A Day In The Life Of Duncan Nesbitt (standard:humor, 2365 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Mar 14 2011	Views/Reads: 3062/1980	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
My attempt at comedy.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

when he returned from the toilets. 

"Screwdriver," he ordered, in a voice that made Lee Marvin sound like a
soprano. 

"Coming right up, Sir." 

I mixed the vodka and orange, applied the ice and placed it down in
front of him. 

He looked at it and frowned, the veins in his head pulsating. Not
another awkward customer; that's all I needed. 

"What's this?" he growled, pointing a finger that was almost as thick as
my wrist. 

"A screwdriver.... Vodka and orange." 

"No, a fucking screwdriver. I've pulled your Johny machine off the
wall." 

I smiled, searched his face and waited for the punch line. There wasn't
one. He was serious. I rifled about in the cupboard, passed him the 
tool and he was off. 

"Excuse me," said baldy. "This beer, it isn't a full measure." 

"What?" 

"It's not a full measure. Look, you can see for yourself." 

"Sir, its the standard measure; I can assure you its a full pint." 

Penny was giggling at my misfortune. 

"The customer is always right remember," he insisted. 

"Indeed." I topped his glass up and my eyes were attracted to the door.
A crowd of about ten people suddenly appeared. My quiet afternoon was 
not to be. 

"I'm going to ring Jenny," said Penny. "She ought to have been here by
now." 

The next person that I served was a woman in her forties, who was
wearing a ridiculous low-cut, red top. She was obviously not wearing a 
bra. She had jet-black hair and was fluttering her eyelashes at me; her 
eyes heavily made up with black mascara. She had this permanent smile 
on her face. She looked like a rabbit on heat. As she sat at the bar, I 
could not help but notice the length, or should I say shortness of her 
skirt. 

"Excuse me. I say excuse me." 

Baldy was back, only this time I ignored him and served someone else. 

The queue at the bar was now horrendous, and Penny was nowhere to be
seen. 

"One lager with a touch of lime my friend," ordered a Pakistani
gentleman, who was smartly dressed in a cream suit. 

"Excuse me, bartender," interrupted baldy. 

"One moment, Sir! I'm serving." 

"Have you a light?" asked the rabbit. 

"I'm sorry I haven't... Here's your lager and lime, Sir." 

"Goodness gracious, isn't it expensive?" 

"You're new around here aren't you?" asked the rabbit. 

"Yes, its my first day," I answered. 

"Excuse me," butted in baldy. 

"One moment, Sir, there's a queue." 

"I'll have one of those moliboes please," insisted a small fat man, with
a squeaky voice. 

I frowned. "Excuse me?" 

"You know, a molibo." 

"Excuse me," complained baldy. 

"Wait!" I did not intend to get upset, but this bloke was a pain in the
arse. 

"A molibo please. You know, one of those," he said, pointing. 

"Oh, a Malibu. I'm with you now, Sir." 

"Excuse me." 

I ignored baldy and served my next customer, looking over my shoulder to
see where Penny had gotten to. The rabbit blew a cloud of smoke in my 
face and I coughed. If here's one thing I hate, its smoke. 

"Excuse me," persisted baldy. 

"Ok, what now?" 

"This beer, it's warm." 

"What?" 

"It's warm. My beer." 

I felt his glass. “No it's not." 

"It's warm, I tell you." # I ignored him and the Pakistani beckoned me
over. "Can I tell you a joke? It's really funny." 

"Maybe later, I'm busy right now." 

"I'll tell it to you as you serve... There was this Englishman, Irishman
and Scotsman, and they were the prisoners of Saddam Hussein during the 
gulf war." 

"Hey Abdul, I'm an Irishman," snarled a red headed man, who did not look
too bright. 

"Ali, not Abdul friend," responded the Pakistani. 

"Excuse me, are you going to change my beer or what?" moaned baldy. 

"No, I'm not changing your beer. You've less than half a pint left. It's
probably evaporated the time its taken you to drink it." 

"A glath of whithky pleath." 

I looked at the curly haired man, his face covered with so many
freckles. I was tempted to play join the dots. 

"Come again," I said. 

"A glath of whithky. Are you death?" 

I smiled and looked to the ceilings for the hidden cameras. "Okay,
Beadle, you can come out now." 

The customers looked around and shrugged their shoulders at one another.


"This is a wind up isn't it?" I grinned. 

"Excuse me, my beer," persisted baldy. 

"A glath of whithky pleath!" 

The Pakistani continued with his joke. "Saddam said, “sing me a song
about a dog and I'll let you go free. So the Englishman sings; How much 
is that doggie in the window." 

"A glath of whithky pleath!" 

Baldy tapped me on the arm. "Excuse me, Yank. My beer remember." 

"So he lets the Englishman go free... He turns to the Scotsman and he
sings; I'm nothing but a hound dog, and so he releases him." 

I turned my back on the joker as I poured the whisky and gave it to
short tongue. The rabbit was now wiggling her tongue at me in a 
provocative way. 

