That is what my local has descended to on the weekend, and that’s fine because I don’t go to the bar on the weekend, I figure life is too short for that nonsense. But when I wander into the bar on a loose weekday, dressed in my kafulana to boot, only to find the bar full, and very loud, and not playing my old school jams, and I can’t get a seat at the counter… Eh?
And if that’s not bad enough, the yuppies with their fondness for the good life have in turn attracted the next tier of degenerate revellers, the barely legal students, the ones spending daddy’s hard earned cash. Now these children are a whole other animal. Let me describe the scene for you. I’m sitting at a table next to the counter, because the yuppies have taken what used to be my seat at the very same counter, so I can watch the game on the TV behind the counter, the game the yuppies are clearly not watching, despite their prime vantage points. I’m alone, with the bouncer occasionally coming to stand next to me to watch as well, and I’m minding my own business, silently praying that Mario takes his shirt off again (hubba hubba…), when this bunch of drunken toddlers wanders in. One of the guys in the bunch stops right in front of me to stare at the TV, blocking my view. The bouncer asks him to move and he does, apologising with a smile and a nod. ‘Young man has manners,’ I’m thinking, ‘pity about the dodgy clothing choices though, those skinny jeans do nothing for his ass’. His gang, however, was not nearly as courteous. They gathered around MY table, the girls screaming as they did a couple of shots and then dancing around MY table, generally being a nuisance. One of the other boys in the group, a slightly huge bastard with the regulation earring in one ear and sagging pants around his knees, was squealing with the girls, this as he indiscriminately pawed them (he appeared to be very inebriated, and horny). That is just the kind of behaviour I love to watch when I’m in the local, trying to have a quiet drink and watching some slightly dodgy football. Or not. Eventually they got their own table and buggered off, but not before making me seriously reconsider my choice of drinking den.
But these 20-something yuppies? They don’t get it. They are yet to make the vital distinction between going out for a drink and going out to party. These buggers are always out to have a good time, burning cash on cheap beer and tequilas, dancing maniacally to anything with a beat, shouting themselves hoarse over the excruciatingly loud and shitty music, the kind of music you hear in bars popular with barely legal types who got their ID’s only a few months ago. You know the music I mean, right? Rihanna, sijui Avril, then LMfuckingwhatever… noise, sometimes catchy noise, but noise all the same. That is what my local has descended to on the weekend, and that’s fine because I don’t go to the bar on the weekend, I figure life is too short for that nonsense. But when I wander into the bar on a loose weekday, dressed in my kafulana to boot, only to find the bar full, and very loud, and not playing my old school jams, and I can’t get a seat at the counter… Eh?
And if that’s not bad enough, the yuppies with their fondness for the good life have in turn attracted the next tier of degenerate revellers, the barely legal students, the ones spending daddy’s hard earned cash. Now these children are a whole other animal. Let me describe the scene for you. I’m sitting at a table next to the counter, because the yuppies have taken what used to be my seat at the very same counter, so I can watch the game on the TV behind the counter, the game the yuppies are clearly not watching, despite their prime vantage points. I’m alone, with the bouncer occasionally coming to stand next to me to watch as well, and I’m minding my own business, silently praying that Mario takes his shirt off again (hubba hubba…), when this bunch of drunken toddlers wanders in. One of the guys in the bunch stops right in front of me to stare at the TV, blocking my view. The bouncer asks him to move and he does, apologising with a smile and a nod. ‘Young man has manners,’ I’m thinking, ‘pity about the dodgy clothing choices though, those skinny jeans do nothing for his ass’. His gang, however, was not nearly as courteous. They gathered around MY table, the girls screaming as they did a couple of shots and then dancing around MY table, generally being a nuisance. One of the other boys in the group, a slightly huge bastard with the regulation earring in one ear and sagging pants around his knees, was squealing with the girls, this as he indiscriminately pawed them (he appeared to be very inebriated, and horny). That is just the kind of behaviour I love to watch when I’m in the local, trying to have a quiet drink and watching some slightly dodgy football. Or not. Eventually they got their own table and buggered off, but not before making me seriously reconsider my choice of drinking den.
Folks, there is a lot of shit I will put up with in my quest to have a drink, but LMwhateverthefucktheyarecalled and squealing toddlers in sandaks is where I draw my line, even a langa like me has some principles dammit! I am composing my letter of protest, which I shall then hand deliver to Mkubwa, which he shall then tear up into little pieces, little pieces that I shall then use as a coaster for the drink we will have shortly thereafter. After that drink, I’m leaving and I’m not going back till the buzz dies down and the yuppies and children have packed up their shiny suits, plastic shoes and skinny jeans, and moved on.
Now can anyone recommend a nice clean local with good quiet music? And just so you know, I don’t do country music, I’m not that old. Yet.
Now can anyone recommend a nice clean local with good quiet music? And just so you know, I don’t do country music, I’m not that old. Yet.
