Here’s a dude outside my bar - in the daytime. Alcohol does some weird shit to already weird people. Take the Freddie Mercury inspired, Borat wannabe above… He’s either (a) a glutton for a beating (b) been rejected by every S&M hookup in the back of The Village Voice (c) a really, really lonely Financial Analyst by day (d) bust 3 nuts a day whacker extraordinaire or (e) all of the above. But don’t kid yourself… just ’cause he’s the poster child for losers, doesn’t give him balls the size Bowling Green’s resident bronze bull.
He didn’t walk into my bar in that brazen Coco Austin-inspired swimsuit – oh no… Our man first approached me at the bar in a seemingly ordinary jacket. Five or six drinks later, amid a sea of 4pm diners and boozehounds, simpleton decides to go balls out and make damned sure that I, and everyone around me, can all see just how much junk he’s packing. Not surprisingly, meatsack was swiftly escorted outside where he lingered for a bit to the delight of many a passerby.
I’ve seen a lot of shit go down at the bars I’ve worked. All of these years has been a progressive learning experience about human kind, humanity’s Raison D’être after 2am, and the wonders of inebriation - the legal wonder-drug, alcohol. It’s hard to believe, but this is not the first time (nor the most outlandish) a patron has bust out a slap-happy outfit under their regular clothes. I’ve even been privy to full-on birthday suits a go-go a couple of times while behind the stick.
Drinking, unlike weed and blow (2 other very popular pastimes at my bar – yes, really) has some seriously psychotic effects on otherwise restrained, somewhat “normal” acting people.
- A corporate HR officer suddenly grabs the ass of a perfect stranger.
- A mid-Jersey’ish, middle-aged housewife with several kids is openly banging barfly she just met in one of the bathroom stalls – bareback.
- A retarded-looking nerdy dude hooks up with a drunk-ass “9″ stunner, who had previously rejected every other dude’s advances.
- Three chicks squeeze into the solo handicapped bathroom only to emerge 20 minutes later.
- Some random Ivy League educated suit, replete with monogrammed shirt, diamond cuff links, and Patek Phillipe timepiece, spits across the bar at me for cutting him off
- A well-dressed couple refuses to pay a $200 bar tab, insisting they didn’t consume half the shit on the breakdown.
The list goes on and on. The point is, quite a number imbibers frequently grow balls of steel, thus releasing their inner demons on the rest of us poor slobs (like myself) who pretty much are who we are 100% of the time. Sure – when I’m shitfaced – I’ll get slightly more loose at the lips, be a tiny bit more flirtatious, stumble, slip, slide, etc. But never have I lost my wallet/keys/phone, clocked some random dude in the jaw for no good reason, walked down the street with my junk flapping in the wind, or mistakenly macked on a fat chick. Those are all things I’ve done whilst sober – you know like, intentionally.
No one in recorded history has ever been completely toked up, gotten in their Dodge Caravans and mowed down a family of four due to being under the influence. I’ve never in my life known someone to be completely zooted and pick a bar fight. What happens when you smoke weed? You get the munchies, laugh extraordinarily, and want to sit your fat ass down on the couch – that’s about it. But when you’ve been drinking Martini’s all day, and you’ve already been diagnosed as person a few nuts short of a full jar, you tend to do some crazy shit like sport a thong and show your hairy ass to a world that hasn’t necessarily invited you to show them said horrors. Booze releases the last inhibitions in already fucked up people. And that my friends, is the truth about the sauce.
Please sir – put some clothes on.