Tuesday, November 24, 2009

More adventures in pubbery

I had the day off on Saturday and wanted to do something fun, but almost everyone was out of town or busy. Tanya mentioned that she and her cousin were going to go to Greenwich market in the morning, so I asked if I could come along. I've been meaning to get back to Greenwich since Jacque and I visited last January. It's gorgeous and kind of really different from the rest of London. The Naval Academy and Royal Observatory are all about when Britain was Great, and Greenwich Park looks like a place Jane Austen characters would stroll through arm-in-arm.

Tanya's cousin decided not to come in the end, but Tanya and I had so much fun! It was a perfect day, but then the sun went down and we couldn't figure out what to do with the evening. No one was free. In the end, Tanya decided to head home which meant I had to go home, too, at 9pm on a Saturday, alone. Lameness galore.

And then I got stranded in effing Canary Wharf. The DLR train that's supposed to run from Greenwich to Bank (where I could get on the Tube home) was under construction and i had to get off at Island Gardens and take a replacement bus to Canary Wharf (where the Tube also runs). However, they failed to mention that the Jubilee line was closed, so Canary Wharf was more or less a dead-end. As I read a bus map trying to figure out how to get anywhere near a place with a functioning Tube station, it started raining. Found the bus stop: it was "not in use." It redirected me to the South Colonnade. Where the h*** is the South Colonnade???

I wandered around Canary Wharf for a while (it sounds worse than it is, if you're imagining me wandering around an actual wharf with docks and stuff. It's the business center of London with a high concentration of skyscrapers belonging to Citibank and BoA et al. Lehman Brothers used to be based there.) Anyway, it was deserted. I found what I thought was the bus stop on the South Colonnade, just barely missed the bus I wanted, and waited for the next one. When it came, the bus driver informed that I was at the wrong stop, but he very kindly drove me over to the right one. Anyway, I got home eventually, but was very annoyed with the sheer lameness of my Saturday evening. Boo.

Sunday was better, though. Tanya and I went to the National Gallery with James (see last entry), despite the fact that none of us were all that interested in the art on display (meh). I got there first, and despite some light rain, decided to wait in Trafalgar Square and look at tree stumps someone had placed there. The light rain quickly turned to the clouds POURING THEIR BITTER, ACHING SOULS OUT IN ORDER TO SOAK ANY INNOCENT PASSERS-BY IN THEIR MISERY AND DISCOMFORT! Or as the British call it, "pissing rain." I spent the next 4.5 hours with my feet marinating in the rainwater trapped in my shoes. James arrived with his trousers soaked all the way up to his waist. We had lots of fun, though, and then I went to work. After work, a bunch of people stayed around and we all got hammered. Fun! This time, I was very wary of getting drunk, because I had to work the next morning. I tried to refuse the Jaegerbomb that was offered to me. In fact, I tried to leave but was picked up and placed back on my stool by the general manager. When the second shots were poured, I tried harder to leave, so one guy grabbed my arms, the manager grabbed my legs, and lovely Jo, who had moments before promised that I didn't have to drink anymore, poured the shot down my throat. Later, when the third round of shots were passed around, I realized that I needed a new tactic. They weren't taking "no" for an answer, so I didn't say no. I took the shot from them, took a deep breath, and threw it back. Over my shoulder. "Seattle!" the general manager barked in a warning tone. "That stuff'll take the polish off the floors!" Well then it's not something I want my liver to have to battle, is it?

Finally, around 3am, my coworker, Julian, decided that he was drunk enough and needed to go home, so I took my chance to escape. "Good luck getting out the locked doors, Seattle," the GM called. Ha! Thank goodness someone showed me the secret back way on Friday night! I escaped into the night, dragging a drunk Julian behind me.

1 comment:

  1. Hahaha! So they call you "Seattle"? Aren't you glad you're not from Forks? There would be no end to the puns!

    Take care of yourself and I'll see you in 15 days (not that I'm counting down or anything!;)