Your Own Worst Enemy

If, by chance, you find yourself in a situation where two people that don’t even know you want to put a beat-down on you and the bartender is calling you out on your bullshit because you’re acting like a little kid, yelling and making a drama scene, maybe you have to take a look in the mirror to find out what your real problem is. Yes, that would be you. And when the bartender finds out that you have actually been starting shit with people a week ago and calls you out on it and your response is “Weird! I don’t remember that!” maybe you need to re-evaluate your drug and drinking habits. THEN when you come back to the bar that you got escorted out of and accuse one of the guys of slapping you around outside, when in fact that person never left the bar the whole time you were gone, you may need to seek a mental professional. Well, that and never come back into my bar again.

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Thank Your Lucky Charms

There is nothing more annoying at the end of the night than an angry drunk little foreigner that stole someone’s drink, falling asleep at a table. The funny thing is, while its extremely frustrating, it can also be quite entertaining. I went to pull the drink that he had ended up with while he was sleeping and odly enough, he must have some sort of Irish super power that lets him know when someone is stealing the booze he claimed for his own. He instantly woke up and looked at me through squinty eyes and slurred “Whathafuck d ya thin yur doin wit ma whishky?” I said “Well, you have been sleeping and don’t get to have this anymore.” What I really wanted to say was “I stole your pot of gold! Now grant me three wishes and I’ll give it back!” But I think I would have been laughing too hard to get that all out after I started. He got the hint and collected himself to go but on the way out he started talking shit to people and almost got beat up, that is until I told him to beat it out of there or I’d call the cops. As soon as I said that he straightened right up and got out of there, of course while saying his fuck-you’s (I think it’s Japanese-Irish for goodbye) on the way out, but at least he left, and that’s all I wanted. Miserable little man, your liver will thank me today.

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XXX-Ray Vision?

To the older guy with the east coast accent creeping out every girl in the bar, does that really work where you’re from? Walking up to women you don’t know and giving them the up and down, then standing there staring at them? When I cut you off and said I didn’t think you needed another drink after you had been served root-beer, what I really wanted to say was “Fuck no I’m not going to give you another drink you creepy jackass! Leave my customers alone and never come back!” But I was more diplomatic than that, of course. If he had been a douche about the matter of being cut off I’m sure that would have been pretty close to what came out of my mouth. Seriously pal, get some help. We are obviously not a pickup bar and most of the girls you were eye-molesting were either with someone as a couple or with a group of people trying to enjoy each other’s company. Next time try the River House, that’s where creepy old people go to give each other STDs, I think that might be a better fit for your needs.

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Rock That Ashtray Tweaker!

It was a nice mellow evening, hanging out with regulars and being mellow, then I smelled something. I knew what it was before I even looked up and reaffirmed my suspicions, it was a filthy tweaker. Not only did he stink, but was about as filthy a person as I have seen in a long time with a little weasel looking mini tweaker on his heels. After his bank card was declined in the ATM they started wandering around the bar, looking for some kind of loose money to scoop up. After their attempts at easy money were thwarted, they went out front to panhandle. I looked out the window later to see if they were still around and there they were, hanging out in front of the bar, but I had to laugh because of what the little weasel kid was using for furniture. He was sitting on the ashtray, one of those tall ashtrays with the little holes in the top to but your butts in that is kind of phallic looking. But he wasn’t sitting on it like a chair, he was straddling the tall part with his hands around it, making it look very awkward as he rocked back and forth. It looked like he was riding a huge tan dildo, asking people for money. I am amazed daily at the free entertainment that my job allows me.

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Running A Little Slow AND Late!

Spoiler alert, when you come into the bar demanding something, anything, that will usually get you nowhere and nothing. So this group of young tweaker kids walks in after we are done for the night and all the chairs are up and the scrawny little ring leader says, after we all told him we were done serving “Hey, it’s not two in the morning yet! Oregon law says you have to serve until two o’clock!” So the three of us behind the bar all correct his error at the same time, stating that it is actually two thirty that we CAN serve until, not two as he previously stated and then I went on to tell the little guy that we can stop serving whenever we want and there is no law telling us how late we have to be open. He then pipes up and says “Well, I guess we’ll just have to go spend our money at a store then!” Yes, you will you filthy idiot, and when you do go buy those cans of Steel Reserve or some other nasty beer that you won’t be able to drink because you’ve done too much meth, don’t forget, you have to be there before two thirty. The other option is to sit out in front of the bar and wait until we re-open at six o’clock in the morning smoking cigs and then bitch that you can’t get served until seven because that is the law in Oregon.

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