Adieu, Boulder

By: The Mighty Canuck

Well my friends, the decision has been made and it is 100% certain that I am going to be moving out of Boulder and heading back to the land of Massholes. It’s been a very fun year, I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs, good times and hard times, drinks and hangovers. I am going to be living here for roughly another month but my time is going to be consumed with studying for the GRE’s that I am taking in november, finishing up my novel and getting all my stuff situated to move out and across the country. This means that I won’t exactly have a lot of time to go out.

With that said, I’d like to recap the past year and tell you about some of the people I’ve met, things I’ve done and experiences I’ve gone through while living out here at the Foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Boulder is definately a cool place with beautiful views all over, a great atmosphere for down to earth, relaxed people and plenty of things to do for athletic people or alcoholics. It’s somewhat of a safe haven from the rest of the country. Everyone always has a smile on his or her face and Boulderites walk around with a certain careless swagger as if all the peril in the world is blocked from the mountains. If Armageddon does happen, Boulder would be the last place that misery and hell hits.

You might be asking yourself, why then Dave, why are you leaving? Well the thing is, being an east coaster, especially someone from the northeast, I am inherintly accustomed to rushing about, dealing with stressful situations and feeling the need to be surrounded by similar people. Unfortunately in Boulder, people just don’t give a shit. They take relaxation and easy-goingness to a new level that borders stupidity. People driving, bicycling and walking across busy streets on their cell phones, texting and talking away without a care in the world. There have been innumerous times that I’ve either witnessed or almost committed an act of vehicular homicide because some moron was too careless to pay attention to the surroundings. Then there are the constant, over-opinionated yet uneducated people who chime in every chance they get to one-up everyone else even though they all come across as shit heads because they rarely know what they are even talking about. Not to mention the fact that Boulder is a college town full of spoiled trust fund babies who think they own the ground they walk on. I’ve become more aggressive since living in this “utopia” than I was while at a crowded bar in Southie. Nothing pisses me off more than ignorance and arrogance. Unfortunately the majority of people in this town are full of both.

Now that I got that off of my shoulders, let me take a step back and (hopefully without contradicting myself) explain why it’s hard to leave. While the fundamentals of Boulder piss me off, there are plenty of good people out here and I am incredibly greatful to have met and befriended some of them. Through my jobs working at a couple of bars out here and through my summer job with the county, I’ve made some great friends. When I think back to all the people I’ve met and friends I’ve made in my lifetime, I can’t help but think of the ones I’ve lost touch with over the years. After living ten years in Montreal, I have virtually lost all contact with all of my friends there. I think I keep in touch with roughly six or seven friends from Umass, where I spent four years of my life. It makes me wonder how long it will be after I leave this city before I am forgotten. Or perhaps I am the one who is forgetful. Not entirely sure but I can say that I will not allow myself to just up and leave and allow my goodbyes to be final. My friends out here are genuine, honest and caring people and have helped me get through some tough times. To all of you, I say thanks and I love you guys.

I am sitting here and trying to recall some of my fondest memories of Boulder but it’s hard. Focusing on one single point is tough, not to mention a lot of them involved drinking heavily so my memory is a little fuzzy. There were the bbq’s, the wiffleball games in the park, the infamous mustache miniskirt party, late nights at Sam’s club, watching Pumping Iron at Jenn Dustin and Staley’s late night, the visits to Nitro, getting lost in Denver, the Avs game where I lost my camera, the Rockies games, sundays at the Lazy Dog, 80’s nights working at the Foundry, Cinco de Mayo when I saw Chaun drunk for the first time, KC and Albert’s last nights at work, Jenn Wamand Julie’s last nights, staying up all night with Jordan, watching the worst fight I’ve ever seen inside of Jimmy John’s, going to the State Radio show at the Fox, the incident after the show, driving Steph’s car in the winter, happy hour Thursdays with the Youth Corps crew, drinking at the creek, CU football games, hiking up to Breinard Lake with Dave, driving all over the county in my county Dakota, getting paid for yelling at high school kids, and of course the countless nights of drunken debauchery. I’d get more into those but it would take up another twenty pages. Let’s just say that working at a bar allows a lot of leniency at other bars and very much like Aspen, beer flows like wine.