"Oh, my fucking God," I mouthed, as I watched a pink-suited man in a
black beret approach the bar. 

"Excuse me," continued baldy, slamming his glass on the bar. "I never
fought a world war for a Yank to treat me like this." 

"A screwdriver darling," said the man in pink, pouting his lips at me. 

I grinned and watched when Tattoo returned and passed me the tool. 

"Here you are, Madam," I mocked, handing the screwdriver to the gay man.
I was convinced that this was a wind up. 

“Cheeky bastard,” he said, eyeing up tattoo. 

The Pakistani continued. "Then he turns to the Irishman and he sings;
Strangers in the night, forever dancing." 

"Excuse me! My beer," whined Baldy 

I squared up to the little irritant. "Fuck off, you little shit! Of all
the bars in London, you had to choose this one." I'm certain my eye was 
twitching when I said this. It was totally out of character for me, but 
there's only so much a man can take. 

An old man, one of those gurners I think they call them, was now
standing at the bar and started to whistle, his fingers inserted in his 
mouth, as he whistled something unknown to my ears. 

"A bod," ordered Tattoo. 

I wasn't about to argue with him and so I placed his Budweiser  on the
table. Again, I recieved that look that told me, I didn't have long to 
live. 

"What the fucks this?" he moaned. 

"Excuse me, bartender." 

"Shut up!" I screamed to baldy. 

"What?" snarled Tattoo. 

"No, not you, Sir... What's the problem?" 

"I asked for a bod. a pint of Boddingtons you silly bastard." 

"Oh, of course, how stupid of me." 

The Pakistan raised his voice as his joke neared the climax. "So Saddam
turns to the Irishman and says, there is no dog in this song. The 
Irishman says, you never let me finish. Strangers in the night, forever 
dancing, scooby dooby doo, scooby dooby." 

The Pakistani fell about laughing, as a spoon player appeared from off
the streets and joined in with the whistler. 

The red headed Irishman squared up to Ali. "So what was wrong with that
then?" 

Ali laughed louder, holding his sides. 

"Scooby Doo was a dog," insisted redhead. 

"Excuse me, bartender, I want to make a complaint," moaned baldy. 

By now, another old gent, who was wearing a flat a cap joined the
whistler and the spoon tapper. At the top of his voice he sang; "If I 
ruled the world." 

I was now on the verge of a stint at the cuckoo's nest, when Penny and
another girl joined me. 

"Where the fuck have you been?" I asked. 

I heard a loud slap and turned to see Ali lying prone on the ground, the
Irishman standing over him. “I like Scooby Doo, Abdul." 

"A glass of whithky pleath." 

"I'm sure Penny here will get your glath of whithky. I quit!" 

Penny tried to console me. "Don't be like that, Duncan. I went to pick
Jenny up. She broke down." 

"It was awfully nice of you to let me know," I moaned. 

"Well I saw that you were busy." 

"Too fucking right I was! I've had bad jokes thrown at me, smoke blown
in my face, went through I think the language barrier trying to take 
orders, had to listen to the Bee Gees over there, and had this old git 
moaning at me none stop. Oh, and the durex machine is knackered." 

"I want to speak to the manager.” 

"I'm warning you, baldy!" I growled. 

"Ooh, who're you calling baldy? I fought a war while you Yanks ate your
doughnuts and worked on your peanut farm." 

I pulled him over the bar by his lapels. "Look, do I sound like a
fucking American to you?" 

He shook his head rapidly. 

"Put him down Duncan,” ordered Penny. “Here's Darcy." 

"What's going on here?" 

"Are you the manager?" asked Baldy. 

"I am." 

"Well I have a complaint to make... This employee of yours insulted me,
before assaulting me." 

"Is this correct, Nesbitt?" 

"No, it is not." 

"Make yourself useful. Go and collect the glasses; the collector hasn't
turned up," ordered Darcy. 

I reluctantly succumbed; after all, it was a break from the asylum. The
singer, spoon tapper and the whistler were now doing a bad rendition of 
Two little boys, as I collected a large amount of glasses, being 
careful to avoid the man in pink. One more glass and I had finished. I 
had not reckoned on the rabbit taking a firm grasp of my arse and 
nipping it with all of her might. I watched as the glasses toppled 
over. I could have sworn that they moved in slow motion. 

A million pieces of glass covered the floor and Baldy said; "You ought
to sweep that up before someone gets cut.” 

That was it. I went behind the bar and poured two pints of best Irish
bitter. Darcy tried to stop me, but thought better of it when he saw 
the manic look in my eyes. I approached Baldy. 

"I didn't order them." 

I grinned. “On the house. Full measures, and I hope it isn't too warm." 

I laughed loudly as the beer ran down Baldy's head and soaked his
pathetic green tank-top. 

"You're fired Nesbitt," yelled Darcy. 

"I'm fired; I'm bloody fired. Oh Lord, thank you." 

I left Uncle Sam's and went home to my wife and daughter. Instead of
moaning at my pregnant daughter Tricia, I hugged her. At least I could 
look forward to a healthy normal grandchild. I hope!" 


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