Ten types of people you’ll bump into in Melbourne’s pubs

From the round dodger who proves there is true evil in the world, to the fun police doing Dry July or No Friends November, here are the types of characters you’ll meet in Melbourne’s pubs.

The types of characters you’ll likely bump into in a Melbourne pub.

Congregation around alcohol has been a human tradition since before Shaun Burgoyne was a boy.

A Melbourne watering hole is a real mixing pot of friends, foes, guides and villains.

Here are ten people you are likely to bump into at the pub.

TRAVEL AGENT

This person seems normal until they corner you and ask if you’ve got any trips planned.

Then it starts.

Have you ever swum with harp seals under the northern lights?

Ever sipped ancient wine beside the subterranean bones of St Peter in Rome?

You’ve never witnessed the grotesque but spiritually freeing funeral rites of the Ganges River?

Then clearly you’re nobody until you go and do all those things. Your homebody life is pointless and small.

That’s the message of the travel agent: You can’t possibly hope to be as conceited as me without going broke on travel bookings.

You would book a flight to Timbuktu if it meant getting out of this conversation.

Travel Agent: Getting stuck with the travel agent is like being trapped in a Triage ad.

ROUND DODGER

There is an unlegislated and ancient law about buying drinks that transcends cultures and generations.

Taking turns buying drinks for the whole group means fewer trips to the bar for each individual in an organised cycle built on trust.

But trust can be abused.

There is evil in the world.

This evil manifests in the round dodger.

This cunning gaslighter is the first to bring up unsettled debts that fall in their favour but the first to use mind tricks to cheat their way out of their round.

Often they choose to leave shortly before their round is due, claiming they have a train to catch.

Do not heed the round dodger’s promises to buy you a drink next time.

They never do.

PHANTOM

What a great afternoon or evening it’s been at the pub.

Now it’s time to move on to another venue for a few more drinks and laughs.

But wait.

As Count from Sesame Street would be well qualified to tell, there is one fewer person than before.

Where could they be? The rest room? The ATM?

No. The news is bad. The person you trusted to be a loyal member of your friendship group has been unmasked as a despicable phantom.

They have snuck away without saying goodbye and will not respond to texts or calls.

Prepare yourself for tomorrow’s strange excuses about why this happened.

Phantom: This socially inept ghoul always descends from the pub to the spirit world without saying goodbye.

SHOT MONSTER

Shots?

That one word has been a shiver looking for a spine to crawl down since uni.

It doesn’t matter if it’s 4pm on a Tuesday, the shot monster thinks things are sufficiently revved up to skip the mixers are get straight to the hard, intoxicating core.

Even the kid bartender is glancing at his watch as the shot monster forces him to line them up with Red Bull on the bar, and coerces as many as possible to take part with the label of softness if they don’t.

The shot monster, a drain on Medicare, drinks to escape and wants to escape quickly.

JON THE BAPTIST

Since this person agreed to go to a pub, you’d think they’d like an alcoholic drink.

Wrong!

It’s actually Dry July or Febfast or Parched March or bloody No Friends November or whatever.

So Diet Coke with lemon is as far as they’ll go while serenading the group with tales of their improved digestion and sleep patterns as everyone else gets stuck into a stout beer thicker than crude oil.

Just as you don’t join a football club to play squash, so should Jon the Baptist stay away from the pub.

DART GHOST

A glance around the circle reveals one of your number has left.

For ten minutes it’s suspected that person has turned against you as a phantom.

But lo, they re-emerge with a kind hand on your shoulder asking if you’re OK for a drink.

The tobacco on their breath makes everything clear — they snuck out for a dart and have now returned like the prodigal son.

Kill the fatted calf for the dart ghost and celebrate. They were lost and now they are found.

Dart Ghost: The prodigal dart ghost, pictured returning from the designated smoking area.

ENCYCLOPAEDIA JERKTANNICA

Something happened in this person’s childhood to make them think they know absolutely everything, infallibly.

Want three hours of pain? Ask them about their SuperCoach team or negative gearing.

There has never been a more insufferable jukebox of discomfort than this arrogant windbag.

They are certain they are right, even when Google throws up credible contradictions.

Google must be wrong. The media are wrong. Doctors and policy makers are wrong.

Encyclopaedia Jerktannica is the only truth.

ROCK OF AGES

This old patron stumbled onto a stool in the corner in winter 1972 and has been there ever since.

A mascot of sorts, a quiet pool of knowledge and broken dreams, they love the Doggies and always use a coaster.

When the old fish finally kicks the bucket the cremation will be visible from the moon and the family will inherit a bar tab that could sink the Bismarck.

Rock of Ages: The oldest patron, the rock of ages, remembers when it wasn’t all about fancy craft beer.

PARENTS YOU’LL MEET AT JUNIOR SPORTS

CAMPAIGN SLOGANS TO WIN GoT ELECTION

NUMBER ONE TICKET HOLDER

An outing to the pub is one big inconvenience for this patron, who is desperate to keep tabs on the game.

If they’re older they might sit in the corner with an analogue radio in their ear, white-knuckling the tabletop.

If they’re younger they might stream the game on their phone with the volume up, clapping loudly when things go their way.

They’re not interested in talking to their friends and their home is presumably awash with booze cheaper than here, so why didn’t they just stay home?

Or go to the game?

An unquenchable thirst to make things mildly awkward for others is the only explanation.

THAT GUY

It starts out fine, until that one guy decides to drink 15 pints of elephant beer.

All of a sudden he’s in a fist fight with a security guard and drooling all over the nylon carpet.

This pub doesn’t even have security guards.

Catch him later on in the gutter covered in vomit and meeting up with the third Uber driver who refuses to take him, having been suspicious from the outset about his 0.5 star customer rating.

@MitchellToy