It's busy(ish). There is a band playing. Everyone is talking, there is a very loud ice machine just over my shoulder, and yet somehow I can still here this Jackass all the way at the other end of the bar. I thank the person I'm waiting on, shut the cash register, and go see what's going on. The other bartender has obviously had it with the guy. She turns as I'm approaching and asks if I know The Jackass. I do not. I have seen him before a lot, though, and he has never been a problem. What's the trouble? She rolls her eyes and before she can answer he yells something else that I can't hear. I turn to him.
"What's the problem?"
"You guys don't even have real Goldschl@ger in this fucking place."
"Yeah I know, we used to but..."
"Then it shouldn't be four bucks!!!!" he yelled.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, we used to have the real stuff, but this is pretty much the same thing."
Ah this point, The Jackass utters the fatal sentence:
"I'm a bartender"
followed by
"And I know what this shit fucking costs. If you're not going to have the real shit then it's three dollars."
I proceed to explain to him that the price in HIS bar might be three bucks, but in OUR bar it is four. We don't have any shots that are three bucks, just as we do not have two-for-ones, "Ladies' Night", or all you can drink specials. Politely, mind you. He continues to bitch. And I explain to him that no one can tell the difference except possibly for him (a connoiseur, obviously), and that no, we won't be ordering "the real stuff" because we simply don't sell much of it. During this discussion he got surlier and surlier, and when I reminded him that we sort of knew each other because I always wait on him when he comes to see this band (once every six weeks for the whole year), he didn't seem to care. He insisted that we needed to have "the real stuff" and that as a bartender he made sure his customers were happy. At which point, I told him (in what was probably not a very convincing tone) that I was sorry that he was not happy, and then I turned my back on him and walked away.
Less than thirty minutes later, I saw The Jackass out near what one might describe as a "pit" in front of the stage. A bunch of young guys were jumping up and down and pushing each other around, but not aggressively- they were just blowing off steam and enjoying the band. The Jackass was standing just close enough that he would get bumped into once in awhile, but he had plenty of room to back up and remain outside the fray if he so chose. Instead, he waited until the smallest, skinniest guy in the pit bumped into him, and then he threw the guy to the ground as hard as he could. The guy just looked at The Jackass, stood up, and moved on. The Jackass was even more angry now, as he was clearly hoping to have a good reason to beat up a guy half his size. Nothing doing.
Later The Jackass came to close his tab. I shoved it in front of him without a word, he signed it, left a decent tip, and went away. I thought he was leaving. No such luck.
At the very end of the night, I noticed that there was a credit card with the name of The Jackass on it back behind the bar.
"Ooh, did he drop this?" I asked the other bartender, a little gleefully, imagining his panic when he realized it was gone and the conversation I would get to have with him when he returned to pick it up, sober, the next day.
"No, he opened another tab."
Shit.
Next thing I know, I am re-stocking beer with my back to the bar and a very loud shouting match starts right behind me. I turn around and see The Jackass, with a door guy in front of him pushing him toward the door, screaming at one of the guys in the band (his "friend")
"Be a man!! Be a man!!"
The band guy, whom I have always gotten along with but whom I also have a healthy fear of, as there is a little bit of crazy just behind his eyes, is screaming
"You need to learn to keep your mouth shut! Shut your fucking mouth!"
The band member is being held back very gently by a sweet and very drunk co-worker of mine, who also happens to be the Biggest Guy In The Room. Co-worker was not working, and to this day has no recollection of the incident, but he was patting the band guy on the back and saying "Shhhhh..." very quietly while pushing him out the back door. It worked.
The door guy who was escorting The Jackass out the front door said very loudly
"Dude, I am not asking. It's time to go." After a couple minutes of this, the door guy finally shoved him as far as the door and The Jackass was gone.
I wished like hell that somebody would beat The Jackass up, but not in the bar. I found out the next day from one of the other band guys that The Jackass got into a fight at a gas station after they left, because the person behind the counter would not sell him a hot dog that wasn't cooked yet.
I suggested to the Band Guy that The Jackass may want to avoid coc@ine in the future. He was clearly not just drunk on that particular night. Oh, and did I mention he was in costume? Dressed up like a cop.
Yep, can't wait to see him again.
2 comments:
Dressed up like a cop? Oh fabulous - you saved the best til last!
In my experience, anyone who finds the time to #1 find something to argue with bar employees of the bar ey're a guest at #2 then attempt to prove their point by claiming to be a bartender or door guy at another bar (translation: I think I know your job better than you do, even though I don't work here), end up having not worked for all that long and don't last very long working the downtown scene anyway.
Sounds like you had a great deal of patience and your floor staff did a good job of getting the jackass out without really hurting him. Although, from the sound of your story, I would have been tempted to "accidentally" run him into the door frame on the way out ;)
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