There's a concerned, faintly embarrassed look on the barmans face as he comes back holding a still seeled bottle of lager and a half pint glass.
'I'm aftaid we don't have a Leffe glass is that OK?' he says, holding an identical unbranded glass up to the artificial light.
His customer looks momentarily disorientated by the news, struggling to understand the implications of this announcement; slowly the awful reality dawns: This brave man, who's probably been slaving all day in the office; shaking people's hands, pressing 'Page up' on his keyboard; maybe even 'Page down'; faces the prospect of sitting drinking Belgian beer from a glass that does not advertise its contents.
His right shoulder drops for a second as he analyses thoughtfully the substitute glass. He looks momentarily as if he's going to start negotiating a discount. Afterall, someone might later ask what he was drinking, causing him the indignity, not to mention waste of valuable effort, of answering a question that should have been adequately taken care of by his drinking vessel
'Yeahhh...ok' he finally says, in a tone not disimilar to someone reluctantly agreeing to adopt their dead brothers ASBO laiden son. It seems even this white shirted cock-knocker of an estate agent ( probably ) wasn't ready to ask the question 'So what bottled drinks do you have that I can have a glass with its name on it?'
The drink is poured into the glass and payment made. The man walks off with the expression of someone who's had his cat stolen. His night's not ruined...but irrefutably compromised.