I have a long standing theory that all the bat shit crazies come out to the bar on Saturday nights. Maybe they crawl out from underneath rocks or bridges, come out of the woodwork or get clearance from wherever they have been committed? I don't know, but I am certain that the prearranged meeting place is my bar. Many a Saturday night, I just have to step back and laugh at what crawls in and wonder who I pissed off in a past life.
The usual suspects are as follows:
1) Mr. Super Creeper. Usually sporting the black denim jeans pulled up too high and the glowing white Hi-Tec sneakers with the flowered, collared button down shirt, Inspector Gadget hat and brown sport coat. He lurks about with his vodka soda and tries his luck with any female sitting alone. After being shot down or completely ignored in every attempt, he returns to his original stool and begins intensely watching every move I make. This soon turns to 101 questions which I do my best to ignore or pretend I am unable to hear over the bad karaoke. As the night wears on, he begins lurking in the corners and near the pool tables ready to try his luck closer to closing time. Always the last guy out of the bar. Most likely harmless and just socially inept, but still gives me the heebie-jeebies.
2) Ms. 50-Something Recent Divorcee. On the prowl. Large, loud and proud of all the skin that new outfit reveals. (Yikes!) "Make me something good and put it on his tab" is her mantra of the night. At 12:30 after enough gin to kill an elephant, she is either crying her eyes out with two tons of mascara smeared all over her face or repeatedly asking me when her cab is supposed to arrive and swearing she "never goes out" and "never drinks." Ummmm, yeah. Until next week when we repeat this little game.
3) Mr. Too Fast. Out of control mullet and receding hairline with the cigarette stored behind the ear look.. Dirty old sweatshirt and blue jeans covered with paint from the house he worked on all day before driving straight to the bar from the jobsite. Because tomorrow is his only day off, this dude sucks down Jim Beam like water. He also tells me six different stories before I can even get the first one poured. Constantly needs change for the pool table and jukebox and could not sit still if he was paid.
4) Mr. Bronco Jersey. Can talk of nothing but the game tomorrow and how awesome football season is. Asks me 700 times if he can buy a square on the football board which is full, who my favorite team is and if I saw the game three weeks ago and if I remember that one play from last year. After I ignore him long enough, he turns to the next unsuspecting victim beside him and recites all Peyton's stats since 2009. Drinks nothing but Bud Light bottles and asks me three more times if we will be showing the game tomorrow before he pays his tab and leaves me 10%.
5) Ms. "Can We Still Get Food?" We go over this every week. The kitchen closes at 10PM.. It is now 1:15AM. Go to Denny's.
6) Mr. Beer Coupon Scammer. His sole mission in life is to not pay for a single beer. He attempts to employ all ways to use his free coupons more than once. He must sit home all week and think them up because this cat and mouse game is the highlight of his pathetic social life.
7) Mr."Where Do All The Girls Go On Saturdays?" He reeks of cheap cologne and breath mints and cruises the local bar scene trying to find 20-something girls desperate enough to give him the time of day.
8) Miss "Its My Birthday What Do I Get for Free?". Nothing. Why? Because she asked. This is the 36th bar she has been to trying to score a free shot, probably has two dollars at most in her cute little purse and can barely walk. Depending on how much of a relentless pest she and her BFF are, I may give in and serve up a tasty shot of dry vermouth as a night cap. That usually does the trick and I never see them again the rest of the night. If they do decide to stay it is not long because Mr. Super Creeper scares them away.
9) Mr/Ms. Story Repeater. The always sit right at the drink well. Never fails. The one place I from which I cannot escape. Over and over and over they tell me the same story. About every third time, I even finish the story for them. Two minutes go by and the broken record begins again. Finally, I finish making all the drinks I need and walk away only to see them stealing cherries and olives out of the condiment tray. Gross!
Ahhhh, Saturday nights in paradise...
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