It’s been a lot of fun to say the least. I’m going to miss this place and all the crazy bastards who live here. I will miss the Foundry emmensly. I will miss the real Foundry crew even more. Dustin, Josh, Chaun, Rich, Keith, Staley, Sam, Wes, Glenn, Julie, Bixby, Jenn, Billy, Wam, KC, Brad, April, Vicki, Kelly, Petey, Steph, Chachi, Cookie, Matt Byrne, and Opie…best crew I’ve ever worked with. Work was actually fun. Don’t worry Bones, I didn’t forget about you. 3500 Fordham Court was a ridiculous house. Jordan, even though you kind of turned your back on the entire year you lived with me, I’ll still miss you. I will not miss my landlord George but he sure was a crazy bastard. 3550 has been short lived but going to the Southern Sun and down to Pearl St. with Justin and Bob were always good times. Hopefully I get to go off roading in the Land Cruiser before I depart.

It’s a shame that I have to leave before solidifying other friendships. I’m still meeting new people and making friends but my time here must come to an end. There is no future for me in Boulder. I will no doubt get stuck working in a bar or in a dead end job and grow to hate my life. I am a nomadic creature by nature. I must hit the road and keep moving on. I will no doubt have a big party before I leave because after all the only thing that can top a fashionable entrance is a grand exit. I hope to see all if not most of my friends before I head back home but if I don’t I hope that you can all read this and know that I didn’t take this year for granted and I don’t want this to just be a good experience. Keep in touch, I will be back.

 

Cold Feet

By: The Mighty Canuck

Onegina: the dreaded disease of being stuck with having sex with only one vagina for the rest of your life. This idea scares the crap out of a lot of guys and is probably the main reason why guys just can’t commit. It’s not that they are immature or have emotional issues. Ladies have to understand that many times in a relationship, your man most likely loves you and enjoys being with you. However, there are roughly six billion people who inhabit this planet and out of those, there are millions of hot chicks. Even if a man were with the most beautiful woman on earth, he will still have straying thoughts when he sees another beautiful woman with tight pants and a busting bra; damn, I wonder what she’s like in bed. I bet she’s an animal. Then the realization of onegina comes into affect. Holy shit, I will never know what any other woman is like in bed. I am going to have sex with the same woman for the rest of my life. And just like that, he goes running for the hills. But don’t worry, you’ll still be friends.

If there is any guy out there who doesn’t think that women are afflicted by this same disease, known to them as onewenis, get over yourself. Of course women desire other men. After all, studies have shown that women orgasm on a less frequent basis than men. There is no reason to believe that women don’t look at other men and wonder, what’s he packin’ under those shorts? I bet he loves giving oral. The main difference between men and women is that women are better equipped to deal with onewenis. They actually get excited about weddings, having kids and all the other things that most guys dread. Not to mention that there isn’t a woman over the age of twenty (with the exception of the extreme, God-fearing, pious ones) who don’t own a vibrator. So even if a woman doesn’t get off via her man, there’s always Mr. rabbit to finish the job while Mr. two-pump chump is in the shower.

This does not mean that women are impenetrable to weakness. Many a woman strays off the path to fidelity. Some do it more than once. With the same man. The night before her wedding day.

 

Eddie was a bartender at Pony Boy’s who only worked once or twice a month. He wasn’t as much of an employee as a friend of the bar. He had helped Red and Dick when they opened up the bar and to repay him for his help, they allowed him to have celebrity bartender shifts, which were sporadic and usually involved him standing behind the bar and talking to Red or hitting on women. He was a fairly handsome man for his age. He was tall and slender but had thick black hair with streaks of gray. His face was always cleanly shaven and his eyes were a piercing green; they were a type of green you would imagine to find scuba diving in the Caribbean. When he spoke to someone, he fixed them with his eyes. Women lost themselves in his eyes.

