The Story of the Now Infamous French Beret

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Rob_Strand
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Location: Titletown, USA

The Story of the Now Infamous French Beret

Post by Rob_Strand »

To begin this story I must first explain how I came across the beret. It involves a second drinking story, involving a youth hostel, a shit ton of alcohol, and this beret. We formed a drinking game where we would guess the shot under the beret. if we got it wrong, we drank. I somehow ended up with it in the morning.

So the very next day I am sporting the beret and wearing a black button up shirt, and black pants. I look pretty suave walking around Seattle with nothing to do. It was later in the day I went to my personal favorite pub, The White Horse. The owner is running the bar that very night and his other bartender is off work, but sitting in the corner enjoying his beers. Of course he notices right off the bat I am wearing this beret and as we start drinking up a storm as we argue back and forth. Sitting in between us is this young couple who are staring to enjoy our argument of French vs British animosity as they start drinking. I am getting frustrated after being asked for the 10th time to take off that stupid beret by the drunk bartender. I finally take off the beret and ignore him for a while.

I start talking with the owner and share a laugh or two when the owner looks over and say "Oh God No!" I look over and the other bartender is now naked on his stool using my beret to cover his crotch. And he just goes on caring a casual conversation naked with the couple. Meanwhile the naked bartender convinces the boyfriend of this young couple to also strip down to the nude. It is almost bar closing and we move to the chairs behind us. Me, the owner, and the girlfriend are the only people still with cloths on and we are sitting on the chairs still talking casually drinking, smoking a cigar, with my beret still on his crotch.

We close down the bar and they get dressed. He has the audacity to say to me, "You want this French piece of crap back?" The next day the other bartender is there working and he looks at me and say "Dude, I am so sorry for acting like an ass, your tab today, I'll pay for it." I drink only a few drinks before leaving and talking about our antics. Meanwhile the owner had put my beret as a new permanent piece of his wall of random crap on the walls. And used the handle of a broom to pick it up and place it where it still sits to this very day. To my knowledge.

Moral of the Story: Never dress like a Frenchman in a British Pub.

(If you wish to see this beret you can find it hanging in the horn of a horse saddle at the White Horse Pub in the Post Alley in Seattle's Pike's Market.)

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