Well, I will disclose that one of the other people with me was Chris. The third person was a publishing professional (not a writer or an editor) who was far less than thrilled at the state of things.
When we made ourselves comfortable in the upstairs room on the sidelines of the Other Party, one of the Other Party came over and asked us what we were doing there. We told him it was time for the BFS party (actually, it was past time at that point). The Other Party quickly complained to a waitress, who insisted that we go back downstairs and wait in the bar until such time as the BFS party got started. The third person said no, she had asthma and she couldn't breathe down there, and she certainly didn't want to wait outside in the cold. The waitress told us that we were very rude and went to get help.
A larger, male employee came upstairs and boy, he was already angry. He told us that if we didn't leave the room immediately, they would refuse to serve us at all. Chris took issue with him and the guy told us that if we kept on, he would refuse to serve the entire BFS. Chris and I told him this was really unprofessional; we were told to leave the premises altogether asap.
That's our whole sordid story. Third person's name withheld for the sake of privacy.
And not terribly heroic. In fact, I felt sorry for the guy who threw us out. He had probably been dealing with demanding pub patrons and bitchy party-goers all afternoon and well into the evening.
If I still had the iron constitution and the leathery lungs of my youth that enabled me to sit for hours in smoke-filled bars without open ill effects, I wouldn't have thought twice about sitting around in the main room, drinking and talking too loud to make myself heard over the din. But I can't survive outside of earth's atmosphere any more.
no subject
When we made ourselves comfortable in the upstairs room on the sidelines of the Other Party, one of the Other Party came over and asked us what we were doing there. We told him it was time for the BFS party (actually, it was past time at that point). The Other Party quickly complained to a waitress, who insisted that we go back downstairs and wait in the bar until such time as the BFS party got started. The third person said no, she had asthma and she couldn't breathe down there, and she certainly didn't want to wait outside in the cold. The waitress told us that we were very rude and went to get help.
A larger, male employee came upstairs and boy, he was already angry. He told us that if we didn't leave the room immediately, they would refuse to serve us at all. Chris took issue with him and the guy told us that if we kept on, he would refuse to serve the entire BFS. Chris and I told him this was really unprofessional; we were told to leave the premises altogether asap.
That's our whole sordid story. Third person's name withheld for the sake of privacy.
And not terribly heroic. In fact, I felt sorry for the guy who threw us out. He had probably been dealing with demanding pub patrons and bitchy party-goers all afternoon and well into the evening.
If I still had the iron constitution and the leathery lungs of my youth that enabled me to sit for hours in smoke-filled bars without open ill effects, I wouldn't have thought twice about sitting around in the main room, drinking and talking too loud to make myself heard over the din. But I can't survive outside of earth's atmosphere any more.