I wouldn’t have believed it if my chums hadn’t seen it and told me about it. (& got a photo too)
So to the delight of waiters and bar staff all over Belfast the Tall Ships have been and gone. I’ve never been one for seafaring types or boats in general, except of course Captain Birdseye, the maker of lovely bread crusted fishfingers. It’s been a very odd few days. Actually it would be more accurate to say there have been a few moments in the last few days of such complete absurdity and oddness that I was sure that I had actually fallen, banged my head and was in fact enjoying the whicky whacky delusions of someone with severe brain damage. Obviously I knew the Tall Ships and Maritime Festival would bring more than just lusty sailors and the ever so “nice” volunteer types that go on such voyages on to the streets of the city. But it was sooo much worse than I could have ever imagined. Oh yes my sweet and lovely restaurant was over run with ships wanchors all weekend. The smell of fish and semen seamen had become to much to bear and by Sunday night and I was close to staging my own one waiter mutiny.
Where to start, oh I suppose I should start with the most mental guest moment of the weekend. That involved a middle aged woman from Ballybogshite or somewhere like that, Lisburn or one of those places. Honestly, take me any more than half a mile outside of the city and I’m as lost as a fat kid in a gym. In she arrived on Friday afternoon all blustery and pointy like. She demanded a table for her and her two girl chums. This was regrettable timing on her behalf as we were still about twenty minutes from reopening for dinner from lunch. I politely advised her of her right to fuck away off and come back at 5pm when I assured her, again politely, that we would have a table ready for her. Now it would be both fair and accurate of me to say that she didn’t take this well. She didn’t take it well and then some. She huffed and she puffed and for one teeny weeny moment I was sure I was about to get struck with her middle class arm of justice and let me tell you Daily Mail readers arm’s are weighty appendages what with all the angry letters they write. I took a step back lest I get cuffed with her rock encrusted right hand. In the end she did leave mainly thanks to her suitably mortified girl chums.
And then she came back. This was disappointing. I showed her to her seat and assured her somebody (else) would be along to secure an beverage order. Obviously this wasn’t good enough and she kicked off again about why she couldn’t have the lunch menu.
“Eh because it’s dinner service madam”
“But I want to eat off the lunch menu”, she was one huffy gesture away from getting the back of her legs smacked like the petulant brat she was acting like.
This went on for a bit inevitability ending up with me stood over her pointing at where the big and little hands where on my watch. I stropped off to cool down tagging waiter chum number four on the way. She entered the field of battle with confidence only to return a minute or two later. The manager was called for. We assumed he would back down, such is a managers want and yer woman would indeed get to order off the lunch menu despite it not being fucking lunch fucking time. And that’s sort of what happened. A moment or two later angry lady stormed past me which caused me to knock into her. I apologised, mainly because it was the way I was brought up but also because I didn’t see who it was at first.
“Don’t you madam me”, she roared as she made for the exit. Turns out, and you’ll like this, the boss had asked her, politely, to depart from the restaurant and never darken it’s lovely brown doors again. This was awesome. He had indeed relented and allowed them to order off the lunch menu only for her to refuse him saying that the staff would just spit in her food. He didn’t take this so well, who would, and chucked her out. Minty! Even better her chums stayed. That was fun and I thought to myself that’s a good story right there. But hold on, shit then proceeded to get a whole lot weirder…
It was later that night and the restaurant was calming down after a very long and successful service, lunatics from Ballybogshite aside. The persistent rain had driven the big ship aficionados indoors and into the loving and in no way stabbing arms of yours truly. Despite having to listen to the same mind crushingly boring stories about big ships with big sails and men with big beards I had remained in good form all day. All the waiter chums and I were gathered at the bar gossiping and passing judgement, in the way only waiters can, on our guests. I mean there are only so many sailor-esque shirts and people doing that god awful pirate speak you can put up with before you go freaking ga ga. Our Doorman wandered over to us. Seeing the doorman inside is as odd as seeing a cow in your kitchen. You don’t think of doormen as inside creatures. Anyhoo he clearly had some news and we gathered round him to find out what the gossip was. Doormen gossip more than waiters but it’s always about sex – who’s doing it, where they are doing it, how many times they were doing it and so on.