One night, while working a Friday night, Eddie met an attractive brunette who was having a night out with her friends. It didn’t take long for the woman to forget all about her friends and become entranced with Eddie. It wasn’t just his eyes; they didn’t hold any kind of super power, they just caught people’s attention. Once Eddie had a woman’s attention, he used his charm to do the rest. He traveled a lot for his real job and had endless stories about foreign lands and exciting adventures that he’s been on. Women got excited when he told his stories. He was different. He was cool. This woman, who told Eddie or name was Meredith, was no different. The more Eddie talked, the more she wanted to hear more. Being a seasoned veteran and traveler, Eddie learned a lot of tricks, and one of those was how to close a deal on the first night, which he did with Meredith.

She spent the night at his place and then left the next morning. There was no exchange of numbers or breakfast talk. This was a clear-cut one night stand. A few months passed before Eddie saw Meredith again. When she came into the bar again, she was with her boyfriend. She was not bashful or embarrassed when she and her boyfriend sat up at the bar and Eddie certainly wasn’t fazed. He introduced himself to both of them and gave Meredith a playful wink. Her boyfriend seemed like a decent guy but like most men in Flatiron, he had a slight touch of douchebagery. Meredith and her boyfriend hung out at the bar for a while and occasionally chatted with Eddie, who spent most of the night drinking beers with Red.

Meredith came into the bar with her boyfriend a few more times over the span of about a year. It was the same deal each time. Neither of them ever led on that they had slept together and Eddie never asked if Meredith was with her boyfriend when she spent the night at his house. There was no need to know. As time passed, Eddie’s shifts at the bar become less frequent and Meredith figured that she would never see him again. As it goes, the universe works in mysterious ways.

Meredith got engaged to her boyfriend. On the night of her bachelorette party, she and her friends hit the bars. One of their last stops was Pony Boy’s. As Meredith walked into the bar, already quite drunk and rambunctious, her eyes were fixed on the bar. Standing in his usual spot looking towards the entrance was Eddie. He saw Meredith with her crown and sash and immediately knew what she was going to tell him.

“I’m getting married,” she yelled with excitement.

“Congratulations,” Eddie said with sincere happiness. “Drinks are on me tonight.”

He made Meredith and her friends margaritas and several different shots. They were all getting drunk and having a blast. As the bridesmaids and other party goers were on the stage dancing, Meredith walked over to Eddie.

“Come over here and talk to me,” she said, signaling to the kitchen. Eddie walked behind the bar and met Meredith at the back of the kitchen, away from sight. She pushed against him and gave him a kiss.

“That’s the last time I will ever kiss another man.”

“Oh, come on,” Eddie said, “if you’re going to do it, do it right.”

He led Meredith into the walk in cooler and the two of them started making out. Eddie pulled her shirt up and was tickling her nipples with his tongue. Meredith was getting hot and kept thinking of the night she spent with him. She wanted to relive that night. As they were going at it, there was a banging on the wall. Eddie knew what that meant, it was a warning from one of the other bartenders.

“I think your friends are looking for you,” he told Meredith.

“Shit!”

“Why don’t you come over to my house later tonight?” Eddie asked.

Meredith looked at him with lust filled eyes. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to have sex with Eddie one last time.

“I can’t. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

Eddie nodded with a smile. It was worth a shot. He told Meredith to walk out the other end of the back by the pool tables.

“No one will say anything, trust me. I’ll go back out this way so your friends don’t see us together.”

“Thanks, Eddie.” Meredith walked out of the back room and Eddie went back behind the bar. He watched Meredith leave with her bachelorette party who all thanked him for the drinks as they left. That was the last time Eddie and Meredith ever saw each other again.     

