I tried Karen’s Diner in Bristol and I’ve never been so ridiculed in my life

‘Now f*** off to the back of the queue’, a man could be heard shouting over a Tannoy at people outside Revolution vodka bar on an otherwise quiet St Nicholas Street in Bristol this afternoon (April 23).

First thought might be it’s a man who’d lost all his friends from a lairy stag night just hours earlier. But no, this was the ‘welcome’ to a hundred-or-so people who’d let themselves in for the opening Karen’s Diner session - and I was one of them.

Now, I’m not a sensitive person - but I’m also someone who avoids confrontation and a situation where I could be openly abused. So walking through the front terraced area of the bar I was filled with apprehension. And I wasn’t the only one by the looks of the faces around me.

Having joined the queue later, I knew what was coming when I approached the staff member at the door. ‘Name?’ he shouted at me. I replied. Then, before I had time to think he’d turned on his microphone and urshered me into the centre of the already-busy bar.

‘We have a reporterrrrrrrr’ he said. He asked my publication and joked that he’d never heard of Bristol World before ceremoniously getting everyone to show me the middle finger and sending me and my friend to a table in the corner.

What a start. This certainly wasn’t for the faint-hearted! But what did I expect? This is Karen’s Diner - a concept brought over from Australia in which in return for £40 you get pizza and bottomless drinks all served up by the rudest staff you can imagine.

It’s an act, of course. But boy did it take some getting used to as we sat down at our American-style diner table to the sound of loud pop music. I had to check my watch that it was really 1pm.

Soon, an unhappy waitress came over with the name tag ‘don’t look at my t*ts’ fastened to her unkempt red and white uniform. ‘I’m not going to explain this twice’ she said as she started reeling through the list of drinks.

We picked two pints of Amstel. ‘Predictable’ she remarked, before turning away without a chance for us to say thanks. I laughed, and then sat and watched amazed as the same act was reinacted with diners around us.

Soon she was back. The drinks left at the other end of the table. ‘Get it yourself’, she told us. Fair enough!

Then, just as I was settling down, the man who let us in returned with the microphone and a hat. He wrote out ‘Reporter, stay well clear’ on it before handing it over to me and demanding I wear it. It was the start of a long, and also fun, 90 minutes.

Not long after our pizzas had arrived - a margherita and a pepperoni - he was back. ‘You’ he shouted as he directed me to a ‘wheel of misfortune’ at the centre of the venue. Walking up I felt the gaze of relieved diners who were thankful they hadn’t been picked so early on.

I nervously spun the wheel and watched it land on ‘movie scenes’. Yes, I had to reinact the famous scenes from movies to the theme tunes. I suddenly realised why the waitress was so quick to offer me a second drink before I got up.

My chosen partner was a journalist from Best of Bristol. It started easy enough. Wizard of Oz, we skipped arm-in-arm around some tables. Star Wars, we clashed light sabers. Mission Impossible, we hid behind chairs and pillars. Then..... Ghost - and that scene where they made the pottery. I’m no Patrick Swayze. But we gave it our best shot.

But it was about to get worse. The Dirty Dancing theme tune came on and I was guided to a spot on the floor where I was to pick up the poor fellow journalist and twirl her around above my heard with two ‘spotters’ stood behind me in case I fell. Again, Swayze would shake his head with disappointment at my attempt as I barely picked my partner off her feet - much to the amusement of everyone watching.

Having ‘failed’, I was sent back to my seat with more expletives. And I thought that was that. I was wrong. Our female waitress returned for some rude conversation. Having asked us a few questions she called me a ‘sad case’ before telling my friend he was a ‘loner’ having moved to his own place last week.

Minutes later the climax came for my night. After a fashion show of the ‘worst dressed’ diners in which each danced down a catwalk, it was my turn again. You’, the male waiter shouted at me again. As I stood up he then taunted me for dressing like a ‘geography teacher’, and then calling me ‘pre-historic’.

At the centre of the floor I stood with three others. It was karaoke time - and we were to sing the lyrics to a well-known song when the music was turned down. When it was my turn, the music came on and it was Nessun Dorma. Again, I obviously failed and was sent back to my seat with more middle fingers raised in my direction.

More insults, more drinks and it came to an end. I felt knackered. Exhausted from laughing, exhausted from the nerves - but not put off. It was a fun experience like no other, and one which certainly pushes you out of your comfort zone.

Just don’t say you are a journalist on entry.

Karen’s Diner is on at Revolution, Baldwin Street, until October 15. Tickets can be purchased here.