Saturday I got bounced from a bar for the first time in my life.
It was mid-afternoon, Hania and I had just checked into the Colony Hotel in Delray Beach, and I headed down to the Blue Anchor to watch the second half of the England-France match. The pub, whose exterior was imported from a pub in London, seemed the perfect place to watch the quarterfinal match.
As expected, the inside was packed with passionate fans, all of them cheering for England. I walked past a tall, thin man at the entrance and found a spot near the bar. Shortly, the tall, thin man came over and gruffly told me I was blocking the lane, which constituted a fire hazard. I asked if I could stand by the door where he had been standing. He said I could.
After a few seconds in my new spot I was approached by the tall, thin man again who asked even more gruffly if I was going to buy a drink like everyone else. This seemed an odd question from someone who had just chased me away from the bar. I explained that I had just arrived, and in fact was thinking of buying a beer, but now that he was being so rude about it I had begun to think I might not.
“OK, you’re outta here,” he said, and physically forced me out the door. As I stood on the sidewalk, stunned, he called me “rude” and asked if I were from New York.
France went on to win the match, to my great satisfaction (even though I had begun the day as a fan of England). Though it didn’t match my satisfaction at having gotten thrown out of a bar at the age of 70.
