The Elephant Man

We'll call him Lumpy. He's this very strange dude that hangs out in the bar. But not strange in a "I bet he'd be interesting if we just got to know him" way. Strange in a "I bet he'd murder us and keep our heads in his freezer while he stitched our skin into a Zoot suit if we just got to know him" kind of way.

Lumpy comes in during the day mostly . Usually drunk. When the girls would serve him at the bar he'd order bottles from the bottom of the coolers so he could stare at their asses while they bent down for them. Once he was caught taking picture of one of the girls. He's no longer allowed to use his camera in the bar. All of Lumpy's jokes involve murdering and dismembering hookers. He's no longer allowed to tell jokes in the bar.


When I used to bartend Lumpy would always ask to sample various beers on tap, then give me his long-winded opinions how much malt was in each particular one, or whether or not the brewer had used too much rice, or hops. If I didn't pay enough attention to Lumpy, I'd usually hear him holler "Heeeey Tar-Bender! Oh Taaaar- Bender!" I know. Hilarious. Other times he would just make sort of yipping sounds and I would tell him to knock it off or he'd have to leave. He ends up cut off. Then he always insists on going to the bathroom before paying and usually spends a half hour in there. Sometimes he falls asleep in the stall. Sometimes he talks to himself in the mirror.

Lumpy is dirty. He's got meth-head teeth. Looks like he's always just finished tearing apart an engine. He's also got this strange large lump on the right side of his forehead. It's like he was smoked in the head with a golf club and the welt never subsided.

Lumpy staggered to the bar the other night but didn't come in right away, he kind of hid around the corner of the bar for a few minutes before sauntering in. I asked him for his ID and promptly got an inventory of every card in his wallet as he announced each card filed through in the search for his picture ID. Lumpy has a license to drive a forklift and is an AMA member.

Lumpy was wearing his sunday best, dirty sweats, a denim vest and a ball cap you couldn't see the logo of. He sat down at the bar and ordered a beer and then proceeded to attempt to talk to the prettiest girl in the bar. She politely ignored him and focused her attention with laser precision on her friends as he drunkly tried to get her attention, tapping her arm with the back of his hand. I almost felt bad for him as he tried to join their conversation. Thats when he reached over and took a shot from the bar in front of them while they were looking away, trying not to make eyecontact with him. My sympathy ended there.

Big A was already within arms reach of him when I arrived. Our manager was telling him he needed to pay for the shot and leave. Ok he said. But he had to go to the bathroom first.  Go figure. She said fine. Big A hung out by the bathrooms to ensure he didn't try to make a run for it. Lumpy bounced off both walls of the hallway as he staggered to our bathrooms.

Lumpy came back out and tried to walk by the bar, but Big A grabbed him and turned him to face our manager who was ready with his bill and the debit machine. Lumpy dug through his wallet, taking inventory again, of each card in there before producing his debit card. It was an Edmonton Oilers debit card. Figures.

The Oilers Card. For when you don't want to pay.

After repeatedly punching the wrong buttons on the debit machine Big A (a full foot taller than Lumpy) stood over his shoulder and pointed to each button he needed to push. Turns out Lumpy had the same amount of money in his pocket as the Oilers have had Stanley Wins in the last 25 years.

The manager got tired of this game and said screw it. For the six bucks he owed us it wasn't worth our while. Big A guided him out while I cleared a path in case Lumpy decided to get squirrely.

I took my spot back at the door with James. Lumpy stood for a second before turning on me. Apparently he had something on his lumptastic mind.

"What's your name?" he demanded.
"Joe"
"Joe..." he mused "I think you're lying to me"  he's smarter than he looks, but I wasn't giving him any credit. I looked at James.
"What's my name?" I asked.
"Joe" he said flatly. I just gave Lumpy a 'well there you then' shrug. Lumpy teetered while he mulled that over.

"You know what 'JOOOOOEEE'.... as if Joe was a fake name I give to drunks and he'd somehow outsmarted me.
"What?" I asked.
"Jooooeee....I spend a lot of fucking money at this place..." he said lifting a finger for emphasis. I think he meant to point it at me but ended up pointing at some empty space between James and I. James had had enough.

"Time to go" he said with enough edge in his voice that I knew he was short on patience with our filthy patron.

Then Big A came out with Lumpy's debit card in his hand. He pushed it into Lumpy's chest. Lumpy clutched at it and almost dropped it.
"Don't come back" Big A said before turning to head back inside. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to argue about it.

"Time to go" James repeated. Lumpy started to walk away he turned and pushed a finger into James shoulder and started to say something. I stepped forward and told him it was time to go, again. He caught the drift and staggared away.

A couple days later I stopped in to pick up some take out from the bar and was telling the story to the staff. One of the waitresses told me that he came back on Sunday looking for his debit card. He said he must have gotten a little carried away Saturday night because he lost his card and couldn't remember leaving. The waitress told him we had given him his card back already and that he wasn't welcome back. She said he was really hurt by that and said that it was too bad because he really liked our bar.

Taxi Confessions

A woman drove into our parking lot, pulled into a stall and bumped into the disabled parking sign. It folded back under the bumper of her cobalt blue PT cruiser then sprang back into place when she backed up an inch or two. She got out without checking her bumper and walked to my door. She stumbled once or twice taking a slightly indirect route.

“Hi there, got your ID?”
“Yup” she said and handed me her wallet with the ID showing through the little plastic window. She was in her 30s, definitely old enough to know not to drink and drive. I wasn't sure if she was drunk or had some sort of disability, which would explain parking in the disabled spot. Maybe a little of both.

“How’s your night going?” I asked.
“Good”
“Had a couple drinks already?”
“Yeah…”
“How many?” I asked.
“A couple” she lied.
“Well, you’re a little stumbly. I’m going to let you in but I’m gonna keep an eye on you. And I want you to drink some water.”
“Ok”

I handed her back her ID and stepped aside. She walked to the bar and sat down. A moment later a Jager Bomb and a Pint appeared in front of her. Perfect.

Time passed, she got up to dance by herself. She did kind of a strip tease, slowly taking off her long sweater. She got her arm caught in the sleeve and turned round and round in a circle trying to free it, but never quite catching up to it. Eventually she freed herself and returned to her strip tease. It looked like she was trying to take a shower with her clothes on, randomly squatting down to pick up the invisible soap she’d dropped. She was starting to attract attention. 

Eventually a guy walked up to the dancefloor and started chatting her up. They sat down together and had a drink, she leaving her sweater and wallet on the dancefloor.

The night thumped on.  At some point I carded two larger women in their late 30s, and quite flattered to be ID’d. They went in, looked around. Suddenly the larger of the two came flying out and ran to her car.

