Again?

I entered into the bar's parking lot at about 9:30 and, looking at the dozen or so trucks, softly cursed.


It was gonna be another slow night.

Strolling into the bar, letting the too-loud country twang music and beer scent wash over me, It was hard not to notice one of the assistant managers sitting at one of the short tables by the pool tables, nursing a drink.


It was already another slow night.


With visions of getting the night off to shoot some pool and practice my crash-and-burn with the ladies, I asked the boss, "So, want me to clock on, or just hang out and give the bar my paycheck back?". He responded, "Nope, bar #2 needs a good cleanin', anyways. G'ahead and grab ya the till in the office, let me know what needs restockin', and we'll give it an hour or so and see how we're doin' then, m'kay?"

*sigh*

I clocked in, grabbed the till, and went to bar #2. The club that I worked at actually had three bars, one on each wall not occupied by the live-music stage. The doors opened up at the immediate end of bar#1, bar #2 was across the dance floor, and bar #2 (the slow bar) was tucked away on the shorter wall, behind the DJ booth and amidst all the pool tables. If it was a slow night, the only traffic you got was from the pool players, and it was looking like that night wasn't going to make me much.

About 45 minutes into the night, one of the bouncers came by with some napkins and liquor that I needed to stock the bar. "Hey man, don't worry about the bouncers' cut - hell, we'll probably make more than you tonight, anyways", he said. It was a much appreciated offer 'cause while bouncer made minimum wage plus 10% of the bartenders tips, the bartenders only made something like 2 dollars and change. It was expected that we'd make it up in tips. Looking at the loose change I had found beneath the ice bins and put into the tips jars, I figured as how he definitely would out-earn me for that night.

That's when Odd showed up for the night.

He's named, 'Odd' here, not for any great physical abnormality, but due to the fact that there was something off with the guy that I couldn't quite put my finger on. He had showed up one night, made a round of the bars, and proclaimed my drinks the best he'd had in a long while (they were Jack and Cokes, so figure that one out). He was normally a good tipper, so his service was likewise good. He was kind of quiet - didn't hardly dance, just had a few drinks, shot some pool, and left about 20 minutes before closing, a few times a month. After a couple of nights, he'd become one of my regulars.

Odd wandered into the bar, looked around at the three couples on the dance floor, gave a half-assed salute in my general direction, and glanced into the cashier's window. The cashier's window was where the club collected the cover charge on some nights, and also where we kept the pool balls. As there was no cover for this dismal night, the boss had put a couple of trays at each bar. Knowing what he was looking for, I lifted a tray in one hand, and a bottle of Jack in the other. He nodded his head while maneuvering through the tables, and I proceeded with his drink.

He put his hat on the pool table nearest the end of my bar, grabbed a stick off the wall, and rolled it on the table. I was about done stocking the beer and liquor, and was killing time before getting to rewashing all the glass, so I poured myself a Coke and leaned up against the beer coolers, at the same end of the bar. We started to talk, same conversation we'd had before, about everything and nothing, all wrapped up into one.

As he was trying to decide on while stick was least crooked, I went ahead and racked the balls for him. He asked if we were still not allowed to shoot some pool, or if he could at least buy me a drink. Looking at the boss man starting his second since I'd been there, I grumbled as how we still weren't.

He started to play, and I got to cleaning the glasses.

About half way through the Hurricanes, he sauntered over to the bar, grabbed a stool, and drug it to the counter. Shaking his head at the lonely crumpled up one dollar bill in the tip jar (a sad little attempt to bait for more tips / it was from my wallet), he dug into his jeans and came up with a ten dollar bill. He ordered a beer this time, shrugged, and stuffed the ten into my tip jar. Good man.

That money meant that I got to grab a bite to eat that night, at least without having to bum some cash off my buddies. Good times.

Turning around, I slid back the top of the beer cooler, grabbed a beer from the middle of the stack, and cranked it open with the bottle opener. I slung the opener back into my back pocket, took the cash, and made change. We resumed our conversation.

