Everytime I am struggling for an interesting subject to write about, something that is blog worthy happens in my life. Yesterday was no different. It was before the mighty Arsenal’s 1-0 victory over the less important team from North London (I still haven’t come down from the high). Liverpool vs. Manchester United was on the T.V. so we decided to go watch the game in a pub outside the ground before entering the stadium. However, we missed the first half and only caught the second half inside the Emirates. I’ll explain why in a minute but the title gives the main reason.
The pub in question doesn’t actually have a name above the door but instead, a picture of Argentine Marxist revolutionary (straight from Wikipedia) Che Guevara. He would have been turning in his grave at the way at I was treated. What got my back up initially is that we were about to go in the pub and the bouncer said, “you enter the garden that way”, pointing down the road. No one mentioned the garden but perhaps he just presumed. I’ll let him off. When I explained we wanted to watch the match, he let us in.
We weren’t in there for more than 30 seconds. Inside the pub, I was parked up next to another wheelchair user so I could see the screen (just about because it was tiny) but soon after, the same moronic doorman instructed my brother to put me “over in the far corner because it was about to get busy”. Not only was I being treated like a nuisance instead of a customer; the bouncer committed the cardinal sin of not talking directly to me and solely addressing the person with ‘Wheelchair Boy’.
I don’t know how I didn’t hit him (probably because I’m a wimp) but he was making me boil with rage. My brother took me out before I had time to make a scene and pushed me away from the building. If anyone from the Che Guevara is reading, let me suggest that a sign is put up clearly stating ‘No wheelchairs allowed’. Just like old shop signs that used to read ‘No blacks, no Irish, no dogs). That would make your pub retro.
Bye for now!