The doorman recanted a story so strange that I was sure it was bullshit, I even said so. Ten minutes later the only person covered in the brown and red hue of embarrassment and bullshit was me. Our trusty doorman had gone to remonstrate with a woman with a child’s pram who was drinking with a largish group of chums outside the restaurant. They, like most of the residents of the city, were soaking up the tall ships atmosphere, which even I have to begrudgingly accept was unusually sparkly and almost continental in feel. This of course being in stark contrast to the usual Belfast atmosphere of impending carnage and bitterness. He asked her to move along as kids couldn’t be in the area outside the restaurant at that time of night as it is a licensed premises. She assured him it wasn’t a problem. He assured her it was and again asked her to move along. But again she assured him that it wasn’t a problem. The doorman became a little irate at what he considered her callous disregard for the child in her charge and for his polite but firm request to go away. So again he asked her to move along and explained all the reasons why he wanted her to toddle off.
“Ah right”, she says “But I don’t have a child in the pram!”
“Say what?”, replies out trusty door guardian who was now more confused than angry. He had seen the pram bustle and move so he suspected her to be at the very least full of monkey shine. Was she trying to pull the baby wool over our hero’s eyes? Up with this he would not put so after asking to see the content of the pram she happily opened it to reveal…
brace yourselves kids…
it wasn’t a dog as some of us suggested and it wasn’t a big bag of booze either.
No, when she opened the pram up there in all it’s glory was a KANGAROO!
That’s right a mother fudging kangaroo. Check them apples out!
Now as the doorman told the story and got to the most unbelievable of punch lines I could do nothing but shout, “bullshit.” But the rest of the waiting staff returned five minutes later and confirmed that there was indeed a woman outside the building having a few leisurely scoops with her chums with a kangaroo in a pram. Belfast eh? Classy fucking town. She reappeared the following night with said marsupial in a sling round her neck. She wasn’t entertained so much though this time. I mean when you’ve seen a kangaroo once do you really need to see one again….heh.
Honestly it was like I was in my own episode of Shameless. So very very odd.
What. The. Fuck?!
A kangaroo?! Where does one even get a fucking kangaroo?!
White Rabbit: I KNOW! I mean wtf?! So many questions….where? how? is it right? It’s so so weird….
Now hold on a second was that a joke or did that really happen???
Steve: totally true…..real woman, real pram, real kangaroo, really odd…
Hahaha ……….. Brilliant!
and i thought my town was strange! xoxox
Ellie: heh….there were managers flicking through manuals for the, “kangaroo – pest or guest” section….no one quite knew what to do…
Savannah: ha! yes and thats saying something!
Yeooogh the Barista is back!
What can I say? Pure Fuckin’AWESOME. I love this random town.
And yes it’s true about doormen- they only ever talk about sex. And swap dorty vids on their mobiles- heck it passes the time for them standing outside in the wind and rain all night, don’t it?
Dude, be thankful you aren’t in Southern California. In SoCal, not only would she have a kangaroo that she took aroundin a stroller, she’d fucking well be breastfeeding it, too.
Oh Sparrow she came back the next night with the bloody thing in a sling round her neck….the mind boggles at the thought of how that relationship might be progressing….
Emmmm… 2 things.
1. The restaurant has a doorman? Yike! Seeing doormen even on bars when I go home makes me think I don’t want to go in. But a restaurant – I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.
2. The woman with the pram was *outside* the restaurant, and the doorman told her she couldn’t be there becuase it is a licenced premises? But she was outside? Public space and all that, no? Or how far does the long arm of alcohol reach? Not that I agree that a woman with a pram (therefore assuming a baby is in it) should be skulling back cans of beer in the evening with her mates, but still… under what authority could the doorman ask her to move away.
Apart from all that: I miss your WDF blog, but glad to see you writing here each week
Belfast Barista: whoop whoop! yes but they are still filthy creatures who shouldn’t be allowed inside…..or kangaroos
AM in Belgium: classy restaurant actually…the area outside the building is still considered licensed premises by mr law man….so the doorman had every right to ask her to move on…..
Thanks for the clarification.
Bloody stupid law in my opinion, but anyway
You should have confiscated the kangaroo and kept it as our pet, instead of the dog, i even named him, Rooney.
am in belgium: bloody odd town to be fair….
the cousin: rooney eh? it’s like living with Shakespeare heh
Like AM In Belgium, I too find it really, really hard to believe that a doorman’s jurisdiction extends to the public footpath in Belfast or anywhere else. Baby or no baby in the pram, it was none of his business. Mr ironbed would have suggested to mr. doorman that he should go for a long walk off a short pier at the Tall Ship festival.