"So, what do y'all do around here for fun" he asked, looking around the still nearly empty bar - "besides hang out here all night?" He chuckled.

"Hardy har-har", I responded.

"Seriously though, I mean, what you y'all do for fun, the employees that is, after work?"

I started to explain how on occasion we would all congregate at my apartment, as I had kicked out my last roomie on account of not paying his share of rent, and make do just fine.

Taking a pull from his beer, he made a face.

"Shit, man, I'm sorry," I started. "Beer all right? I restocked earlier, if it's a little warm I can get you another if you like". He told me that sounded just fine.

I set the opened beer bottle on the sink, turned around and leaned over to another beer cooler, and slid the cover open. Reaching down for another beer, he suggested, "from the bottom, iff'n you don't mind. I had reached way down, half leaning into the cooler, when, from directly behind me he asked,


"So, what're you doing tonight?"


That's when I figured out what it was that struck me as odd about the man.

Call & Answer

Not mine, I claim no skill whatsoever with the art of the pick-up line, but one that seemed to work on occasion (depending, of course, on the guy, the delivery, his confidence, the bar, the chica in question etc etc) was something along the lines of;

a) I'm: a Marine / in the Corps / a steely eyed killer.

and possibly

a1) I'm: going to war / just got back from combat / the greatest stud the world has ever known.

One had to keep in mind however, that just because one is far away from one's stateside home base doesn't necessarily mean that one is far away from any other military base, otherwise one just might get the best. response. ever. from the pretty lady.

"Military, huh? Out-Friggin'-Standing, me too! Gunnery Sergeant Suzan Smith. Where did you say that you were out of again?"


Whoopsie.


Sometimes it was kind of nice watching one of my buddies crash and burn once in a while, instead of moi...

Dating Follies: A Continuing Saga...

Early one evening, sitting at home navel gazing, when-

*briing...briing...*

Aha! Somebody loves me!

ME: [muy suave] 'Lo?

Kinda Hot, Definitely a Little Bit Freaky, and Currently Available Girl (KHDLBFCAG): Hey! You're home! Listen, *giggle* I was having a little get-together tonight, and um...

This was where I started to have delusions of grandeur. I knew that this meant that my days of hopelessly making an ass of myself in new and creative ways were OVER! Heck, they're calling me up now, baby....

KHDLBFCAG: ... knew you were a bartender, so I was wondering if you knew how to make a White Russian?

ME: Da, of course... [starting my saunter...] What you're gonna need is vodka, Kahlua, & cream... [wandering by the mirror, looking at that handsome devil, ... and me!] Of course you have all the ice, glasses, and whatnot, right?

KHDLBFCAG: Yup! Great, got it! Thanks, bye sweetie!

*click*


...




.....





?!?



Crap.

Tall Tales & Suck Ups

I was sitting at the bar one night, sulking at the fact that I got my ass handed to me at the pool table.


By a woman.


Again.

At the time I had experienced enough dateless nights to consider myself a fair billiards player, and I guess you could say that I am pretty decent when it comes to the game (Dating follies were pretty much continuous at the time, resulting in many dateless nights). The unending source of my grief is the fact that some wimmens know how to gain an unfair advantage at the table. Works every time, dangit. Quite the distraction. As I was sitting at the bar, contemplating how to ask her to show me how she made a few of those bank shots without coming across as a horny goat (not to say that I wasn't, just that I didn't want to make it too obvious, and it was an excellent series of shots), a slightly pudgy drunken monkey snags the stool next to me.

SPDM: Hey buddy, you in the Marines?

ME: Uh...yup.

SPDM: That's cool. I was gonna join the Corps.....


Here we go again...


There are a lot of guys out there that, for whatever reason, were unable to join the Corps. I don't pretend to judge another man's decisions when it comes to his life, because it's really none of my business. I know of a few guys that would have made fine Marines, soldiers, cops, or whatever but they needed to raise younger siblings, see to dying parents, or had various other commitments / restrictions. It just seems to me that in a bar situation, it is only the drunken monkeys that come up to hassle me though.

SPDM: ...but after I got off of probation, I decided to join the Air Force & Rangers.


