Two Case Studies of My Life

Being, as you well know, a high-functioning drunk, and also having the fastest mouth in the west (if we're using a 1820 map) I've always found it amazing that I have never been in a fight, or thrown from a bar, or any number of cliched drunk-kid situations. For as much trouble as my mouth gets me in, I can usually talk my way out of it.

CASE IN POINT:

I really can't seem to control myself in certain situations. These situations are rare, because even though I might imbibe a toddy or 12, I also have to feel in control. I've found that a logical head, albeit not a clear one, can go a long way to keep friends out of jail. But sometimes the old gumflapper gets away from myself, and I forget that I am in a public place, not the bathroom at a sailor's pub.

About a year ago, I was at an event. An arty event. It was at a local gallery, oh, let's call it "schmart-schmace", and I was in rare form. You see, I had just found Blackbeard's virtual treasure of off-putting, crass, and borderline illegal jokes. And having had a dinner party the weekend before, I memorized as many of them as possible, so as to horrify impress horrify my fellow diners. Thankfully, many of these gems were still swimming in my brain, crashing against the rocky shoals of my mind, yearning to be free.

I'm doing my best Dean Martin, walking around the vast confines of this gallery, pressing the flesh and telling jokes and being the all around gentleman I am. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but fresh meat: a couple of folks I haven't said hi to. I saunter on over, and make my pleasantries. Soon---a lull in the conversation. I know this is my moment to strike!

So I lay out one of the new ones...it happens to be a dead baby joke. (It doesn't matter which one; if you really care then go here and pick one out. They're all the same.) Their faces flash with a mix of laughter and disgust, which of course is what I'm looking for, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. A man says, "Excuse me, what was that?"

I turn around, and I'm standing directly in front of a table which has been set up for the River Cities Chapter of the Bikers Against Child Abuse.

I'll let that sink in for a second. Here is a picture of a kitten to help you think...

It was one of the few times I have been truly terrified and regretful for what I have done. I can count regrets on one hand, which I was certain was about to be placed inside the business end of a wood chipper any time now. But what else could I do? I had to treat this Mount Rushmore of fuck-ups like I do anything: I had to keep talking. I'm certainly not going to try and bow up against 6 bikers, wearing their biker cuts (watch Sons of Anarchy to get the reference) which proudly display their commitment to a noble cause...a cause I wiped my ass with and threw away right in front of them. So I try to diffuse it with a smile, and get the guy talking...and it's not going well. He calls his buddy over and asks-demands-me to tell it again. To another biker. And who am I to refuse a request from a fan......

Well this happens a couple of times, and by minute 10 it becomes apparent these guys are just toying around with me. Mostly because they say they've heard that one before, (I think that might hurt the most.) but obviously I haven't atoned enough for my grievous mistake. Oh, did I mention, every single guy he calls over is bigger than the last guy? Well, they are. They bat me around like a ball of string for another 10 minutes before letting me go. I have to say, I never lost composure, or let the pressure of the ass beating of a lifetime get to me. I kept the humor up, and everyone stayed easy going, plus I learned about a great cause which is truly no laughing matter.

Sooooooo I tell you that story to tell you this one:

I was physically removed from a bar this weekend.

In Austin, TX for a bachelor party, we partied like it's 1999...well, actually better than that, because we were 16 in 1999. Now do your math, and we really should be going to the more professional clubs and bars they have on 4th st. but don't you worry your pretty little head: we made our way directly to 6th St on Saturday night. A nice sized group of 6 or 7 of us decided to go to the Chugging Monkey, whatever that means.

We didn't really go, so much as we took over. The place was crowded and hot, and the band there must have been advertised as Kanye West fucked Chad Kroeger and that child had a baby with an Eminem cover band. Needless to say, I was not impressed. So that band closes up shop for the night and the music comes on. Good dancing music. Naturally, 2 friends and I take the stage to lead the crowd in what we must have thought were good dance moves. I'm certain we looked like a hummingbird having seizures. Point is, we're having good clean American fun, and giving the bar legal tender for their troubles.

Not us...but close...

Now, I don't smoke, but I enjoy a good smoke break. I go outside to "smoke" with 2 friends, and that is less than eventful. I turn around to go back inside the bar, and the bouncer (let's call him...um...Shithead) says get back in line. Having not been in line, I am understandably confused. I reply with, "Oh, no, I was just in there all night." Shithead says he doesn't care. Needless to say, I think we're playing on different fields here. I am me. I'm better than everyone ever, most certainly him. I've been paying his salary for 3 hours. I'm not waiting in some "line".

Now I will describe the façade of this building from left to right, looking directly at it. Starting at the left, is the door, then three windows which stretch from waist height to the roof. The windows are open, to allow the sultry Austin air to mingle with the sweaty Chugging Monkey air. I calmly turn from Shithead, walk down to the third window, hop through, walk across the stage and go to the bar, to close my tab out. Now, I'm haughty, but I'm not stupid: I did this with the biggest shiteating grin on, because deep down, I knew this wasn't going to fly. And it didn't. Before I could get the attention of a bartender (read: 7 seconds) I feel a pair of arms wrap around me to drag me out. Again, I'm not stupid; I just turned around and walked out. I'm not going to let Shithead (who is an inch taller than I and 40lbs smaller) drag me out like some juiced-up redneck.

I don't really know what this means, but I like it...

I calmly get in line, and when I get to the door I address Shithead as so: "I don't have an ID because it's at YOUR bar with my card, where it's been all night." His solution was simple; "Get a friend to close it out." Shithead and I are just not going to see eye to eye on this thing. He is never going to let me in, and I am never going to stop wishing the 4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse assault his mother at Thanksgiving. So I yell at a friend who is thankfully still in the establishment to close me out, and I take up an advisable position to await my belongings: right next to Shithead. Right next to him.

He wisely decides not to make an issue of this, and I say wisely, because it's entirely possible I would have thrown a hissy fit if he had said anything else. Wait, I don't mean wisely, I mean thankfully. Yes, thankfully he didn't let me embarrass myself.

Any further...

We left, and I made several loud intimations about someone who may or may not "burn that place to the ground", and we continued on our merry way. Made it home, safe and sound.

So, where are we? In the first story, I was able to keep my cool and talk my way out of it. In the second story, I decided to act like a brat. What is the difference? Was it because the bikers were bigger than I and ended up being cool? Was it because I was just hot and worked up in Austin? Well, I guess I don't really know. All I do know is that I hate that bouncer...

I'll leave you with a snippet of a gchat I had THIS MORNING with a friend who was there, after I mentioned Shithead. It's an insight into the mind behind BAF:

Justin: you bitter old man

ha

thats awesome that you are still a little terse about that