Her friend trailed but stopped for some reason to explain it to us. It turns out it was the other girl's husband that was now chatting up our stumbling dirty dancer. He was supposed to be out meeting a friend. I got the impression that the wife came out specifically to keep an eye on him.

Meanwhile Dirty Dancer had gone back to her spot at the bar, blissfully oblivious to all of this. The wife came in and tore a strip of the husband and they all went outside to fight. A few minutes later his buddy showed up to find everyone in the parking lot arguing. He left immediately. I was worried the large wife was going to try and take out her frustration on the relatively small, drunk Dirty Dancer. I explained to the wife's friend that I didn't think Dirty Dancer realized what was going on. The friend caught my drift and said they were leaving anyway. 

At this point we had cut Dirty Dancer off and the bar staff were feeding her water. I told the guys that I would have them bring her out when the next cab showed up. She was having a hard time sitting without falling and I certainly didn’t want to have her try and drive. 

We got her outside and I asked how she was. She was fine.
“Can I get you a cab?”
“OK”
“Alright, there’s one over here” I said, leading her to the line of cabs.

The sliding door of the van opened and she stumbled trying to get in. I gave her a hand up. The cabbie then said “Do you have cash? I don’t have a debit machine”
“Well that’s a problem” she said.

“No it's ok, there’s a bank machine right there, I can take you there and you can get out some money in the drive thru” he said.
“NO! I’m not paying extra because you don’t have a machine!” she said.
“Oh I won’t start the meter until you get your money out” he replied, trying to make things right.
She looked at me for confirmation, so I explained it to her again.
“No,” she said,  “He doesn’t understand his machine”
I looked confused, the cabbie looked confused. “Do you want to try another cab that has debit?” I asked.
She nodded.

At the same time a group of guys was passing us.  One of them had overheard the tail end of our exchange and said “Hey, that one takes debit, the one we just got out of” pointing to a taxi.

I turned and said thanks. The guy had a thick wad of 20s in his hand. “Shit, nevermind” he said, leaned in and handed the cabbie a 20. “Is that enough to get her home?” he asked.

“Yes!” said the cabbie.
Relieved this was resolved, I started to shut the door, when she said “I don’t want your money”

Shit.

“It’s ok, I won a shitload at the casino” said the guy and walked on towards the door.

I looked at the girl and she seemed a little overwhelmed by so much happening. I asked if that was ok and she said sure. I closed the door and walked away, shaking my head.

Halfway to my post I heard the cabbie yelling to me. I turned.  He was waving, frustrated. 

“She wants ME to pay HER” he said shrugging.
“Huh?”
“She says I owe her 20$, you talk to her” he said.

Well shit. How is this my problem again?? I headed back to the cab.

I could see movement through the windshield. Suddenly I realized she was climbing over the seat, falling onto the back row. Then she climbed over the back seat and fell into the cargo space of the cab. She looked like a marine going over a log obstacle in basic training. All of this in a short skirt and heels. The cabbie gave me a 'What the hell is going on!?' look. I opened the door and stuck my head in through the side. She was still hiding in the back.

“Hey there” I said.
“Hi” she said plainly.
“Whatcha doin’ back there?”
“I don’t feel comfortable being in this vehicle anymore” she replied, matter-of-factly.
“Ok, you wanna get out?”
“Yes” she replied from her hidey hole.
“Ok, we’ll open the back door for you”

So we slowly opened the back door, stuffing our hands up underneath to keep her from falling to the pavement. She swung around and eased out. I waved to the cabbie to leave it with us, he was off the hook.

“I’m gonna walk” she declared.
“Really”
“Yes, I think that’s best” she decided.
“Ok, well, you’re a little drunk and stumbly and I want you to get home safe”
“Yes, I’m stumbly” she said.
“I’ll tell you what, you can come back inside and drink some water if you want and maybe sober up a little before you walk home. Is that ok?”
“Yes” she said.
“Ok, cool, but just water, no more booze ok”
“No booze” she said.

I let the bartenders know the deal, parked her on a bench and kept an eye out.

Almost immediately some dick head wandered over and started hitting on her like a vulture picking at the drunkest carcass he could find. He kept trying to buy her drinks and the bar staff kept telling him no. Eventually he went back to his perch with his greasy friends. Before long she met a new group of guys who began chatting her up. The vulture eyed them all jealously.

Eventually someone bought her a tequila. Before she had a chance to drink it CT intervened and got her outside. She broke her end of the deal. She said she understood.

I took her to where the cabs were and she decided to smoke. She was joined by some other guy who had been chatting her up inside. The vulture came out to see where she’d gone, angry to find her attention directed at another male. Feathers ruffled, he waddled back into the bar, looking for his next victim.

Eventually she got into a cab and was gone for the night. I have no idea how she paid.

The next day I stopped into the bar for breakfast and found her car was gone. I don’t know if she came back and got it, or if it had been towed for being parked in a disabled spot.  Either way, I’m sure we’ll see her again before too long.

The Leprechaun 2 The Return of the Green Gut!

Last Saturday “The Drunkest Leprechaun” returned. You might remember him from an earlier post: The Drunkest Leprechaun He’s a nice enough guy, but he drinks WAY too much and stumbles around like a bumbling idiot. We haven’t let him inside in months.

I was talking with James when I saw a cabbie losing his shit about something, hands waving about, pointing, flicking invisible things from the air, whacking the dash of his minivan.  

“Is that the Drunk guy from St. Paddy’s day?” I asked.
“I dunno” said James, taking a closer look. The passenger opened the car door and stumbled out awkwardly, almost face planning into a Kia.
“Yep! We gonna let him in?”
“I don’t know yet, lets see” Leprechaun stumbled over the curb then almost fell over trying to high five a tall, skinny smoker.
“Nope!” we chimed.
Our holdout from march 17^th weaved to the door but James just shook his head. No entry tonight pal. He got a fist bump for his efforts.

The Leprechaun bobbed amongst the smokers, shaking hands and hugging everyone in sight. Eventually he jitterbugged his way to a group of girls sitting on a bench. After a moment one of them started waving frantically to me. I sauntered over to their spot. 

The Leprechaun had grabbed his impressive pot belly and was lifting it up and down. The cartoon character Animal from the Muppet show, emblazoned on the front of his shirt did a little dance with the motion. “This is horrible. Just awful!” he declared as four 18 year old girls watched with horror and laughing embarrassedly at the clown in front of them. He then started rubbing his belly with both hands, as though he might be able to see the future in it. The 18 year olds should have been horrified as they were most likely looking at their own futures.

