We left your bar on the north side of El Camino in San Clemente after you—a bald, 'roided-out bouncer—proceeded to help yourself to 90 percent of the last corned-beef roast that was brought in for patrons. And you were right in front of two Marines and myself, with other paying customers in their seats waiting for just an appetizer portion to go with the cabbage and potatoes. When you tried to 86 my plate later at the bar, I said I was waiting for more corned beef to be served; you said it was your “understanding that no more was going to be brought in.”
We went out for Mexican food, thank you very much.