And what kind of a resturaunt closes for business in the afternoon? Classy, I think not. Over-priced? Probably.
ironbed: yeah actually the doorman jurisdiction does indeed stretch as far as the area around the front of the restaurant seeing as it’s our property….hope that clears that up….also most restaurants save for Pizza Huts etc close for a period between lunch and dinner to allow both the foh staff and kitchen staff to get set up for dinner service…different menus require different set ups both in the kitchen and on the restaurant floor….
so I hope that clears everything up for you…heh and I managed to do it without insulting anybody…..whoop whoop….
and now that I think about it, there was a FUCKING KANGAROO IN THE PRAM! It was a bloody good job he checked it seeing as she was trying to get for food…..sake
Manuel, I’m guessing that kangaroo is the roo equivalent of The Littlest Hobo. This barmy pram woman happened to need a kangaroo, for her own reasons. But in the next few days, the roo will shoot her one last look of affection, before hopping wistfully into the sunset in search of a new crazy person who requires the services of a giant rat.
That new crazy person might need help solving a murder, or fending off a local gang who are pressuring them for protection money. It’s hard to tell.
I just hope one day, the kangaroo will want to settle down. But until that day comes, I have to assume he’ll just keep moving on.
Flann: good point…maybe he/it/whatever is a wise kangaroo, like skippy (the kangaroo) and solves crimes and saves children trapped down wells and what have you and when he leaves he leaves you wiser and having learnt a little about yourself…
in other news though I now have the theme tune to the littlest hobo stuck in my head now….thanks for that
Hola Other Manuel!
I espect she was drinking up the courage to bring it inside and ask you to cook it. Kangaroo is lovely on a spit roast.
Besos
Your Other Manuel
i am beyond shocked, in fact, astonished into near silence… i’ve never heard such a thing. this is truly a first for my ears…
a manager? kicking out a belligerent arsehole? instead of sucking her toes? it blows the mind!
i mean, what next? kangaroos in prams? oh… wait…
Please tell me someone gave her a smack for being an attention seeking twat.
I’d love to leave a longer comment but I have to take my bear in a wheelie bin out shopping.
Other Manuel: ha!
Daisyfae: tremendous! I nearly fell off my seat with laughter….actually it has become the standard response to all work related issues now when talking to management: “We are out of fish, there’s no wine and the kitchens on fire” Yeah and so? we had a kangaroo in a pram the other day!
BBB: whoops…bear in a bin….oooh that’s just so normal now….but yes we all agreed she was an attention seeker…
I’m going to have to look into this pet kangaroo thing. Think about it, anytime anyone pisses you off you could sic your kangaroo on them, and maybe even have it kick them in the nuts.
Minnow: Yeah, like Killeroo!
http://www.veoh.com/browse/videos/category/entertainment/watch/v4148551QCKr37MK
Its actually a wallaby.I met the woman last year she is really nice as is the little animal she gets a lot of promotion from this wee thing as she runs a magazine about horses so this wee animal helps.
mr manuel waiter, it is not mr doorman’s job to enforce imaginary boundaries outside a building. it causes resentments and trouble, unless of course a pub that also sells food has an enclosed patio or other such quadrangles on the street. otherwise mr and mrs public can tell mr doorman to go take a hike. must be pricey to eat in a resturaunt that can afford to stop selling food while the staff change table cloths.
tim: huzzah! We wondered if it was a wallaby or not. If you don’t mind me asking, where do you get a wallaby from?
Ironbed: Jesus Christ…..what imaginary boundary are you fucking on about? She was on our property ffs! Licensing law in Northern Ireland states that children cannot be on licensed premises after 9pm. It was well after that so he was fully justified in asking her shuffle along when he thought she had a child in a fucking pram? What fucking part of that do you not understand? Sweet baby jebus in the manger!
Fuck only knows where you eat, but yes some restaurants do fucking indeed close for a period between service to reset tables, make changes in the kitchen and to let the fucking staff get a fucking break……
now fuck off you are doing my tits in…….and if you had ever seen my man tits you would know how annoying that is for me……
good grief…..how can a simple story about a mentalist rude woman and a kangaroo in a pram cause so much confusion/grief……
Well, in all fairness, when you were speaking of the cosmopolitan atmosphere of your establishment, and the fact that you have a bouncer, I figured you worked at IHOP.