“This is just awful right?” the Leprechaun repeated, speaking as though he had just noticed his gut for the first time.
“Lets go get you a cab” I said.
“Yeah, OK” he said. I could feel the relief wash over four 18 year old girls sitting on the bench behind me. I thought, be happy if this is the worst guy you have to deal with in your just blossoming drinking career, gals.

Back at the door James got another fist bump. Then I got one. James looked down and saw that the Leprechaun was bleeding “Hey you’re bleeding” he pointed to the drunk man’s leg.
There was a line of dried blood on his shin, and two more on his calf and ankle. He lifted his leg and rubbed at his shin, which only served start the flow of blood all over again. He turned to try and see his own calf reminding me of a dog trying to catch his own tail, turning, turning, turning.

The sole of his Burkenstock was drenched in blood, his heel stained red. He shrugged and staggered off to a cab who wouldn't let him in. I went in and got a damp paper towel so he could at least clean himself up a bit and maybe have a better shot at getting a lift out of my immediate area.

I came back out and he was fist bumping James again. I approached and he started going on about how awesome we were, and offered me a high five. A high five that I knew would become a bro hug if I fell for it again. I just handed him the paper towels. He looked at them as though I’d handed him something beautiful and confusing. The meaning of life wrapped around last years tax code. “To clean yourself up” I said.

With a dull spark of realization he took the paper towels and then grabbed my hand (Dammit to hell! I really need to start carrying hand sanitizer). Then he bent over, looked at his leg and stuffed the wet paper towel in his pocket. Then waddled off to the taxi stand. Eventually he found a cab who would take him and disappeared. For at least a week or two.

Stripes

Saturday was interesting. 

I showed up to see a big biker sitting at the window wearing his cut, which is illegal in our province. Can’t wear gang gear in a licensed establishment. James said that one of the waitresses told him he’d have to take it off but he ignored her. I said no problem, I’ll get into my gear and go talk to him. I came back out and he was already talking to some guy. They were looking at a police car up at the other end of the mall. I looked at the biker, 6’7” well over 300lbs and said,
“Yeah man, if they see you here with your cut they’ll pull you out, question you and won’t let you back in. I’m not allowed to let you in with that on either”

He was pretty good about it, pulled it off and threw it in his truck as the cops drove out of the parking lot. 

“Thanks, enjoy your night”
About 2 hours later a cop in a supervisor car rolled by and flagged me over.
“Anything going on tonight?”
“Nope, just the regulars” I said. It was actually pretty quiet with everyone behaving.
“We’ll be back” he said and sped away.

Fifteen minutes later every cop in town rolled in. They gathered outside the bar, then 10 cops went inside. 2 minutes later 2 of them came out with a guy in cuffs. Threw him in a car and drove away. Then a couple of them started talking to the big biker. As they were doing that his buddy, a skinny little old dude missing all four of his front teeth jumped behind a cop and pretended he was humping him from behind. Toothy came flying out the front door about a second later, admonished to stay out until the RC’s had left. He just laughed the toothless laugh of an old rummy, and stood around smoking.

They brought the big biker out and read him the part of the liquor act that says gang members can’t enter licensed establishments. Since he had no tattoos and was no longer wearing his cut, they said he could stay if it was ok by us. The guy wasn’t causing any trouble and was still sober so I said sure. He stood around for about a half our telling me about his constitutional rights. I'm a door guy, not a lawyer.

Of course they're real!

After that a girl in a skin tight striped dress, and older lady in a tie dyed top and a blonde with impossibly huge fake breasts walked up. Stripes didn’t have her ID and was furious that we made her go back to her car for it. The older lady didn’t have hers either. I started to joke with her that I wasn’t sure she was old enough when Stripes freaked out and told me that OBVIOUSLY they were all over 40. Boobzilla just looked at me and blinked. I let them in.

About 10 mins later one of our guys, CT, came up and shook his head. “You gotta see these girls, they’re crawling on the floor, flashing their thongs, its nasty in there.” CT has standards, but is no prude by any means, so I wandered in to see. Sure enough, Stripes was lying on the floor, legs spread, while Boobzilla was grinding in the air over her. I told CT to tell them to knock it off. He went over and told them to tone it down. Stripes told him to relax, that her dad owned the strip mall we were in, said she’d take him home if he was nice. Boobzilla blinked and smiled.

Stripes did tone it down a bit but we were still occasionally treated to random views of her thong. After a few more drinks she started making out with Boobzilla who appeared to enjoy the whole thing, blinking emphatically.

Later, CT asked Stripes not to stand on a bar stool. She was pretty wobbly at this point. She leaned down and told CT he should calm down and stop being “That Guy”. Eventually CT got her down. She wandered over to where Boobzilla was standing on the dance floor by the door and started making out with her. Boobzilla then pulled down the front of her top exposing her cartoonishly large breasts. They bounced in Stripes’ face and they all laughed. Meanwhile, half the guys in the place were parked at tables facing the dance floor, watching this display of class. The manager told us Stripes was cut off.

About 10 minutes later Stripes came flying out and tore a strip off CT for cutting her off. I’m not even sure CT knew anything about it. He said he didn’t know anything about. She demanded to know who cut her off. “I dunno, someone who thinks you’re too drunk” he shrugged.

Stripes stormed back in, furious that a bar would DARE cut off the daughter of a strip mall magnate such as herself. On her way she smashed into a small girl standing at a table by the door. The girl looked and stripes and said “Why did you hit me?”
Stripes, oblivious to her own actions, looked confused and told the tiny girl she didn’t do anything, and to fuck off.

The girl looked at Stripes and lost it, swinging at her in great arc, catching her forehead and nose on the down stroke. Stripes swung back and missed, hitting me in the shoulder as I stepped in. We got them broken up and the little girl was dragged outside.

Stripes looked at me and screamed “She hit me, I want to press charges”
“Relax” I said, “She’s gone, its over”
“NO! YOU SAW THAT! I’m pressing CHARGES!” she insisted in her best princess tantrum.
“Then call the fucking cops” I said walking away, irritated with this self-important mess in a striped dress. I went to see what happened to the other girl.

The other girl was being held back by friends and was pretty much over it when Stripes marched out announcing she was pressing charges.The little one lost her shit and started pulling away from her friends. A group of cops having a pow-wow in the parking lot wandered over and everyone started to calm down. Little chick’s friends dragged her off before she could get arrested. Stripes marched over to the cops and started sticking fingers in the chests demanding that they press charges. The big cop who had been in earlier looked at her and said. “Don’t touch me” 

I walked away. I ended up talking to another cop who asked why the guy in the Harley jacket with the little tiny man bun was sitting on a bench watching them. I told him Man Bun was waiting for them to leave so he could drive his bike home. Shitfaced. “Noted” the cop said.