Oh really? Air Farce Rangers, huh?


ME: Cool... So, did you got to the airborne sniper school in Seattle? I hear that one's a mother to get through...

SPDM: Were you an airborne sniper?

ME: Nope, just a regular grunt.

SPDM: Yeah, I went to a school like that, wasn't too bad, though, 'cept for the CQB training.


I'm gonna have fun with this one...


ME: I thought the knife training was pretty interesting, myself (true). Marines are taught the basics of target selection, various ways to attack those targets, little things like the blood groove on a k-bar, bayonet training, and alternative uses for a blade (true). It was only when they brought in the inmates that it got...*shudder* kinda gruesome. (sliiight exaggeration).

SPDM: Inmates?

ME: Yeah. Don't think they do it anymore, cause of all the screaming commies nowadays, but they used to have this deal where they brought out some really bad dudes towards the end of our knife fighting training. Incentives was that if they won, they got a reduced sentence, if we won, well, either way we got some good experience.


I can't believe my ability to BS sometimes, this crap is flowing like pure gold!


SPDM: Whoa. *slurps from almost forgotten beer* Didn't guys die, or somethin'?

ME: On occasion. Good thing about it was we had plenty of Corpsmen there, kind of a joint training thing. You would be surprised, the number of things a good doc can do to stop a dude from bleeding out (last part was true).

SPDM: Dude... I, uh, gotta go but lemme buy you a beer before I go...


He shoots, he scores! Now where was that lady from before? Don't think I made enough of an ass of myself earlier...

Murphy's Adventures in Dating; Volume 1, Book 1, Chapter 1 ...

Alternative title: Cupid is a Punk

Here ya go, Deborah,

CLASSIFICATION: SORTA SOOPER-SECRET

FROM: CHERUB HIGH COMMAND

TO: CUPID

SITUATION: YOU ARE HEREBY INSTRUCTED TO LINK UP WITH 1ST REGIMENT,

FLYING MONKEY LEGION (2ND ARCHER PLATOON).

MISSION: 1) CONDUCT JOINT TRAINING OPERATIONS IN MIDDLE-A-NOWHERE, TX

2) REPORT ON FEASIBILITY OF FUTURE DEPLOYMENT OF COMBINED FORCES IN

OPERATION: WORLD DOMINION.

3) IF OPPORTUNITY PRESENTS ITSELF, TARGET OF OPPORTUNITY IS LISTED AS ONE

MURPHY, CURRENTLY A BARTENDER AT BAR NAMED 'REDNECK RODEO'.

EXECUTION: COMMANDER'S INTENT IS SUCCESSFUL COMPLETION OF MISSIONS

LISTED ABOVE.

ADMINISTRATION & LOGISTICS: YOU WILL SELF TRANSPORT TO THE FORCES

LINK-UP SITE, CLEVERLY DISGUISED AS THE AUSTIN INTERNATIONAL ZOO.

FROM THERE, 2ND PLT. WILL PROVIDE SUPPORT IN ESCORT, SECURITY,

AND ANY HOSTILE INTERACTION.

N.B. POSSIBILITY OF HOSTILE ACTION FROM MURPHY.

COMMAND & SIGNAL: 1ST MONKEY BOBO TO HAVE OVERALL COMMAND OF MISSION.

YOU ARE LEAD IN TARGET OF OPPORTUNITY ACQUISITION AND USE OF FORCE.

P.S. I'M SURE THAT MURPHY WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU DIDN'T SCREW IT UP

LIKE LAST TIME.



END OF MESSAGE



I really didn't want to be at work that night.

Unfortunately, one of the bouncers needed the night off to visit his dying grandmother (think it was the third time she died), and I had no other plans for the evening. As my most recent ex was somewhere in Europe probably having a 'grand old time' and I was not really keen on spending what little money I had, I decided to take him up on his request of covering his shift. Heck, even if I am only making a little bit o' money, that usually means that I'm not spending it, right?

I really didn't want to be at work that night.

