I have noticed that Wednesday nights are always the most eventful. Forget the weekends! Wednesday nights are when all of the crazies come out and play. I am pretty sure that every Wednesday for the past several months I have kicked someone out of my bar or something really random has occurred. It's hilarious!
Like most Wednesday's, I walk in to work curious of what strange event will occur that night. I am a little apprehensive and slightly paranoid. Typically, I run through random scenarios in my head. What will I do if someone walks in with a gun asking for money? What do I do if a person leans over the bar and attempts to hit me? Well, I most definitely feel sorry for them. This Wednesday I wasn't expecting to have four cop cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance outside of my bar.
Around eleven that night, a very peculiar woman walked through the threshold and checked her sanity at the door. She had jet black hair, olive skin, and scars all over her face. Let's call her "Bonnie". Like most people, Bonnie seemed to be escaping something. She just seemed like she had a long day like the rest of my bar patrons and needed a drink. Ms. Bonnie ended up ordering a seven and seven while staying alone and quiet at the end of my bar. I stayed clear of her end because it was obvious that she just wanted to be left alone. Of course that all changed when our lovely bar regular, Michael, decided to invite her into his group for conversation. Instinctively, I watched that group closely.
Michael is a middle aged father of two. He seems to be a wealthier individual, and very polite. However, I do believe he fights his demons every single day. There is still a twenty year old frat boy stuck in his small aging body. Because of those demons, he is in the middle of a very nasty divorce and sticks around the bar for extensive amounts of time. Joining his table, there is Guy and Sam.
Guy is the self proclaimed poet, a retired English teacher, and is as confused about life as a fourteen year old going through puberty. I have seen his work, and quite frankly, I am glad I never had him for English. Like Michael, he battles his demons. His wife and him still live in the same house together, in separate wings, of course. Hell, I doubt they have been in the same bed for at least fifteen years. He avoids home by pulling binges at his favorite neighborhood bar while arguing with me over what should be played on the juke box.
Sam is an interesting character. I honestly don't know too much about him. He is quite comical, drinks Miller Lite, and has poor taste in music. I enjoy his company, though. Sam always makes me laugh because he makes fun of his friends just as much as I do, if not more. He always approaches the bar with a new pickup line. My job is to rate the line. For example, "Do you have a keg in your pants? Because I want to tap that ass!" Hilarious.
As the guys continue to talk to Bonnie, I notice her get a little abrasive with them. I do know for a fact that they can be a little too pushy and personal, and she was probably a little uncomfortable. I let it slide. I then notice Bonnie get up to go to the bathroom. In the mean time, the guys approach me and continue to tell me how crazy this woman is. No shit! That's why I have been watching all of you guys like a hawk.
Bonnie then exits the bathroom as a whole different person. She staggers from the bathroom with her hair in her face and her big black scrunchy around her left wrist. Bonnie looked like the weird chick from "The Ring". She sits next to Guy and starts to hit him. Guy then politely asked her to stop hitting him, but she is persistent. Bonnie then decides to hit him even harder and Guy raised his voice. "I am not a gentleman! I will hit your ass back." I then step in.
Like all bartenders, I give Bonnie the "look". I am pretty sure that everyone has received the "look" at least once from a bartender. It is the "I mean business", "Don't mess with me", "I will snatch your ass so quick" look. With the "look", I tell her she needs to go. Of course she wanted to give me a hard time. I wouldn't expect it any other way. After all, what is the fun in that? Bonnie tries to insult me by saying "You are fat and ugly!". Ouch, that hurt. I really do wish people had more clever insults. I walk her to the end of the bar and see her out. Naturally, I do it with such class! I cuss her out every step of the way (I blame my dad for my potty mouth).
Once she is out the door, I continue my business. I pour a beer here, and I make a shot there. In rolls in two kids from the gym down the parking lot. They tell me there is a woman screaming for 911 while in the fetal position in the middle of my parking lot! As a bartender, you are stuck with two options: 1) Ignore it. She's out the bar and is no longer your problem. OR 2) Call 911. She may be overdosing. Thanks to my wonderful morals, I call 911. The police, ambulance, and fire trucks all arrive and she could hardly get a full sentence out. Initially, they wanted to pin me for over serving her. I informed the officials that she had one drink while sitting in my bar. I then described the bathroom transformation which clearly indicates drug use. According to Bonnie,
"the fat bitch behind the bar" gave her a roofie. Case solved! The fat bartender slipped something in the crackheads drink! That would be a very interesting headliner. Hell, I will title this blog post just that.
Once the cops leave with Bonnie in tow, I then check the bathroom. Sure enough, there were blood drippings by the sink. Ms. Bonnie shot something up. I win!
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