CLANCY OVERELL | Editor | CONTACT
As the publican at one of Betoota’s truly lowest joints, Bernie Power knows that some people treat his business as nothing more than a venue to delete as many affordable schooners as possible before heading to a football match. Or when they’ve been kicked out of everywhere else.
He understands that young blokes, and recently divorced older blokes, need a place like this. And he’s happy to provide them with one.
Within reason.
But like every other pub and bar in town, the Double Feature Hotel is beholden to liquor licensing legislation – and has become a favourite for unannounced walk-throughs from the local coppers.
That means aside from occasionally cleaning the lines and serving lukewarm spring rolls to his engine room of pokie addicts, his most important job is identifying which patrons are ‘noticeably pissed’.
As a gentleman, he doesn’t keep count of their schooners. He’s also willing to overlook the occasional wobble in between their beer and the urinal. But there’s some things that he simply cannot ignore.
Bernie was confronted with one of these blaringly obvious signs of intoxication last night, after a group of cashed up solar panel lads spent close to 5 hours in the front bar of his pub.
Like any group of blokes in their early twenties with a deliciously disposable income, it seems the plan was to basically get a drunk as possible and see where the night takes them. Bernie was willing to oblige, until he wasn;t
While volume and the language coming from their table gradually became quite offensive, and the rounds of drinks became more exotic – Bernie kept minding his own business, as he’s expected to.
But it was when one of the smaller blokes started doing ‘the Biden Face’ that he had to pipe up.
“Come one boys, I think we’ve had enough here” said Bernie.
“Have a go at this bloke. He doesn’t know where he is”
The boys all turn to their mate to see what exactly he was doing that warranted the bartender cutting them off.
Immediately they realised it was probably time to go. With a slowed reaction time, the least piss fit bloke in the group was staring vacantly at his surroundings like an 81-year-old man in the midst of cognitive decline.
“Yep. Rightooooo” said one of the boys, as the rest downed their half full Long Island Ice Teas.
It was time to go find a feed, or a strip club, or a bunch of empty wheelie bins to knock over. Either way, this bloke’s not fit for public life.
