Let me start off by saying, lock your car doors. My night was pretty uneventful for the most part, of course there were the usual suspects lurking around, the tweakers, drunks and people genuinely out for a good time, but for the most part it went off without a hitch. By the way, for those of you who can’t tell when the tweakers are around, the tell tale signs are, their drinks are full but have no ice left in them, the candy in the candy trays are all gone and the wrappers are all over the floor. But I digress. The most interesting part of the evening came when I was walking out to my car. One of my friends who works a couple doors down was out in the alley when I was leaving and seemed a bit befuddled. He walked up and said “Hey guys! So, what do you do when somebody you don’t know is passed out in your car?” Well, this is something out of the realm of anything I have had to deal with, so, mustering up all of my mental faculties after having just got off work, I said “What?” He said “Yeah, some guy in a bow tie is passed out in my car!” I advised that he call the local police in case the gentleman (bow tie) woke up in a foul mood and wanted to get a bit feisty. So, the moral of the story is, lock your car doors. As far as I know, locking your car doors does not make you a Democrat, Republican, a Christian, Muslim, an illegal immigrant, a conservative, a liberal or a dog hating gun toting knife wielding pervert. It does however make good sense, and apparently keeps drunk people from passing out in your car.
Okay, so last night I had a great night at work. It was mostly locals in the bar and it was nice to get to catch up with some people that I hadn’t gotten to have a real conversation with lately. These are my favorite kind of nights for sure. However there always has to be a turd in the punch bowl on even the best of shifts, last night was no exception. There were two guys that came in and of course, one of them was the babysitter and the other was the spoiled rotten little baby. The baby had to hit on every girl in the bar, try to by some friends with drinks and even resorted to putting on his sunglasses to try to look cool, which is hard to do in a cheesy red and pink polo, short khaki shorts and running shoes that looked like they have never seen a workout. After Mr. Douche finally left because I wouldn’t serve his staggering slurring ass, someone came up to the bar with a pair of sunglasses. They said “Hey, that drunk guy in pink left these outside.” I thanked them for not breaking them, or stealing them and went to put them on the back bar in case he came back, when I noticed something that I found amusing. They were Prada sunglasses, solidifying the complete belief that the guy, was indeed, douche bag royalty, if not their king.
You know that feeling you get when someone doesn’t quite seem altogether there but you can’t quite put your finger on it? Yeah, I didn’t have that problem last night. This guy was so far out there, he was in his own little universe holding his own conversations that, during said solo conversations, would occasionally make an opening to invite you into the discussion at random times. This sort of thing, for future reference, is awkward to most people (including myself) and creates an uncomfortable tense atmosphere that nobody wanted any part of. I’m not sure if he was on some kind of psychotropic drug or just plain insane due to said drugs, but the dude needed some sort of help that whiskey alone cannot help. So I cut him off and sent him on his way to freak out someone else. Sorry Bend bartenders, it is close to a full moon and there’s only so much crazy this guy can handle.
Young, dumb and full of chew spit would be how I classify the group of guys that came into the bar last night. I have to say, they were nice enough guys if not a bit on the redneck side. Growing up in a small town I am accustom to someone needing a “spitter” and more than happy to give them one, rather that have them spit on the floor, that’s just good manners. Anyway, as I’m making a drink for one of the guys, one of the younger guys in the group walks up to him and kind of pulls him aside to talk and I hear him say “Hey man, I’m not a bitch!” Now, instantly this puts me on fight alert, as that is a statement that can have adverse affects to the usually easy going atmosphere in the bar, so I pay close attention to what they’re saying in a nonchalant fashion. The other guy in the conversation says in reply “Then quit acting like a bitch man! You’re the one making a big deal out of this! Man up!” I was honestly waiting for punches to be thrown and me having to be breaking up a fight between two good old boys with three others in the wings. That’s when the reply from the other camo clad dude came in and sounded a little bit, shall we say, a little more than friends, when he said “Why do you always act like this when you’re drunk? You always have to call me out and make me look bad in front of our friends!” I finished making my drink, a bit more relaxed, as they kept on with their conversation, served it to the gentleman and went about my business. The times they are a changing, and whether they were just buddies or more than that is none of my business. I knew there was nothing to worry about more than just some hurt feelings, nothing that another beer and a hug couldn’t fix anyway. It’s funny how stereotyping people can make you feel like an ass, and twenty years ago it would have undoubtedly been a full blown throw down, but fortunately that was not the case last night. Here’s to all the more enlightened progressive thinking people, no matter what background they come from. Cheers!
They say judgment is one of the first things compromised when you start drinking, and the young man in the bathroom last night was a perfect example of just such judgment loss, either that or he was just an idiot. As I stood at the urinal last night in a crowded bathroom (keeping in mind the bathroom is about eight feet by eight feet and five people make it crowded) a young man in the stall behind me says “Hey, did anyone lose a pack of smokes?” He then picked up the cigarettes off the floor and said “It’s a pretty full pack! Does anybody want them?” Really man? Who wants a pack of bathroom floor smokes? Yes apparently that guy did when he said “Oh well, no takers? I guess they’re mine!” It gets better, as I am washing my hands he says from the stall “Who left a beer in here? That’s weird!” as I hear him pick it up off of the tank off of the back of the toilet. I said “Are you sure that’s beer? Just because it’s yellow doesn’t mean it’s beer, you might want to put that down.” He immediately responds “Gross! That smells like piss! Who would do that?” Ok, who would pick up a beer off of the back of a toilet and smell it? Or even pick it up at all? There are rules about public bathrooms, unwritten rules that we should all follow, like don’t pick up anything off of anything unless you put it there. Not the floor, not the toilet, and you should definitely not smell anything off of the floor or toilet! The only thing you should be able to smell in a public bathroom is bad air “fresheners”, urinal cakes and the shame leftover by past patrons. I sincerely hope that anyone as stupid as this guy is just drunk and not normally like this, otherwise I don’t believe there is any way he could have lived long enough to go out drinking in a bar. Oh, and by the way, the three guys that left the bathroom before me failed to wash their hands before exiting the bathroom. And people wonder why we don’t have bowls of pretzels or peanuts on the bar.