Instead of making the big bucks behind the bar, I was relegated to checking IDs and baby-sitter duty at the front entry. At least one of my buddies was there, so I could piss and moan in between fake IDs, early drunks, and the like about all that was wrong with the world, namely; women. He had recently sworn off women (read - he got kicked to the curb, as well) and was most definitely in the same frame of mind. Eventually, we both agreed that somebody upstairs was having a whole bowl of Chuckle-Os at our expense. I had a personal theory that if Cupid really existed, he was testing out new and unproven bows & arrows at the shooting range that was moi.

As bar nights go, it was generally an uneventful night. Not too much in the way of disturbances, due to the Deputies that were recently hired to keep a wary eye on things. They were happy to take the additional money from the bar, but not too keen on actually working. Not that they were afraid of working, but if they did have to break a sweat, well... let's just say that when the hangover wore off, there were going to be some achy bodies the next morning. My kind of guys.
Towards the end of the night our focus, as bar employees, went from watching the people coming in to watching the people going out. There are always a few guys that think they can just go out to the parking lot immediately outside the doors to engage in a tussle, or a few guys that believe if they just don't look at us as they stumble and stagger out the door, we somehow wont notice them as they try to twirl their car keys, whistle out of key, bump into three stools, drop their keys, apologize profusely to the stools, throw up a little in their mouths, cop a feel on one of the unsuspecting stools, stagger to their feet, walk two paces, remember their keys, snag them up, and finally figure out how to operate that tricky door thing to the parking lot.

It kept us occupied.

During the last hour of the night, one memorable drunk came up to me.

DRUNK - Heh....hey!

ME - Yes sir?

DRUNK - Hey!

I think we already covered this

DRUNK - Hey...Lemme ash you a queshion!

This was about when they normally asked me for a telephone number for the local cab company, where their friends were, what restaurants were still open, or where they parked their car.

DRUNK - Hey!

ME - Yes sir -whoa! Watch out there (he almost fell over on my feet).

I helped to support him by placing on hand on his back. In return, he flung his arm around my shoulder. At that point I started to look around for the Deputy. If this guy was serious about leaving the bar, it was something I kind of felt that Mr. Deputy should be aware of. Fortunately for my drunkard, a group of people came up at just that moment, grabbed his arm, apologized to me, and walked him out of the bar.


Just as the door closed, I could have sworn that I heard a twanging sound, a ricochet, and some soft angelic-type curses.

I had turned back from the exit door to watch the people still in the bar. As I was faced in this direction, I failed to notice my drunken friend re-enter the building. He stumbled up to me, threw one arm around my shoulders, put his other hand on my chest for additional stabilization, and slur-shouted over the music-

DRUNK - Hey!

Again?

ME - Sir, we have cards for a local cab there on the counter -

DRUNK - Hey! I gotta queshion that I really wanna ashk you!

Of course, just before his actual question, the music ended, and the dj was just a little bit slow in beginning his into for the last song of the night. The result? Dead air (no music, just the murmur of conversation)

DRUNK - HOW DID YOU GET TO BE SO GOOD LOOKIN'?!?!

Several things happened at the same time.

About 500 heads turned in my direction.
My buddy very nearly pissed himself.
Mr. Deputy placed one hand on a table, bent slightly, and began to examine the floor. Intensely.
My drunk started to cop a feel.

What commenced for about the next twenty seconds was the rather rare dance of bouncer attempting to avoid the unwanted drunken caresses of an amorous admirer. This was accompanied, naturally, by chuckles throughout the bar. Now, despite my military background, I have nothing personally against those types, I have some good friends that are gay. It's just that working at about the picture definition of a country bar would be the last place that I would expect to be hit on by another guy. Geez, he didn't even try to smooth talk me or nuthin'! His friends came back in, gathered him up again, and whisked him out of the bar. Naturally, most of the employees came over to congratulate me in my return to the dating pool, and to ask me if I had any recommendations in re their interior design.

As I looked up to the heavens to express my displeasure at the situation, I swore I would find Cupid and arrange a new quiver for his arrows.

