I was with my father in an Ipswich pub when the landlord asked us if our meal was OK. I pointed out that my steak, which was meant to be rare, was towards the 'well done' side of medium and that my fathers 'medium' steak consisted of two small pieces of almost charred steak which, I felt, couldn't have started off at anywhere near the 8oz weight that it was meant to be. A few minutes later, the landlord returned and slammed our money back down on the table. He then returned to the bar, where he spent the next ten minutes loudly grumbling about us to some of his regular customers.
A quarter of a century later, I went into the same pub for a drink and got chatting to the landlord. I told him about the appalling service we'd had many, many years before his time in the pub. He said nothing and went away to serve a customer in the other bar. It was then that one of the regulars told me that the landlord was the longest-serving one in the town, having been there for the past 32 years. Oops!
;-)