I have two choices to describe the bartender at the Sportsman’s Rest, AFTER pointing out that she is incompetent. She, additionally, is either stupid or an asshole. I think it is marginally less rude to call her an asshole. Here’s how I came to that conclusion.
A crowd dining together were at the bar when I arrived from the Isle of Wight Marathon, sweating and wearing a race number. They left the bar to read the specials board so that only one fellow was ahead of me who placed an unnecessarily complicated drink ordered (some wussy drinks like a lager with a splash of soda and some fruit concentrate). He suggested she take my order first as I might want to get back to the race. She nodded then went ahead to clumsily prepare his, oh, let’s call them ‘drinks’ and slowly count his change.
Turning to me just as a fat bloke in tweed pushed his head through a window out toward the dining area and shouted for service, she then turned away and left me to serve this dickhead. In the meantime, the diners crowded around and after she finally finished his order, she started taking theirs. Even they — and they’re British and prone to pushing ahead despite their false fetishization of the queue — suggested maybe I was there ahead of them and might want to get back to the race.
After running the credit card for their order she finally started my pint giving me something similar to a glass of beer but with an inch and a half of head which I downed in a little less than a minute out near the road. The folks standing there seemed like they might be nice but I had more than burnt up my allocated time watching this little passive aggressive one-act play.
What a tool-ette.