 

Halloween

By: The Mighty Canuck

 

Halloween is a shitshow, simply put. Other than New Years Eve and St. Patty’s Day, the bars are never as packed as they are on Halloween. It’s a special occasion when guys can dress up like gladiators to show off all the hard work they’ve put in at the gym or like giant penises to express their original sense of humor. Girls can wear the most whorish outfits known to man without being called a dirty skank. It’s amazing how many girls wear outfits, like French maid costumes, that are more suitable for a porn star in a bukakke scene than for a college junior on the dance floor of a crowded bar without underwear or a sense of dignity. It’s really quite a beautiful scene that would send a father on a violent rampage if he even knew how many eyes had taken a peek at his little angel’s vagina.

It’s tough working on Halloween night. While there are definite perks like being able to check out all the girls wearing outfits that every guy has fantasized about and watching a scrabble letter hit on a tetris piece, it’s hard not to say fuck it and join the fun. Not to mention Halloween is synonymous with getting absolutely, out-of-your-mind, I’m going to drop my pants and piss in the middle of the street because no one can tell who I am anyway, hook up with the fattest chick so I can laugh about it tomorrow, equilibrium annihilating, puke on yourself in front of the bartender and order another shot, have unprotected sex while blackout drunk and end up pregnant, shit my pants DRUNK! To make a long story short, it sucks working on Halloween.

At the Pony Boy Pub, working on Halloween sucks but it’s more fun than working at any other corporate owned bar because all the employees get drunk, some get laid and the bouncers are guaranteed to get in at least one fight. The best part is, if the bouncers decide to get dressed up, no one can go to the police to press charges because they will have no actual description of whoever beat them up. Can you imagine going to a cop and telling him that you got beat up by a fairy covered in sprinkles? The two guys who got beat up by McBrian certainly couldn’t.

 

McBrian was an anomaly. He was a bouncer who didn’t drink or do drugs. This didn’t mean that he didn’t go out. As it goes for a lot of people who live a drug free, alcohol free life, his crutch was debaucherous sex. His main goals when he went out on his nights off were to have sex and get into fights. It didn’t matter with who, on either side of the spectrum, he just loved sex and violence. The unfortunate thing for both the girl he picked up and the guy he picked on was that McBrian was a monster. He was roughly five foot ten but weighed a good two hundred and twenty pounds of pure muscle. He trained brazilian jiu jitsu and had a temper that couldn’t be tamed. He was like a rabid wolf, all he wanted was blood. There were several occasions when other bouncers or friends would have to pull him off another guy that he was beating profusely or convince McBrian that the guy he was choking was in fact unconscious and in the process of dying.

The other reason that McBrian was such an odd character was that while most people usually do really stupid or regrettable things when alcohol is involved, McBrian got a kick out of messing with people while being completely sober. On some nights, he would unzip his pants and check people’s Id’s with one of his testicles hanging out just to see if someone would notice. Almost no one ever did. It’s hard enough to point out when a strangers scrotum is showing let alone when that stranger is a jacked, bald guy with a flaming red goatee and matching fire in his eyes. Getting your ass kicked by a guy with his balls flapping around is not a story you want to tell your grandkids.

On Halloween night in 2006, McBrian was working the door alongside Delicious and Kid. Gump was in the back by the hole while Stevie and Vicious were up on the deck. It wasn’t even midnight and the bar was packed with a line outside almost going around the corner. The Pony Boy Pub was a favorite spot for many college kids on Halloween because it was so big and it was the best opportunity to get in with a fake Id since it was virtually impossible to tell who anyone was with all the make-up on. All the bouncers dressed up for the occasion. Vicious was dressed in a roman toga, which proved to be a bad choice since his white sheet got blotted with beer and coke stains from all the spilled drinks. Stevie was a dressed as a William Wallace, with blue face paint and an Irish kilt. Kid was dressed as Elton John; his skin tight jumpsuit accentuated every curve of his body, especially his package. It was such a funny costume that Dakota and Roger would call him over from the door to kick people out instead of getting Gump, who was dressed as a girl scout.