“I told him he shouldn’t, his friends told him he shouldn’t, but he’s determined” I said.
Just then Stripes blew by us looked at me, wagged a finger at me and said “You! Shouldn’t…” then she couldn’t think of anything else and staggered over to Boobzilla and Old Tye Dye, who just blinked. They all hugged and Stripes flipped us off and landed in a cab, gone for the night.

I found out after from a friend at work that Stripes actually didn't have a credit card to start a tab, so she had offered up her watch as security. When she went to pay her tab she demanded that they return her "priceless Rolex". It was something more in range of a priceless Timex, but really, who's gonna argue when she's just about to leave the building.

The cops, suddenly all scrambled, jumped in their cars and took off. Man Bun saw this as his opportunity. He swaggered over to his bike, looking up and down the road for cops as he put his lid on. “Dude” I yelled. He wasn’t a bad guy, just has a case of stupid.

He turned and looked at me.
“All those cops are here because there’s nothing going on tonight. That means they will be nearby waiting for drunk drivers. You’re gonna get caught.” “I don’t fucking care, I can’t leave her here” he nodded at his hog. “You shouldn’t drive bro, you’re gonna wreck yourself” I tried another tact.

He then told me he only came down to see one of our bartenders, and that he was worried she might have seen him making out with a couple of different girls (Who turned out to be Stripes and the little chick…maybe there was more to that fight than a simple bump in passing)

He then announced he was Canadian and free to travel. And he was staying at the same hotel as Stripes. He wasn’t afraid. Fuck it. He hopped on and kicked the bike over. I shrugged and walked away. He was going to drive right by the spot where the cops wait for drunks coming out of our parking lot and I gave him fair warning.
He swung his bike around in a huge circle coming within inches of smashing into a line of parked cars. James just looked at me and said “Holy shit, did he just about hit all those cars!?” “Yup”

We went inside and had a well-earned Schlong Island Iced tea.

Side Boob Hour

Friday night Detroit returned. She got dropped off and sauntered up to the bar with a huge smile on her face. We just looked at her, amazed she had the gall to return. James clenched his jaw and shook his head at her. 

“Oh come on, I’ll behave I promise” she laughed.

“Nope,” James replied “three strikes, you’re out”

She looked a little hurt but was undeterred “oh, but I’ve learned my lesson” she cooed. She was wearing a short dress that was cut in a way that would have made here the star of Peter Griffin’s “Side-boob Hour”
James stood his ground.

“But I just got dropped off!” she said, obviously hurt.
“There’s cabs right over there” I offered. She ignored me and looked at James.
“Can we talk over here?” she asked pointing to a spot away from the door; and ear shot.
“Sure, but it won’t make any difference”

They walked away and had a quick conversation resulting in Detroit stomping away like a child who did NOT get her way. She hopped in a cab and never returned.

“How’d that go?” I asked jokingly.

“She said she’d make it worth my while.” James said flatly.

“So is coming back then?” I joked again.

“No” he said even more flatly, then kind of shook as though a chill went through him.

“She also told me she wasn’t wearing any underwear” he continued. Then a chill went through me.

Saturday started slow, but it picked up around 11. At one point I looked outside and saw James

dealing with a line. In the middle of the line was a dude wearing one of those furry hats with a face and ears on it that has two long arms stretching down with pockets/mittens at the end. His looked like some sort of fox, or maybe a bear. It looked like something you’d see a Japanese school girl at a comic book convention wearing. Whatever. He was a space cadet. He looked like he might have done ALL the drugs that night. But, he seemed relatively harmless so he was let in.

After about an hour I saw him being pulled off the dancefloor. He struggled and ended up on the wet floor with about 600lbs of bouncer holding him down. I wandered over to keep anyone from dummying one of our guys from behind. He gave up fighting and said he’d go peacefully if we found his animal hat thing. I grabbed it and brought it out to him. Then he asked for his girlfriend. Fine…I’ll get her now too.

I found her sitting all cozy with some dude. I said “Hey, are you with that dude with the furby hat?”
“Yeah” she said.
“Well, we tossed him out, his waiting outside for you”
“I don’t want to go outside” she said.
Fine by me. I went back out and told Furby his girl was staying.
“But that’s my girlfriend” he said all wide eyed and confused.
“Yeah well, I can’t MAKE her come out(I suppose I could have, but why bother) so you’ll have to call her later, but you need to leave now or I’m gonna have you arrested”
“Can I go in and talk to her?” he asked, the same way a child might ask if he could pet your Doberman.

“No, you need to leave, now”

Furby took off for a bit, then came back, then left and came back, each time explaining that he had a girlfriend and she was inside.

I found out later that Furby’s girl was talking to some guy on the dancefloor, Furby took exception and tried to shove the guy a few times.  That’s why he got tossed. The girlfriend and the other dude were still inside getting cozy.

Eventually she came out with the cozy dude. Furby was standing at the end of the building smoking. His girlfriend walked over, they chatted for a minute and then left together, leaving the cozy dude standing there looking foolish.

Three girls walked up, one of them worked for us before and the others were regulars. All three girls are very pretty, and very lesbian. As they chatted with us on their way in Cozy guy walked up and started chatting them up. “Hey, if you ladies are going in, can I get a dance?”
I laughed and shook his shoulder. “You ever hear the term ‘barking up the wrong tree’ bud? It’s not your night.”
He just looked at me confused. The girls blew him off and went inside. He followed them sadly and desperately.

And that was pretty much it for Saturday. 

Detroit Rock City

There’s a woman who comes into the bar we call “Detroit”. One night, while throwing her out for causing a disturbance, she told us that if we were in Detroit she’d have us killed already. I guess she’s a big deal in Detroit.

A few weeks ago she came in and apologized for her bad behavior. We let her in on the condition that she behave. She spent the next few hours getting blasted, annoying the customers and hitting on the doormen. Being a sloppy drunk isn't all that attractive, even in our rough little town. But Detroit doesn't take no for an answer and eventually we had to remove her before she started getting all physical on the guys who just weren't interested.

  

We didn’t see her for a while after that, until Friday night she wandered across our parking lot, big smile on her face. She started apologizing before she was really within ear shot. We made fun of her for a bit, but then told her, seriously, that if she caused any trouble, that was it, she wasn’t welcome back any more. She promised to be good.

“We’re gonna have to throw her out aren't we?” I joked.

“Oh hell yeah.”

She wandered in and out all night, smoking, rubbing her giant boobs against us and clumsily flirting with us or anything else with a Y chromosome.  When she didn’t get any takers she’d go back in only to return ten minutes later and try again. After about a half hour she’d gotten enough wine into her that she felt comfortable enough to let us know she wasn’t wearing any underwear. She also decided that one of us was going to drive her home ‘if’ she got too drunk to drive. (Not ‘it’!)

