Update 11 Feb 2014: Scott7_Gibbons, that silver tongued devil, appears to be looking for a new friend…sorry, man, in this case looks are deceiving (I’m assuming that was your white van parked out front of the pub):
Original post continues:
“I’d like a pint of Guinness please.” Noting the two taps, one marked Extra Cold — an abomination — I added, “NOT Extra Cold.” The Gade and Goose looked as local as you could get on this bleak estate near the top of the ridge, and I enunciated with great care to a) make myself understood and b) avoid offence.
The little feller behind the bar frowned and spat back, “WHAT did you say to me?”
“A pint of Guinness please.” Then, pointing at the non-offensive tap, “this one, not that one.”
“WHAT?” he croaked, again.
“Guinness. Please. At a drinkable temperature.”
He put a half pint glass under the tap and had half filled it while I stood there wondering if it looks as huge to him as it does to someone watching him. Snapping out of my reverie on relative size and appearances, I added, “I’m sorry, I actually wanted a pint.”
Snatching a pint glass he could use as a swimming pool and affecting a look of absolute disgust he responded, “Look mate, I know what I’m doing. I have a bit of experience behind the bar. You let me handle this side of the bar and you handle that side.”
“I’ve got a modicum of experience on both sides of the bar myself. When the only glass I see is the wrong size it might mean you misinterpreted my accent. Not trying to interfere, just being helpful.”
For my trouble, he charged me a price that must have included the nearly full half on top of my pint. I don’t know where he keeps the stepladder, but he sure climbed up on SOMETHING to give me such a proper rogering.