This story contains spoilers for ‘Game Of Thrones.’

We’re sitting around a table at our local pub, drinks in hand, when my mate starts talking about how they’ve finally gotten into ‘Game of Thrones.’

Friend: “I don’t know why I waited so long to watch it. I’m hooked. My favourites so far? Ned and Cat Stark, Robert Baratheon, Khal Drogo… I know everyone loves that Jon Snow guy, but I think the oldest brother, Robb, is way more compelling.”

The rest of us immediately share a look. No one says a word. He notices.

Friend: “…What? Why are you all looking at each other like that?” *Laughs, making a joke.* “Lemme guess… they all die, right?”

We stay quiet.

Me: “[Friend’s Name], remember how you said you hate it when people lie? For any reason? Even little white lies?”

There’s a pause. He stares at us, looking like a balloon slowly losing air. He calls out the bar.

Friend: “Whiskey! Neat!”

He looks at me.

Friend: “Even Catelyn Stark?”

Us: “…”

Friend: *To the barman.* “Make it a double!”

We all raise our glasses.

I live in Germany, but I’m British. The previous day, I had travelled from Germany to the UK to visit my mum. She was working in the morning and so we made plans to meet at a pub restaurant for lunch at 2 PM. This place has a buffet that is super popular, so we had to make a reservation.

While she was at work, I pulled out my laptop to play a video game. I kept an eye on the laptop clock, and at 1:30 PM, I shut it down and went to the pub.

Me: “Hi, I have a reservation for [My Name].”

Server: “Hmm, I can’t see your name on the list.”

Me: “Really? My mum made the booking, but we have the same name.”

The server looks around; the place is clearly packed.

Server: “Well, I can try to find you a table, but you may need to wait a while.”

Me: “Oh, that’s fine.”

I suddenly have a realization.

Me: “Wait, what time is it now?”

Server: “1 PM.”

I slap my forehead as I realise my laptop was still on German time, one hour ahead.

Me: “Oh, I’m such an idiot! I live overseas and am still on European time. I’m an hour early!”

The server looks at the schedule and finds our booking is indeed listed for 2 PM, one hour later.

Me: “I’ll just grab a drink from the bar and wait. I’m sorry about that!”

Server: “Not a problem! I panicked for a moment, wondering how I was going to fit you in!”

Time zones are hard, y’all.

Related:
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 26
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 25
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 24
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 23
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 22

It’s a beautiful sunny day in London, and our pub/restaurant/beer garden is proving very popular. Children and under-eighteens are welcome in the restaurant and beer garden section, but the pub is strictly for adults only. 

A couple sitting in the beer garden are not doing a good job of watching their children, and after the second time, I have had to escort the kids out of the pub:

Me: “Ma’am, sir, please keep your children in the beer garden or restaurant area. Anyone under eighteen is not allowed in the pub.”

Mum: “Oh, they’re just running around a little. It’s a sunny Saturday, let them play!”

Me: “This is a drinking establishment, not a playground. Please keep your children close by.”

Dad: “Where does it say we have to keep the children by our side?”

I point to a sign above the door leading into the pub.

Sign: “We believe that children are the future, and will be welcome in here, in the future, when they’re adults.”

Dad: “That just says keep them out of the pub. Fine. Nothing written there about not letting them play.”

I point to another sign, not as noticeable from here as it’s next to the restaurant entrance instead, but once pointed out, it’s quite legible:

Sign: “Unaccompanied children will be given a double espresso and a puppy.”

Under the sign, additions to the concept had been nailed into the wall in the form of separate, hand-painted wooden planks, so now the sign says:

Sign(s): “Unaccompanied children will be given a double espresso and a puppy… and taught how to swear… and given a drum kit… a bar tab in your name… a set of darts and absolutely no supervision… a flat cap and a strong northern accent… a pair of stilts… will be made to sit with Dave in the corner to listen to all his strong opinions.”

Dad: “The f*** is up with all those signs?!”

Me: “I can’t say, sir, but I think the point has been made. Please accompany your children if they’re not sitting with you at the table.”

They both scoffed, muttered about not being made to feel welcome, down their pints, and left quickly, hopefully to find a playground for those kids and their ludicrous amount of energy…

Our new boss is lovely and amazing, and while his English is perfect, he’s not a native speaker. Our office is very close and friendly, and we’ve all been friends for a while.

It’s the Friday before a long holiday weekend, so halfway through the day, we’ve all gone to the pub for a group lunch and a sneaky pint. As we’re getting ready to go back to the office:

Coworker #1: “You lot go ahead. I’m just going to drop off the kids at the pool.”

We all nod, but the boss looks confused.

Boss: “What kids? You have children? And what pool? There’s no leisure centre around here!”

Me: “No… Boss, he means he’s going to take a dump.”

Boss: “He’s going to the dump? What dump? Where’s the dump?”

Coworker #2: “He’s going to release some chocolate otters in their natural environment.”

Coworker #3: “He’s off to send an order to the factory.”

Coworker #4: “Dropping anchor.”

Coworker #5: “Download a brownload.”

Coworker #6: “Clearing the backlog.”

Coworker #7: “Off for a Henry The Third.”

Boss: “…”

Me: “He’s defecating, [Boss]. Doing a poo.”

Boss: “I hate English…”

A guy I worked with at a bar claimed to have loads of experience despite being only eighteen (old enough to work there in the UK).

We worked at kind of an old man pub, so the two main drinks were good beer and good scotch. This guy’s first customer was one of our regulars, who asked for his usual: scotch and water.

This moron served him a single shot (25 mls) of scotch in a tall glass filled to the brim with water and ice. I’m talking like five times more water than scotch.

The regular took one look at it, turned to me, and said, “I’ll have my usual,” and never spoke to the other kid again.