She finally sat beside some guy and struck up a conversation. They shared a couple drinks and finally, after a solid half hour of getting to know one another,  left together. Sweet, he’s taking one for the team and we don’t have to drag her drunk ass out again. Happy ending for everyone! Or so I thought.

An hour later the sun was starting to go down when I looked up and saw Detroit staggering down the driveway.  “That was quick!” I teased cheerfully.

“I don’t wanna talk about it” she replied rolling her heavily painted eyes. She gave one of the boys a hug and slithered back in.

With a glass of white in her hand she sat uninvited with a group of young hicks. After a spell she got up with a few of them and started dancing. As I passed the dancefloor later she yelled at me “James!” (That’s not my name, that’s my coworkers fake bar name, she thought I was him) 

“I’m only dancing with this kid ‘cause he’s handicapped and I need to teach him how” she slurred at me. He wasn’t handicapped.

“As long as that’s all you teach him” I said flatly. 

I looked at this poor kid who was being dragged around the dance floor by this aggressive drunk. It pissed me off that she was acting like he was somehow an embarrassment to her.  

I went up to the guys and said “We’re gonna need to throw her out before something happens” 

As we were talking about that (and not doing it like we should have),  I saw some commotion on the dance floor out of the corner of my eye.  All of a sudden Detroit and a tall farm girl went ass over teakettle on the dance floor. We rushed over and started breaking it up. Heels and claws and hair were whirling in every direction. James grabbed Detroit while I held back the farm girl with the help of her boyfriend. They told me exactly what I expected to hear, that she wouldn’t leave one of their guys alone, and when his girlfriend finally told her to get lost she started pushing. I got them to chill and went back out.

Detroit was pacing and smoking hard. “I’m going to kill that bitch. I better not see her again, I’ll kill her, Detroit style!” She really actually said “Detroit style”

We told her she had to leave. She just kept pacing.

That’s when a cop car rolled up. I recognized the guy behind the wheel and walked over to his car. I told him we had an incident and we couldn’t get the instigator to leave. Maybe the threat of a night in the drunk tank would do it?

He said sure, and as he was throwing it in Park the farm girl and her friend came out of the bar. Detroit saw her chance at redemption and rushed at the farm girl,  who just simply threw the cleanest right hook I’d ever seen thrown in a bar fight. Square in the teeth.  I wish Joe Rogan had been there to scream “Right on the button!!” By the time I ran over the door guys had gather them off the ground. One of our servers grabbed Detroit by the throat and pinned her against the wall. Detroit easily had 50, 60 lbs on this girl but our girl just manhandled her. “I got this”

The cop walked straight over to Detroit and got her ID. She didn’t think that was fair since she was the victim. Blood ran down over her front teeth.  She wanted to press charges. The cop told her that from what he saw, she would be the only one getting charged if she didn’t leave. So she blew smoke in his face. As he was reaching for his cuffs one of our servers convinced her she should probably get a cab before it was too late. With a little bit of prodding the got her in a van and on her way.

The cop just laughed about the whole thing and joked around with us for a couple minutes. We thanked him and he left. 

I found the farm girl and told her that she couldn’t punch anyone any more, but damn, that was a nice right! She laughed and thanked me.  She and her crew spent the rest of the night having fun. I'm sure Detroit spent the rest of her night wondering if she was going to get a visit from the tooth fairy.

I wonder what a couple of front teeth are worth these days. 

Orange is the New Drunk

Some guy came out of the bar one night and told my co worker he was an ex-corrections officer and could get him a better job than being a bouncer. My buddy, who happens to have kind of a cool day job (that doesn’t involve checking anybody’s ass for contraband) said “thanks, I do ok for myself”

Our ex-corrections officer once again told my buddy that he could do much better than a shitty bouncing job.  My buddy once again said thanks but no thanks.

I came outside at the end of their conversation and could see my co-worker was kind of annoyed.Our new friend the Warden was now speaking to one of our regulars. My coworker told me about the conversation and I just shook my head.  As we spoke our regular came by and said “Hey that dude just tried to sell me drugs”

"Ok, thanks" I said, and our regular went back in.

Eventually the Warden came back and started to walk inside. “Hey buddy, I think you’ve had enough to drink, how ‘bout we call it a night” I said.

“I haven’t done anything wrong” he replied.

“Nope, you haven’t, but you have had a lot to drink and I’m going to cut you off now because you’re showing signs of being too intoxicated.” I was a polite as can be, and it was also true. He was quite drunk. Not so drunk that I might have normally stopped him, but drunk enough I could justify it. Plus, he was kind of an asshole.

“Oh, ok,” he said, “Well, I’ll just go tell my wife”. He reached for the door handle and pulled trying to get past me. I just leaned against the door with my arm.

“You’re not coming back in. I’ll go grab your wife, what’s she look like?”

He couldn’t describe her, and he didn’t know what she looked like, or what she was wearing but was sure he could find her if I just let him in. Oh, and by the way, he hadn’t done anything wrong. I told him to point her out through the window.  He stuck a finger in the air and moved it as though he was desperately trying find Waldo, counting off each red and white thing as he went. Finally he pointed out some dude in a white hat who knew his wife. “No sweat, I’ll let him know you’re leaving”. I said.

I went inside and approached the guy in the hat. No problem, except he didn’t speak any English. Great. So in my best broken French I said what probably sounded like:

“You friend, too drink, had to rest outdoors, he had a wish for me to say wife”  

He looked confused, I just shrugged, but he got the gist and gathered all the wives and girlfriends and headed out.

The Warden by now had wandered to the side of the building about 20 yards away. When his buddies came out he suddenly came to life. “Hey, by the way” he spat “you guys are fucking cunts!” (cunt is the new word people use to let us know how brave and shocking they are) “Who wants to step up!?”

“Ok,thanks  have a good night” my co worker said with a little wave. I just chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the only answer you have!” the Warden retorted. “Why don’t you grow you beards out a little more and grow your balls out.”

My co worker and I just looked at each other. I couple other customers who were hanging out smoking started to laugh to themselves.

Again, from 20 yards off our new friend offered to fight us, then proceeded to kick rocks. Then he told us he was an ex-cop (he must have gotten a promotion when his friends came out) and told us we were stupid fucks who didn’t know how to do our jobs.

I thanked him for his feedback which only further enraged him, and told him to go home. Fortunately his wife was there to hold him back from the severe beating he had in store for us. If he could only get by her 110lb frame he would have brought a world of hurt to the 520lbs of sober bouncer standing at the door. But she kept us safe. Thank heavens.

