Bloody John Lindsay: A Christmas Mare.
The phrase: 'Bloody John Lindsay' has been around for decades, forming out the mouths of many people, young or old. There are reports that some babies' first sentences are 'bloody John Lindsay' after experiencing an interaction with the man. John Lindsay is not just a name but a lifestyle. If you find yourself being a complete and utter drunk, annoying dickhead, I am sorry to tell you that you are a John Lindsay. I will warn you that the content you're about to hear is not pleasant to the ears, and you may catch yourself thinking or even saying 'Bloody John Lindsay'.
I had known John Lindsay for quite some time before returning home for Christmas. Despite this, I didn't know his name - that soon changed. The first day of John Lindsay's Christmas adventures came up the stairs in the pub in mid-December. It was quiet while traditional music played, and customers enjoyed the atmosphere. That was until John Lindsay decided to strike. He stood by the bar, annoying away the customers. He'd whip out the fateful question as he swung from side to side.
'What's your favourite Christmas tune?' he'd annoyingly ask. 'It's definitely Fairytale of New York', he'd continue interrogating the poor lass just trying to order a gin and tonic.
What you must know about John Lindsay is that there is always a correct answer, which is his answer. So, when John Lindsay would ask, 'What's your favourite Christmas tune' the correct answer was Fairytale of New York. Any other answer would spark him into an argument.
Anyway, I had planned to tell John Lindsay to stop being a pain once I had finished serving this poor girl. However, once I had turned back around, he had gone and sat at one of the tables full of customers as I heard in the background:
'What's your favourite Christmas tune'.
At this point, I had decided to leave him alone because a.) It was already too late, and b.) I didn't want to waste my night babysitting bloody John Lindsay.
For some reason that I can't recall, I had ended up swapping with my manager and was now downstairs and had completely forgotten all about John Lindsay. My manager came down with a cackle at the end of the shift.
'Oh my god', he pronounced as he opened the door, with his chuckling laugh.
'What's wrong?'
'Bloody John Lindsay was asleep on the table', Connall had now broken out in great laughter at the incident ', and when I woke him up and told him to piss off, he looked at me and asked, 'Connall, are we still best pals".
We laughed as we packed up the pub, muttering 'bloody John Lindsay'.
John Lindsay would spend the rest of the Christmas and new year period terrorising everyone and anybody he could see and wound up on the refusal list at least ten times, always with the description 'Blootered + being annoying'. Many highlights included: Boring Allison to death, talking about wooden boats, and trying to blame me for spilling his pint. (He spilt it himself).
The last time I saw John Lindsay was early January when he came in with his friend, surprisingly sober. I had taken advantage of this and decided to wind him up for being such a little shit that he couldn't remember anything and had apologised. Although after about four pints, John Lindsay was close to blootered again and annoying the locals with his new question: would you rather go see David Bowie or *insert random artist*? (The answer was David Bowie)
Around the same time, I had been speaking to Caroline about Spacey throughout the day, accidentally saying his name three times. Surly enough, ten minutes after the third calling, he appeared in the flesh. Luckily, at this point, my shift was over, and poor Connall came strolling into not only Spacey staring aggressively at him with his wide, wicked smile.
But John Lindsay was now screaming, 'Alexaaaaa, Alexxaaaaa play *muffle* on Spotifyyy'. This would be perfectly fine if we did have an Alexa and if John Lindsay wasn't screaming this at the glass washer.
'I can see what type of night this is going to be', Connall muttered as he gave John Lindsay a giant eye roll I've ever seen.
'Good luck, Mate; I'll give you thirty minutes before you kick him out', I laughed as I pointed to John Lindsay, who was now asking Connall if the Alexa was broken.
Thirty minutes passed when a notification popped up on my screen from Connall.
'You called it; I kicked him out'.
I gave myself a little victory chuckle, putting away my phone and laughing, 'Bloody John Lindsay'.
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