The Docksider Pub and Restaurant 121 Front Street Hamilton, Bermuda 11:00am – 3:00am Phone (441) 296-3333 I have never played beer pong before. Well, put it this way: if I had the choice between a few doses of Philip Larkin poetry and a nice glass of wine…or beer pong, I’m afraid I would take the former. This was the basis of my journey to Docksiders last Tuesday, or ‘Dockies’ as it has come to be affectionately known. It is an odd little establishment just outside of the Bermudian Club/Pub strip on Front Street. It has both the charm of a pub and the seediness of south central Los Angeles. They go hand in hand, like Tucker’s Point and white folk. Docksiders is for those people who don’t want to go to Beach Bistro because they think its ‘un-cool’ or ‘working class’, but they can’t hang out at Tucker’s Point either because, well, they’re not Silvio Berlusconi, or some blonde people I know. As a result, these people are lost. Bereft of a seat in the house of Hogpenny or a plate of pâté in Port O Call, they doth march to Docksiders, where they sit with grumpy unemployed people like me. I was actually waiting for someone, but in proper Grumpy Zupp fashion, I decided to come two hours early. I don’t believe in this ‘fashionably late’ balderdash. ‘Oh yes, let’s come fashionably late to Docksiders and drink Prosecco with the fashionably large bouncer.’ Shut up. Daniel The Murderer is getting very upset with these big words you’re using. Arriving at 7:30pm at Docksiders is like buying milk at Miles, why bother? There is no point, because prior to 10:20pm when the Pong starts, there is no point in Docksiders existing. I pushed open the swing doors like John Wayne (or George Bush) and planted my foot upon one of those railings that run along the ground so that people can put their lower-class-but-not-really feet somewhere. Its one of those places where you think to yourself, ‘Ah yes, there’s that guy who used to work with me at school and oh look, she’s put on weight and oh, I hate him. Like, I actually hate him, I better just stay next to this man who smells a bit like a cable box when it gets hot.’ I ordered my G&T and decided to sit outside. Even though I am a non-smoker while I write this, I will not spare any of the bloody details. I sat outside to have a smoke. There. I said it. As I had a sip of my G&T, a man, who I shall call Steve, took my lighter off the table and used it to light his cigarette. I looked up at his hideous visage and said, ‘This is not Afghanistan Steve, there are rules’. ‘Thanks buddy’, he replied, only to join his equally in-bred friends by the pillar. Thank Dunkley he didn’t see my G&T. After sitting outside for about half an hour, my neck was hurting from pretending to watch T.V. ‘You know the match finished an hour ago, right?’ one girl said to me. ‘I know’, I replied, ‘I actually like the post-match talk’. She looked confused, ‘But there’s no sound’. Just before I got up in awkward reverence I replied, ‘I can read lips’. After burning that bridge, I returned to the bar counter and ordered another G&T because I’m lower-class-but-not-really. I saw, a few inches from my feet, a plastic bag. ‘Probably weed’, I thought to myself. Suddenly, I felt a firm finger tap on my shoulder. I looked around only to find an older couple talking to each other. Whoops, G&T, turn around, ‘That’ll be $6.50, please’. ‘I’m sorry, my last one was $5.50.’ ‘Its $6.50 man’. A moment of recession rigour but then, ‘I’ll pay by card’. I heard a voice behind me say, ‘Excuse me, can I get my bag, please?’ I agreed, given that I am a gentleman and the fair lady doth need her plastic bag. ‘Seriously, can you f***ing move’, she said in a louder tone. Believe me, I walked to the airport just so she could get her plastic bag. It must have been the greatest plastic bag in Bermuda. You know the list of the most wanted people in the world? After Osama Bin Laden was murdered, this bag became number one. I’ve never seen ‘The Taming of the Shrew’. I think I might now. After facing off with Angela Merkel, I decided to sit inside and pretend to watch more television. This was where I made the acquaintance of Daniel The Murderer. I shall call him Daniel The Murderer, not because he actually murders people (that he probably does) but because he murdered my dreams of having a good night at Docksiders. I recall my Mother saying once that solo drunks in bars often find each other. I don’t know if I was drunk, but Daniel certainly was. He was a mixture of Mike Tyson and that guy from the Dos Equis commercials. Seeing as he was a Brazil fan and given that they had just lost 7-1 to Germany, I decided to start off the conversation lightly: ‘I support Germany’, I said, to which I received a facial expression, which was akin to a bite from Suarez. It hurt. ‘I watch football’, he replied. What a revelation from Mr. Hemingway. He continued to create sentences: ‘I couldn’t believe the schewn and da cootsflap’. ‘Yes, women’, I replied, looking for my inner misogynist and a hot topic, ‘I haven’t had a girl in ages’. ‘That sounds like a personal problem. I don’t think I can help you with that.’ I laughed, but he seemed unimpressed. ‘Who the f*** are you and why the f*** am I talking to you?’ he said. ‘Well, you started it’, I replied, ‘And so what? Football should bring people together, not break them apart’. Beautiful, just beautiful. I seemed to reach him, but then he said, ‘That is honorable, but I might get angry.’ I went to stand up, but he called my bluff. ‘Are you a faggot?’ he said, ‘No sir,’ I replied, ‘I’m going to leave now’. So much for pathos. Thankfully for me, some of my friends arrived and prevented me from embarrassing myself any further. While sitting outside I discussed the topics of vomiting on the plane and my acquisition of a work permit, which should expire sometime soon. Upon entering the ‘Pong Chamber’ I decided that this was not for me, and this is coming from a guy who has danced with strippers in Malta and talked to an angel in Cuba. Charlie Brown awaited me on Bermuda’s public transport system, so unlike Steve, Mrs. Merkel or Daniel The Murderer, I had to make an effort. ‘Stay thirsty my friends’, indeed.
Posted on: Thu, 10 Jul 2014 23:09:45 +0000
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