:::runs and ducks for cover:::
did i dream it or did there not used to be a fella from the wild west who used to walk a tiger about town?
maybe i dreamt that?
Sparrow: no, bad sparrow…….
toast: whilst that does seem in some way familiar it could be just that we have been having the same dreams…which would be odd
mr. manuel the waiter sir, “pleez mr. fawlty don’t heet me”, how do you know that your property owner has curtilidge on the disputed footpath?
currently i eat at frankie and benny’s at victoria centre, flix at the former yorkgate-now called cityside-and i once tried TGIF at victoria centre. two of the above are great restauraunts. TGIF is crap. but none of the above have bouncers. i used to eat in soprano’s on the antrim road and they didn’t employ bouncers to shoo away the public either.
BTW, bet my man tits are bigger than yours.
hey, fat sparrow, i have eaten at IHOP. long waits there but worth it.
hey, toast, you are thinking of buck alec who owned a lion and he took it for walks around north belfast where i now live.
I think you’ll find it’s a Lesser-spotted Wallababy.
Not sure about a man with a tiger but I remember my Dad talking about Buck Alec who lived about the Shore Road and had 2 lions in his back yard.
Ironbed: I know where I work, I know what I am talking about….so you like to eat at American franchises? nice…
Conan: very rarely spotted wallaby….heh
Ellie: Belfast eh? Anythings possible….
mr manuel waiter, flix at cityside is not american owned. actually it is called flicks, sorry, my msitake. besides what’s wrong with american franchise food and, wait for it, service? something belfast restauraunt managers should look into. service with a smile, ya can’t beat it.
Ironbed: you are so utterly boring now…..You don’t know me? You don’t know what sort of a waiter I am so what’s with the shit digs and cheap insults? You are really fucking grating on me now. Seriously dude what the fuck is the problem? What’s with the massive chip on your shoulder?
The Vatican just called about your manager. They are instigating canonization procedures.
(try to ignore the blow flies. ANYONE who voluntarily eats at any IHOP, anywhere,(and even waits in line for it) can be classified as messed up.
Sorry to keep going on about this, but the story of the doorman and the license extending out to the footpath.
I’ve taken a look at UK Licensing Laws, and I can’t see anything in it related to the bounds of the premises extending out to the footpath.
The premises has the obligation to maintain the area outside, but unless the premises has an additional license for alcohol consumption on the path, then I’m afraid your bouncer was being a little over zealous.
I accept I could be totally wrong about this, and you are right; especially since you live and work there; are people under 18 years old not allowed to walk in front of a bar or other place that sells alcohol? What if they stop to chat to someone?
It’s just all a little too fuzzy and unclear to be able to accept that that’s the way it is.
Dear Am in Belgium and Ironbed I am going to type this very very slowly so that you get it and to try and clear up whatever it is you guys are so confused about…
licensing law in Northern Ireland states that children cannot be on licensed premises after 9pm (where they serve food, 7pm if they don’t serve food). They lady with the pram was sitting with her chums outside the restaurant on land that is part of the restaurant, a nice seated area and having a beverage or two. Now as that bit of land is considered licensed premises the door man has the right, in fact it is his job, to ensure that children are off the property by 9 o fucking clock!
WTF people!
It’s a simple fucking story about a woman with a fucking strange animal in a kids pram. Why this fucking need to analyse every fucking word in the story.
OK, it’s clear now. But it wasn’t clear from what you wrote:
“Our trusty doorman had gone to remonstrate with a woman with a child’s pram who was drinking with a largish group of chums outside the restaurant”
Outside the restaurant to me means outside the restaurant. Not on the restaurant terrace or whatever.
AM in Belgium: yes but it’s a story about a kangaroo in a pram….!! a kangaroo? In a pram!!!! In Belfast!!
I feel faint….
maybe the bouncer should have called the peelers about the woman transporting an unlicensed wild animal around the streets of belasft. animal cruelty is illegal….even in norn iron.
Manuel, I know. And it was amusing.
But the other bit stuck in my throat, and when I get like that, I’m like a terrier or whatever, and won’t let go.
But you really should be more clear, you know?
Ironbed: hey but wouldn’t that be overstepping his remit? ha! is this over now?
Manuel, in case you didn’t spot it this made a mention in the Sunday Times (Irish edition)
Cheers Conan, I did see it……probably the last person in the country to at that….was working all day and the chefs tend not to read the times…..got to be said I don’t either….I’m an Observer man….(dirty leftie)