Ah, young love on a Friday night! It's the weekend, time to let your hair down, relax, have a few drinks...and argue with your significant other.
There's a girl that comes out to the bar who's a fairly regular. She usually hangs out for a couple of hours, gets varying degrees drunk and then she disappears into the night. On this particular night I first saw her on her way to the ladies room. We exchanged pleasantries and salutations and off she went. She'll usually get chatty towards the end of the night when she's looking for a place to refocus her vision and isn't surrounded by a bunch of guys wearing plaid shirts and offering her drinks.
The next time I saw her she was having a problem with some guy on the dance floor. The impression that I got was that he wouldn't leave her and her friends alone. I was stuck on the side door with three things going on at the same time so I had her tell one of the guys on the floor. The upstairs was closed due to in-climate weather so I knew there would be at somebody looking for something to do.
I didn't hear from her again for another couple of hours when the band was on break and random yelling can be heard at the end of the hall. I look around the corner and what to my wondering eye should appear? A drunk girl and a guy in a plaid shirt. The police will tell you the easiest way to deal with a domestic dispute is to let it burn itself out and just play referee when things start to get rough. This is a great philosophy and has served me well on a few occasions. However, you guessed it, I know this drunk girl. I don't know the plaid shirt. But, I remember a complaint about a guy who seemed to have a problem with no.
She seems intent on getting away from him and has managed to get herself into an alcove formed by the barricade we fashioned to block off the upstairs and the bands gear. She has her back to the wall and he's now in front of her blocking the only way out. Ladies, this is NOT tactically advantageous. Stay aware of your surroundings and stay out in the open. He moves in, closing the gap.
I grab this guy by the shoulders and pull him back. At this point there is no hostility, I just want to separate them until I can figure out which way the wind is blowing. I feel his shoulders tense as he whips himself around, his arm ready to cock back. I take half a step back, out of his effective range but still within my own. He looks me straight in the sternum and his eyes track up to my face. At any other time I might have laughed, it was sort of comical since he was only about 5'7. Since I was at work, levity was not an option.
He found the answer to his how-fucked-am-I? question in less that a second and went from hostile to docile in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Suddenly, I have both of them apologizing profusely, she's telling me how this is her boyfriend, he's telling me how they're just trying to sort things out and how they're not normally like this...I stopped listening at some point, I've heard this song before. They go back out to the dance floor.
I see her again on the way to the ladies room. I don't see her again for a while. If it wasn't for her two friends tag teaming, I'd swear that she was ready to start forwarding her mail. She eventually comes back out and everybody leaves.
People wonder sometimes why I don't date anymore. The answer is simple-women are crazy, men are stupid and relationships are merely a series of wrong answers to dumb questions.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer
"Are you a cop?" she asks. "No". I get that a lot. "Are you with SWAT or DEA?" "No." That's a fresh spin on an old line. "I'm the bouncer, I work here." "You know, with that microphone, nobody's going to talk to you, b t dub." She's looking at my radio mic clipped to my collar. Another dead give away that I work there. She reaches up to pull my jacket over the mic. She's maybe 5'5, with the heels. If she's in the triple digit weight class she must have something in her pockets. Threat assessment-zero. I let her. The damn thing doesn't broadcast most of the time anyway.
She runs her hand along my head. "Your hair's really soft." I can't tell if she's flirty or just drunk. "Thanks." What else are you supposed to say to that? I wash it, I cut it, after that it takes care of itself.
"Are you having a good night?" Standard question, but it gives me something to say besides "Good night, thanks for coming" or "See you next time". Since there's a d.j. I can't ask her if she's here for the band. Outside of 3 or 4 friends, nobody ever shows up for the d.j.
She says her night's going okay, at least nobody's offered her drugs. "That's a good thing, right? Unless you're here to score." She doesn't laugh, just looks kind of confused. I suddenly feel like a character in a Jay McInerney novel. She goes from confused to serious. I've seen this look too many times. At a party or a bar, you learn to make a quick joke and change the subject or just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. Working the side door, you're a dog on a leash, a captive audience. Well, the string has been pulled, the doctor will see you now. I hope you're okay with this bar stool, I'm having my couch reupholstered. So, vhut seems to be ze problem? "I've been off drugs for...yeah, ten months now. In two years, I'll get my two year chip" "Good for you." "Yeah, I was arrested once for possession, but, and I know you hear this all the time," she still thinks I'm a cop "but I REALLY was just holding it for a friend that time." "Bad timing, tough break" "It didn't help matters much that I was driving drunk when they found it." "Yeah, I can see how that could be bad."
