“I’m doing you a favour”.
He scowls at me from behind the safety of the bar. This is crazy.
“We aren’t allowed to serve you glass at this time”.
I glance at my watch. It’s 21:30. I hadn’t realised the UK’s drinking problem was so bad that we could be infantilised as soon as watershed hit.
He slams two tumblers in front of me. I tap my nails against the cups as I wait for the remainder of our drinks. And then, hmm, I be damned if this is glass…it sounds like the cheap plastic you’d give Magneto in his cell, not some bar in south London. He’s not doing me a favour, he didn’t even give me glass!
As if to indicate how much of an inconvenience I’d been, I then find myself confronted with two more plastic cups, only they’re the kind you get from a water dispenser. My heart breaks. This life choice is starting to feel like a divorce turning sour: me against the planet haters and plastic creators. I have a feeling we’re going to have irreconcilable differences.
I’m not so sure I realised how much this decision would affect all aspects of my day-to-day life; like Theresa May at an EU summit, even at a pub, I have become a social pariah.
I guess I’ll have to start saving for a travel silicone wine glass too… No one said this plastic uncoupling was going to be easy.