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The Customer is Always Right
by Ian McLaren
Another tall tale from the saloon bar philosophy group at the Titanic Refloated.
Well, the king was in his usual fix. Bills everywhere, and hardly a penny of tax revenue to cover them. Even the Royal Treasurer had gone on strike he couldn't steal enough to live on. The king put down the latest threatening letter, and looked out across the town square. He smiled, as a 20-watt light bulb of inspiration flickered over his head. The Royal Brewery is producing decent beer at last: Ill open a pub! And within the week, the winter breakfast room had become the Kings Inn. Within another week, it was the talk of the town bars except, of course, the Kings Inn. Demanding double the going rate for a beer was one thing it was good ale but threatening to execute customers for demanding a clean glass or a full measure was quite another. They knew he meant it. Service had stopped for nearly half an hour while the king himself went down to the cupboard in the dungeons, and brought back the headsman's axe to use on Old Grudgett. Mind you, he had managed to get a dart lodged in the portrait of the queens grandmother.
The townsfolk had organised a rota. You had to drink at the Kings Inn one night a week. He had proclaimed you'll drink a cask of my beer every night, or I'll close down all the other taverns. Takeaway orders were popular. In fact, one of the castle scullery maids had to go round town every morning to collect the crested mugs from the other pubs.
Then the king started to get bored. All these people kept dashing into the bar, grabbing an armful of pint pots and running away again. There was a gratifying heap of silver in the till, but no-one to talk to. And all those racing boots were scuffing up the hall floorboards.
It took a few more months to get the details right. The queen got her winter breakfast room back, and papered over her grandmothers extra nostril. The king could once again spend his evenings bullying his sons and frightening the foreign ambassadors. The townsfolk could again spend their time in their favourite drinking dens, and they even had a new grumble about the royal tax on each pint. And the royal debts kept mounting up
Reproduced from the Full Pint, Issue 19.
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