"You're judging me aren't you?" "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to make sure that nobody screws with your good time or vice versa." "So, are you with the city or the county?" "I'm with the bar." Like a dog with a frisbee. "Okay, have it your way, I'm going to go look for my friends, it's been nice talking with you."
As she turns around, there are two blondes form earlier who had asked me if anyone had left recently. It's a big reunion. "Hey, come over here, I want you to meet my new friend." she says, dragging them over to where I am. Smiles, nods, hello's all around. "He says he's the bouncer, but you know he's a cop." She sounds like Rick Masters introducing Mr. Jessup-He says he's from Palm Springs, but he doesn't have a tan...tell me, do you like your work?
She's about two drinks away from being obnoxious but it's a slow night and she's harmless. Her friends could care less. They're debating between Brookside or Westport. The burning question of every Friday night. She keeps bouncing between me and them. The noise is escalating into what my former platoon daddy used to call a fish market.
She wants to exchange numbers and her friends are about to stroke out if they don't get to leave in the next 20 seconds. Normally I don't give out my number, but I'm pretty confident that she'll wake up tomorrow, look at her phone, wonder who in the hell is that? hit delete and life goes on. No harm, no foul.
She runs her hand along my head. "Your hair's really soft." I can't tell if she's flirty or just drunk. "Thanks." What else are you supposed to say to that? I wash it, I cut it, after that it takes care of itself.
"Are you having a good night?" Standard question, but it gives me something to say besides "Good night, thanks for coming" or "See you next time". Since there's a d.j. I can't ask her if she's here for the band. Outside of 3 or 4 friends, nobody ever shows up for the d.j.
She says her night's going okay, at least nobody's offered her drugs. "That's a good thing, right? Unless you're here to score." She doesn't laugh, just looks kind of confused. I suddenly feel like a character in a Jay McInerney novel. She goes from confused to serious. I've seen this look too many times. At a party or a bar, you learn to make a quick joke and change the subject or just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. Working the side door, you're a dog on a leash, a captive audience. Well, the string has been pulled, the doctor will see you now. I hope you're okay with this bar stool, I'm having my couch reupholstered. So, vhut seems to be ze problem? "I've been off drugs for...yeah, ten months now. In two years, I'll get my two year chip" "Good for you." "Yeah, I was arrested once for possession, but, and I know you hear this all the time," she still thinks I'm a cop "but I REALLY was just holding it for a friend that time." "Bad timing, tough break" "It didn't help matters much that I was driving drunk when they found it." "Yeah, I can see how that could be bad."
"You're judging me aren't you?" "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to make sure that nobody screws with your good time or vice versa." "So, are you with the city or the county?" "I'm with the bar." Like a dog with a frisbee. "Okay, have it your way, I'm going to go look for my friends, it's been nice talking with you."
As she turns around, there are two blondes form earlier who had asked me if anyone had left recently. It's a big reunion. "Hey, come over here, I want you to meet my new friend." she says, dragging them over to where I am. Smiles, nods, hello's all around. "He says he's the bouncer, but you know he's a cop." She sounds like Rick Masters introducing Mr. Jessup-He says he's from Palm Springs, but he doesn't have a tan...tell me, do you like your work?
She's about two drinks away from being obnoxious but it's a slow night and she's harmless. Her friends could care less. They're debating between Brookside or Westport. The burning question of every Friday night. She keeps bouncing between me and them. The noise is escalating into what my former platoon daddy used to call a fish market.
She wants to exchange numbers and her friends are about to stroke out if they don't get to leave in the next 20 seconds. Normally I don't give out my number, but I'm pretty confident that she'll wake up tomorrow, look at her phone, wonder who in the hell is that? hit delete and life goes on. No harm, no foul.
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