Update on the Pub: They’re Dicks!

A lot of you out there know me, right?

Then you know it takes a lot to piss me off.

Strolling down State Street today, I decided to stop into the Pub to get a couple pictures, maybe talk a little. As you can see here, I was ready to help promote the place as a new live music establishment. Just tryin’ to be helpful.

Both the doors were propped open. The door I entered had a handwritten sign saying “ENTER” (wow, they spelled it right) with an arrow pointing in. So I went in. The place was empty; no one about. I thought that strange. I started to take out my frightening, menacing, evil little Canon camera.

Thirty seconds after I enter, a dude walks out. I introduce myself and tell him what I do. He shrugs his shoulders uncaringly as we shake hands. I ask him if I could take a couple pictures to put the word out that their club is doing live music. The guy absolutely refuses and asks me why I’m in the place. I explain I thought they were open. He practically accuses me of stealing from the bar, which I was nowhere near. He practically tells me to get the fuck out.

As I’m turning to leave I tell him that if he wants to be a dick, dickishness always ends up in the story.

Frickin’ voila.

I haven’t been treated this badly since the dick that runs the Ale Asylum practically ran me out of his then new establishment for actually suggesting we put some Rick’s Cafe’s in there. I swore I’d never drink his beer. Then someone gave me a jug of it unknowingly and, okay, now I buy their beer all the time.

The Pub might do just fine with all the blockheads on campus. Good for them. They’ll never see a dime from me and I’ll never review a show there. So don’t ask. This time I mean it.