Eventually his party got him into their vehicle where he promptly fell asleep. One of them drove him home while the rest of his crew went back to party. Later the French guy asked me what happened and I told him. He looked skeptical and asked, “you were polite, like that? Like you’re talking to me?” I said of course, no need to be rude (Which probably sounded like “I can be sure, this is not a need for bad smells”) He just laughed and in English said “He’s just a fucking asshole anyway! Have a good night!” and ran back in to enjoy the rest of his evening. The rest of the night went off without a hitch. See, I’m a great bouncer in every language!

Two to Tango

There are two women come into the bar on a regular basis. One of them has a boyfriend who comes in with them from time to time, but he quite often just drops them off at the door at 10 and picks them up at 2. They usually get drunk and dance. By the end of the night they are usually grinding on each other and often making out. It’s all pretty harmless.

The other night they wandered in around 11. One was wearing a long flowey blouse type thing that was just long enough that I couldn’t see her shorts. I jokingly told her she had to wear pants to come in. With that she pulled up shirt to show me her shorts, and everything else up to her shoulders. I just smiled and let her through. Could be a worse start to the night.

About an hour later I was watching all the drunk hillbillies surrounding our two lovely ladies. I noticed one guy dancing behind my flashing friend. She was grinding up against him and he had his arms wrapped around her. Then I realized I couldn’t see one of his hands. That’s because it was nestled firmly between her legs. I started to walk over shaking my head. He saw me and removed the offending digits,  looked a little embarrassed and stumbled away to the bar. She just moved on to the next testosterone vulture waiting nearby, pulling her hot pants out of her crotch.

Later I was at the door and the same drunk hillbilly came out for a smoke. He started rambling away to me about his job and how tough he was, and how much money he makes.  He eventually decided that for some reason I was the shit, and he asked me my name. I gave him my standard bouncer alias. He stuck his hand out and announced himself. I looked at his hand, then at him, then back at his hand and said “Im not touching that, I know where it’s been”

He looked a little hurt at first, then fired up a few neglected brain cells and realized what I was talking about. “Oh…yeah….that’s fair” he said.  He rambled on for about 5 minutes more before going inside again.

About an hour later the bar cut the dynamic duo off, and they left shortly after that; but not before one of them could give me a sweaty damp high five. That’s when I decided I need to start carrying hand sanitizer.  

Star Wars Episode X: Return of the Hoodie

One of our kitchen guys ended his shift, parked himself at the bar and got hammered. Dirt kissing, TPB, bad decision making drunk. But he wasn’t hurting anyone, ('cept his liver and some aquaphobic brain cells).  He's a really good guy and great cook, and I like food, so we kind of let him be.

He staggered out for a smoke at one point and teetered to and fro. I asked if he was ok and he half mumbled, half yelled an incoherent response (imagine crazy cat lady from the Simpsons). I asked the bartenders to cut him off and they told me they had already. A while ago.

At around 2 we were dealing with the usual end of night stuff when some girl pointed at our staff member and said “He stole my friend’s sweater”

“Who? Him? Nah, he works here, he wouldn’t do that” I said, but I went over to Wolfgang Lush and asked him if it was his anyway. He swore up and down it was his sweater. He knew it. It was a white Star Wars sweater, it was his.

I said “Is there any chance that it’s not yours? I mean, I’m sure there’s more than one white Star Wars sweater in the galaxy”. 

No, no way, uh-uh, it was his fucking sweater, he fucking  knew it.

Ok then. The investigation continues. I went outside to talk to the girl who started this whole thing. I asked if she was sure he wore it in there that night, because by now, the bartenders were telling us they’d seen our guy wearing it all night long.

“Look” she said sticking a finger in my face “I know that guy, I work with him, and that’s his sweater. He wears it every day. That fucking loser stole it” she flung her finger at the Hammered Gourmet.

“So there’s no chance that there could possibly be two white Star Wars sweaters out there somewhere?”  she took a long drag off her smoke and turned away from me.

By now, Chef Boyardrunk was arguing with the other guy, who was being a total dick about the whole thing. Finally, in a not so well thought out move, our cook pulled off the sweater and said, “Fine, he can fuckin’ have it, but it ain’t his!” then flung it at the dick head, who simply put it on. The cook went outside and paced about, asking me several times if he could go back in and punch the guy. Given his extreme lack of coordination and balance, that seemed like a bad idea.

After about 10 more minutes of arguing, the cook got MAD. The injustice of the situation was blowing his mind. Then he and the dick left, both angry and in opposite directions.

The next day I ran into our cook he looked a litte rough, I felt bad. I asked if he found the sweater.
“No, that fucking guy stole it” he spat, clearly still angry. He explained that he went home and tore his apartment apart and didn’t find it, so that guy must have stolen it.

I shook my head. “No bud, you never had a sweater on the whole night, we checked the security footage”
“Really?” he marveled.
“Yeah, the other guy walked in wearing that sweater” I said.
“Oh fuck,” the cook sighed, “I’m so fucking fired!”
“Nah, it takes a lot more than that to get fired from around here. Just apologize and maybe don’t get sorority girl wasted at work for a while.” 

He didn’t look convinced but went back to cooking.  It turns out his sweater was at his mom’s place, he found it a day or two later. And he didn’t get fired. And he makes the BEST spicy avacado chicken sliders, so really it all worked out in the end.

May the force be with you.  Especially on chilly days.

To Be Over-Served and Protect

So some big guy got into a fight with one of the regulars, a smaller, albeit feisty guy, who I get along with. A good Maritimes boy. Well, not a fight exactly but there was some shoving and it would have been a fight. But our bouncers came flying out of everywhere, I grabbed the smaller guy and walked him out with no troubles, he left like a champ on his own steam. By the time I got back the big guy was flailing around and ended up in a heap on the floor. 

From his back, surrounded by our door staff, he tried a different tact, acting all innocent and confused, like, why are we manhandling him? We finally got him out the door and once outside he lost his shit, started screaming that he’s gonna sue the place, that the regular he was scuffling with was an asshole who got in his face because he was yelling at some chick who told him off. He stood outside like a jackass for 10 solid minutes.

Come to find out, the big creepy douche is a cop from a nearby city. And so are his two friends. One of them pulled his badge out after losing a shoving match with one of our guys.  Another came over to hear what the girls involved in the scuffle had to say to me about what happened. Every time she said something he would cut her off.

“He kept touching me…”
“What do you mean ‘touching you’ “ he’d interrupt.
“We told him to leave us alone and he kept harassing me…”
“What do you mean harassing” he’d interrupt aggressively. This went on until she was done.

He walked away to find his buddies, the tall prick still arguing his case that he was in fact the victim in this situation. They finally got Big and Creepy into a cab and left.