Country Bars, Classy Ladies, and Hand to Hand

A number of years ago, I worked part time at a country bar. I wasn't even really a big fan of country music, but I was a big fan of not being broke. Being broke sucks. Perhaps the best part about having experience working at the bar is getting to know all of the characters that hang out there, either for work and/or pleasure.

There was this bartender that worked there when I first started, for the purpose of this story we'll call her Red. Red was a little bit older than the other bartenders, but she had loads of experience in just about any situation that one could find themselves around in the bar scene. I liked her because she didn't put up with anyone's shit, even mine.

About 3 weeks into the new job, and I was feeling pretty good about my grasp of this line of work. Keep the bars stocked, money ready, and trash cans empty, and it was gravy from then on. I remember commenting to one of the other guys there something along the lines of 'sure aren't many fights here'. Sure enough, Mr. Murphy realized that he had not been paying enough attention to me and decided to develop an interest in the local country bar.

A couple of hours later, and I was in my first bar fight.

A few words here. Even though this was a few years back, we were still firmly entrenched in the modern day litigious society. There were a lot of rules regarding when, how, and what we could do to break up the fights. The one that the manager always stressed was 'watch out for each-other'. As an additional measure, he regularly hired Deputies to come to the bar and hang out. They got a little extra cash and usually just by being there the crowd was a little more subdued.

Usually.

Where was I...ah yes, my first bar fight. Clearing an empty table of beer bottles, I noticed a change in the crowd over at the far end of the dance floor. When a few bottles hit the floor myself and a few of the other guys headed over to that area. What we saw was about a dozen guys, all standing around a couple wrasslin' around on the floor. Elbowing my way through the crowd, I noticed that the pair duking it out were women.

Hmmm......

Grabbing the one that was on top, I pulled her off and handed her to one of the other bouncers. When I turned to the 'lady' that was on the ground beside an overturned table, I was able to see that she was very pregnant. Nice. I was only able to see this for about half a second however, because Classy lady #1 had broken free from my buddy and vaulted herself back into the fight.
Damn, was there something in the beer?

In a feeble attempt to stop the festivities, I grabbed Classy #1 from behind, right hand to her right shoulder. My left arm and hand I swung down in front of her to impede here ability to beat the hell out of Classy #2. What the hell was Classy #2 doing in a smoky bar that pregnant anyways? Classy #1's flailing arms made it somewhat difficult to trap, but I did manage to stop her.

Yay, I'm a hero, right?

Wrong. In managing to drag her off of the pregnant lady, I had somehow managed to grab a handful of Classy #1. Trust me, it was not; intended, enjoyed, or even all that remarkable.

It was somewhat remarkable to her, though.

In her stupor, her rage was transferred from the pregnant woman to the new bouncer. I had a seriously angry, drunken, combative woman on my hands.


Now, growing up as a child my parents had cautioned me to not get into any fights. After a few years of this, they noticed that I was regularly coming home with clothes torn and school supplies missing. They started getting notes from teachers and whatnot commenting on how I was getting my ass beat, but I wasn't fighting back for some reason. My folks told me that I had to stick up for myself. I swung 180 degrees the other way and started beating the hell out of bullies that were picking on me and my friends (Sweet revenge). Back to the 'don't get into fights at school, honey' speeches. Back to getting my ass kicked. Apparently, this happened on and off up to junior high. What was a regular lecture was the one about looking out for my baby sister, and not fighting with girls.

This kind of put me in a pickle. I was very reluctant to fight back with this woman but as she was very drunk, very pissed, and very country she actually knew how to throw a few punches. I was reduced to backing up, holding my hand in front of me defensively, and wondering how in the hell I got myself into this situation.

Enter Red, stage right.

With a shouted 'Hey!' she launched herself over a few chairs, and being a country girl herself, landed a textbook forearm right into the mug of Classy Lady #1. Bam! Fight over. As Red was propping up the seriously dazed Classy #1 and assisting her to the door (and the deputy), she looked over her shoulder, winked at me, and said, "Damn, son. Sometimes you have to fight back no matter what, you know?"

Indeed.