12 Year Old Scotch

One day, in a pub, in the middle of Glasgow, a man walked through the door. He was a striking figure of a man, weighing in at a good eighteen stone and over six feet tall. On his head was perched, a Deerstalker hat, he wore a three piece suit made from Tartan, in his hand, he carried a walking cane with a carved deer antler handle. He was every inch, a Scottish country gentleman, that was until he opened his mouth filling the room with a strong London accent.

The man sat at a table in the middle of the room and began rapping the cane on the floor, calling "GIRL, GIRL," at the barmaid. The young girl hurried out from behind the bar. When she stood at his table, the man said in a brash voice, "Bring me a twelve year old single malt and hurry about it love."

The girl was used to more polite customers, but went back behind the counter to get the man's drink. She searched through the bottles, selecting one, and pouring a dram into a heavy glass. The girl presented the drink to the man on a tray, who downed it, in one. Holding the empty glass he turned on the poor bartender, "I'm not  paying for that! I asked for twelve year old malt, that was an eight year old Irish, you stupid girl. Bring me what I ordered," he said dumping the glass back on the tray.

The girl scurried around the end of the bar once more, searching every bottle she could find for a twelve year old malt. With shaking hand, she poured another dram and presented it to the obnoxious customer. Just as before, he downed the whole drink, this time declaring the drink to be a ten year old single malt and he was not paying for that one either.

At the end of the bar, the owner sat reading his newspaper and watching with interest. He got off his stool and slipped quietly into the store room. When he came out he held a glass with a measure of deep amber liquid, one ice cube clinking against the heavy tumbler.

"Sally, give him this," he said, to the barmaid placing the glass in her tray.

She presented the glass for a third time, the man lifted the glass to his lips draining half the liquid before his face went scarlet. He spat the drink out in a great plume of spray. When he recovered the man stood and roared at the girl, "THIS IS PISS!!"

From behind the counter, the owner laughed at the man, "Yes, but how old am I?"