At 2:30 we got a call from the cops, they heard about the incident and wanted to hear what happened. We said yeah sure, come on in. Well, it was the two buddies of Big and Creepy. They never actually said they were working, that I recall, but talked about how they work undercover, said they were trying to blend in, asked what happened etc. etc. all leading us all to believe that they were in fact on duty for some reason. We all chatted for about 10 minutes and they left.  I think we’ve got a pretty good rapport with the local cops. They come by to check on things from time to time and we usually all chat a bit and have a laugh at our clientèle. But these three guys were dicks.

The next day I watched the video of the fight. It happened exactly the way the girls explained it to me. Big and Creepy chatting them up, getting shot down, getting aggressive, getting into a fight. Seems his big, bald, creepy ego can’t handle rejection and he reacts by picking fights with little girls; and guys half his size.

My boss spoke with the police department. From what I’ve heard, it turns out these guys weren’t on duty at all. They were just full of shit. So now I really hope Big and Creepy does try and sue the bar. I would LOVE to show his bosses the video of him serving and protecting.  

The Drunkest Leprechan

There’s this guy. He comes in every couple weeks. Middle aged, grey, goatee, built like a potato. Polite, friendly, and can walk in a straight line. 

Then he has a few drinks. 

Suddenly, he can’t speak, can’t walk, and feels an overwhelming desire to touch, high five and hug everyone. Especially young girls.  That’s when we usually throw him out. When he gets creepy. 

On St. Paddy’s day one of the guys walked him out. We had all seen it coming. He just got to that point. I didn’t even ask why they were tossing him, I just looked at him and said “All done huh?”

He said he guessed so, then stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.

“Lets get you a cab” I said, and walked over to the taxi stand with him. I opened the first cab door and he started to climb in. He turned and stuck his hand out. I reached out to shake it when he pulled me in for one of those “bro hugs” you see guys do now. You know, half hand shake, half hug-type things. Ok. No problem, except he wouldn’t let go. He wasn’t being a dick, he was just that drunk. Finally I squirmed away when  the cabby looked at me and said “NO! He’s too drunk!”

Are you serious? You’re parked in front of a bar on St. Paddy’s day and you’re not taking people who are too drunk?  Fine, I grabbed my new friend and put him in another cab.  I got another bro hug, but managed to shake that off a little quicker this time and walked away.

About 5 minutes later I saw a cab pull up. The driver got out, slammed his door and marched around to the passenger side. He threw the door open and pulled out my drunk creepy friend. He jumped back in his van and took off. I couldn’t help but laugh.

So Drunk-and-Creepy staggered over and tried to get back into the bar. We said no and directed him to the taxis again. Over the course of the next hour he got into about 5 different cabs, either being thrown out immediately, or being returned within minutes. He spent the rest of the night hanging out in front of the bar hugging anyone and everyone who would acknowledge his existence, blowing raspberries for no apparent reason, and randomly trying to get back into the bar. Finally, around 2 he found a cabby that would take him home and left for the night.

I saw him the next weekend. One of our guys had gone up to him and told him they wanted him to pace himself so he didn't get hurt. He said "Thanks man, it means a lot that you guys care. Cause you don't have to care!" With that he proceeded to get leprechaun drunk again, then weaved his way out into the night. Happys St. Paddy's day, any day of the year!

Oh God!

I volunteered to work security at a concert at the East Coast Music Awards a few years ago. We were promised beer after the show but by the time I got there the pony keg they had brought was already tapped out.  Since I was there and I liked one of the bands that was playing I figured I’d stay.

I was paired up with a mountain of a man named Mike. At about 6foot 8 it looked like they used his hands as a model for those #1 fan Fingers people wear at ball games. He was good natured and we got along really well.  Mike was particularly unhappy that the free beer was gone though.

The venue was an abandoned church, with the old pews were still there. The fire marshal said that we had to keep the aisles on the sides clear, but people could dance in the middle if they wanted. It was east coast music after all, people were bound to bounce up and down a bit.

The night went off pretty well, everyone having a good time. We had to ask people from time to time to stay out of the side walkway and most people were pretty good. The drinks were flowing the bands were pumping and as predicted. We had to remind people more and more often.

At some point I asked some kid to settle down, he was jumping up and down and spilling beer all over those around him, and me. It turns out he was one of these, clever Chess Club, Debate Team university types who always figures he can outsmart his way out of being a douchebag.

“Are you being paid or are you a volunteer?” he demanded

“Doesn’t matter, you need to settle down dude, you’re bumping people and spilling all over” I replied

“Are you being paid or are you a volunteer?” he insisted

“Hey man, all you need to know is that if you don’t settle down we’re going to ask you to leave, now go have a good time” I said.

“Yeah?” he mocked “Well all you need to know is that if you’re not an employee of this place you don’t have any rights to tell me what to do” he stepped back and started bouncing up and down, staring at me, very pleased with himself. He may have had a touch of affluenza.

I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder, “Dude, you need to settle down”
He threw his arm up, batting at my hand and screamed “Don’t fucking touch me man!”  The beer he was holding flew everywhere half of it spraying a crowd to my right, the other half on me. Then he shoved me. Suddenly, Big mike comes out of nowhere, puts his arm around Chess Club’s neck and lifts him a full foot off the ground, and starts dragging him to the door. I ran ahead of him clearing a path. Chess Club was kicking me in the back half the time so I turned and grabbed his feet.

The three of us exploded out the front door of the church, smokers scattering to get out of the way. Mike tripped going down the steps and the three of us fell down on the sidewalk.  There were two city cops nearby. They sauntered over as we all got up and dusted ourselves off. Chess Club was losing his shit screaming about suing me and Mike. One cop pulled him aside and asked what was going on. The other stood beside us, thumbs looped through his duty belt. 

Chess Club then began his list of demands “I want to know if these guys are volunteers or employees. They have no fucking right to touch me if they’re volunteers…I want their NAMES, I want their SOCIAL INSURITY numbers (yes, that’s what he said, social insurity) and I want….”

“Alright alright alright” the cop said, hands up, half laughing. Turning to me he asked “What happened”

“He was jumping around bumping into people, spilling beer all over so I asked him to stop, so he threw a beer at me”

The cop looked at my half soaked security shirt, then at Mike who was nodding like a bobble head on rough road. Chess Club lost it, he literally jumped up around in a circle in a full on adult tantrum. “That’s bull shit, they have no fucking right, I didn't throw any fucking beer...they have no right to touch me!” he screamed.

The cop looked at him and said “yeah, you’re probably right, let’s take a drive and talk about your rights” as he turned the kid around and cuffed him.

“What?! What the fuck!?” screamed Chess Club as he was walked over to a cruiser on the curb.

