An Inspector Calls

‘He was very well dressed – in a pin-striped charcoal grey suit, with white shirt and stylish tie and he carried a smart, modern suitcase. It was easy to believe ….

…. when he claimed it, that he was from the Council’s Weights & Measures Department, in our premises to ascertain that we were meeting with all regulatory standards,’

the proprietor of the local hostelry maintained.

‘The identification he showed to Mr Murphy my Manager seemed certainly – to his quick glance – to be authentic.

”It’s a bust,” he quipped. No one smiled.

He insisted that Mr Murphy check out a phone number that he passed on, though he explained that because it was 9.30 in the evening, the only response might be a recorded message.

‘Meanwhile he was demanding of the bar steward that samples of all our alcoholic drinks be lined up along the bar, cocktails included.  Mr Murphy did check: he got a recorded message, as expected, but it was a Council number and that left him fairly satisfied.

‘The man took out what looked like scientific instruments and began his measurements. It was a very busy evening in the restaurant and bar and we had to leave him to his own devices. We were just grateful that he didn’t want to inspect the kitchens.

‘When I myself checked back with him half an hour later, I began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.

‘Most of the glasses were empty and the inspector was staggering around the room, very drunk indeed. He knocked some drinks off the bar and he was clearly starting to lose muscle control because he suddenly relieved himself down the front of his trousers.

‘At that point I demanded to see his official identification again.

It was one of the new-style driving licences – complete with photograph but with a sticker attached, claiming he was a Council official.

His scientific equipment proved to be a bicycle puncture repair kit.

My staff – they’re quick on the ball – agreed with me that something wasn’t quite right so we called the police. He fled before they arrived.

I tell you, he couldn’t have enjoyed those cocktails – he drank them so fast.

Why do people do that?

Mind you, he could have been a regular, as far as that was concerned!

Believe it or not he returned an hour later in different clothes, demanding admission to our Niteclub premises.

We were too ashamed to call the police again. I mean, he had made fools of us!

But he was refused admission.

People are not allowed drunk into our Niteclub.

Mind you, few ever leave it sober!  But that’s all right.  We get the profits!’

The name of the hostelry?

My lips are sealed.

Didn’t you get the clue?

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