I looked at Mike, then the 2^nd cop. “Holy shit man, we didn’t want him to get arrested, we just wanted him to leave”

The cop kinda shrugged “We’ll probably just take him home. Or maybe he can cool it in the drunk tank. We’ll see how the drive goes. Call us if you need anything!” he chirped as he walked away.

Mike and I went back inside to our posts, and the organizer came running over asking if we were ok. Yup, all good thanks. Then a lady and her husband, who both looked kind of damp, came over to Mike and me and said “Hey, thanks for throw that kid out”
“No problem”
“Yeah what a dick” she said.” Can I buy you guys a beer?”
“Sure” I said, then threw a thumb over my shoulder at Mike “He might need two”
She smiled and said alright and wandered to the bar, bringing us back three plastic cups full of suds.

Things tend to work out.

The Sound of Music

I walked into the bar one day to visit a friend who was working a slow shift. As I sat down I heard some guy singing along (badly) with the music. I looked back towards the VLTs and the bartender and the waitress just sort of rolled their eyes. Apparently the guy had been there all day getting smashed and pumping his pay check into the machine. Cool.

He hollered that he needed another drink. The whole time she's taking his order, or delivering his drink he was talking. Half rambling, half flirting, and wholly making an ass of himself.

Finally she told him she was serving him his last drink. He was amiable about being cut off and happily took his rye and ginger. About 5 minutes later he said "Ok, I'll take 1 more double and then I'll settle up" he said.

The waitress apologized, said she couldn't serve him anymore and said when ever he was ready he could come up and pay. He argued a little, but she was firm. So he went and asked the bartender for a drink. She said no. That's when he decided he didn't order everything that was on his bill and the waitress was ripping him off. She explained his tab and he paid, saying that his change better be there cause she was a bitch who was bitch who was stealing from him. The bartender told he couldn't talk to her waitresses like that. He then announced that the bartender was a bitch and she could go fuck herself. Thats when I decided he should probably just go home.

I stood up and said "Alright pal time to leave" he did the exact thing drunk assholes do. He literally screamed "DON"T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!!"  What is it with drunks not being touched? Anyway, I stepped between him and the bar and started walking him towards the door. He scrambled backwards telling me he'd kick my ass. Then he stumbled and half grabbed my arm trying not to fall over. So we got into a little shoving match.

Suddenly he stopped and said he'd meet me outside. Then he ran and jumped in the air, kicking the door open on his way and ran into the night. I shrugged and turned around. One of my buddies had stood up and had my back, so that was nice. We laughed about the drunk in the parking lot waiting for a guy twice his size to come out and pound him into paste. I wondered how long he'd wait.

I got my answer a second later when he stuck his head in the door and screamed that I was a pussy. Then, in a great off balanced swooping arc he threw a handful of change at us. Most of it hit the ceiling about 10 feet ahead of him and bounced back down onto the floor.  I got up again and he turned and ran off into the night.  He'll be missed.

Meatballs

I haven't worked as a bouncer at the bar for some time now. But I do hang out there from time to time. Every-so-often I'll notice some knuckle dragging meat head looking at me, with his head cocked to the side like a dog, trying to figure out where he knows me from. Usually its from kicking them out of a bar.

One night I stopped for a drink on the way home. I sat down only to realize I was 2 seats down from  meat head.  I ordered a beer and chatted with the bartender. Eventually Meathead and his buddy noticed me. They sat and whispered while I sat and drank. After about 10 minutes of this he saunters over and asks if I remember him.

"Yeah, didn't I throw you out of here for fighting?" I said.
"Yeah, well, I wanna know the name of the guy who sucker punched me, where can I find him?" he said.
"I dunno, I think his name was J. but that's all I know" I said.
"How come you treated him better than me that night" he said, agitated.
"I didn't. You got into a fight, I threw you out, someone else threw him out"
"Yeah?" he said, sullenly "I think he's your buddy, that's why you treated him better than me"
"He's not my buddy, like I said, you get into a fight, you get thrown out. That's how it works at every bar in Alberta man. As a matter of fact, I let you stick around and talk to the manager because you said he was a friend of yours"
By this time a couple of friends of mine had shown up and sat with me. Meathead was holding onto one of those giant 1 litre beer glasses like he was gonna swing it. The bartender, some new guy looked like he was going to pee himself.

Meat head starts again, asking where the guy who sucker punched him was, I gave him the same answer, then he asked why I treated the other guy better...seriously, reread the last paragraph, twice more, that's how our circular conversation went.

Finally I said, "You know, its your fault you got fucking sucker punched eh.We watched the video cameras after. You were up on the dance floor all shit faced slamming into everyone. You slammed into that guy and he clocked you. Simple as that."
He looked at me, furrowed his impressive sloping brow and said "There's no cameras in here"

His buddy, who was actually doing a pretty good job at keeping the peace up till now said "yeah dude, they're all over...look" We waved his arms expansively, revealing a ceiling covered in security eyes.

Meathead furrowed his brow again "Yeah, well, the manager showed me the tapes and I didn't slam into anyone"
"Wait, you just said there were no cameras, so which is it?"

Meathead didn't have an answer for that, he just readjusted his grip on the giant beer glass. Meanwhile one of the regulars had circled around Meathead and looked as if he'd pounce like a feral cat if that glass came off the counter too fast. "Yeah, well, I think you've got some sort of problem with me" Meathead said, like a child.

I was getting tired of this, I stood up "Yeah man, I do have a problem with you. I didn't, but I do now. You're standing here harassing me about a fight you got into over a year ago. As a matter of fact, I seem to remember pulling a guy off you, and stopping another guy from punching you in the back of the head. Then you went out back and whined to the manager for an hour, and told me you were a Hell's Angel (he isn't) and that I better watch who I was fucking with. So yeah dude, I've got a problem with you."

He just looked at me. You could hear tiny wheels turning behind his dull eyes, squeeking, straining..."I don't believe that"
I shrugged, turned and sat down with my back to him.
He stood a moment longer, then walked away "Fuck this, lets get the fuck out of here" he said to his buddy. He trudged out, his buddy in tow.

The bartender stopped holding his breath and looked at me. "You guys were making me nervous" I just laughed and told him not to worry about it.

Meathead ended up at someone's house after that and told everyone he would have kicked my ass if all my friends weren't there. I guess the 10 minutes he had before my friends showed up wasn't enough time to get that job done.

Anyway, the guy he's looking for had been a regular at the bar for about 2 months. I had spoken to him a few times and it turns out he had just gotten out of jail after a 14 year stint in Dorchester for beating a guy to death with a baseball bat for sleeping with his wife. He never came back after the fight with Meathead. But yeah...I'll definitely reacquaint Meathead with him if I ever get the chance. I'm sure it'll work out for him.