Delicious, who was dressed up as a cheerleader; knee high, blue socks, blue and white striped skirt, matching shirt and even some blush and mascara to accentuate his feminine facial qualities, such as his chin strap goatee, watched and laughed as Kid was called up to kick three guys out of the bar. Normally Delicious would run over to help but he was in a very giddy mood and seeing all of his good friends dressed so ridiculously prevented him from doing anything without laughing hysterically. As Kid walked the three guys to the door, one of them turned and tried to fight him. McBrian grabbed the kid and choked him out within seconds. Before he went out completely he shot Kid a “holy shit what is happening, I think I’m pissing my pants” look and then his bloodshot eyes shut and he was out. Together, McBrian holding the guy by his collar and Kid by his feet, superman tossed the guy to the street. McBrian took the cake for best costumes. He was dressed as a woodland fairy with a pink tutu, a skin tight pink mesh tank top with glittery wings, mascara, eye-liner and glitter covering his head, face and tattoo covered arms. All together, the crew at Pony Boy’s were the goofiest bouncers one could ever imagine but that didn’t stop them from doing their jobs.

While Delicious and Kid were taking money at the door, a pint glass came falling down into the street and shattered.

“I’ll go check it out,” Delicious said. He ran up the stairs, his skirt bouncing with every step. Luckily for everyone, he was wearing underwear. Up on the deck, Delicious saw Stevie talking to a guy dressed as the Incredible Hulk. He walked over to help, knowing that this was the guy who threw the glass since he was standing at the railing right above the spot where the glass broke. Delicious and Stevie grabbed the hulk by his green arms and brought him down the stairs.

“I’ll take him from here,” Delicious told Stevie as they approached the mezzanine. Stevie let the guy go and ran back up the stairs to make sure no one else was throwing stuff off the roof. When Delicious got halfway down the stairs he saw McBrian arguing with two guys who were dressed in club clothes. He told the guys that they couldn’t come in because they looked too gay. This was typical of McBrian who would make fun of people all the time and make them alter their clothes just to get in. Delicious watched the argument from the stairs and started laughing. He couldn’t stop laughing at what his eyes were witnessing. Two guys arguing with a giant, bald, glittery fairy. Delicious laughed so hard that he couldn’t hold on to the Hulk any longer. The Hulk took his chance to run away and Delicious did nothing to stop him because he couldn’t muster the strength to get back to his feet.

The argument quickly turned into a fight when McBrian slugged one of the guys. Kid was outside the door, taking money and preventing people from bum-rushing the exit door so he couldn’t jump in. Delicious controlled himself enough to jump down the stairs and grabbed one of the guys off of McBrian but watching him beat up the other guy with the fairy dust flying all over and McBrian’s muscles flexing through the pink mesh shirt with his fairy wings flapping made Delicious fall over laughing again. He wanted to help but he was useless.

McBrian finally knocked one of the guys out and he and Delicious threw the other one out the door. To add insult to injury, McBrian went over to the closet and reached into the pockets of his jacket. He took out his can of glitter from one pocket and his can of chew from the other. He dumped the glitter on the unconscious guy’s head and then stuffed his mouth full of chew. When the guy came to, he involuntarily swallowed the chew.

“Ugh, what the hell just happened?” the guy asked as his face turned pale. McBrian grabbed him and threw him to the sidewalk where the guy proceeded to throw up all over himself. His brand new collared club shirt was now stained by the brown, slimy chew that was mixed with spit and stomach bile.  

“Next Halloween,” McBrian yelled, “wear a costume.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shirtless Suicide Sprints

By The Mighty Canuck

There is a lot to say about a man who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality. For Dick, there isn’t reality. Life is a great big playground with slides and see-saws and everything a kid could ask for. If at any point he wants a new toy added to his playground, he just calls up his mommy and poof, there it is. That’s the life of many trust fund babies in Flatiron, as it probably is in many other parts of the country. Work is viewed in a completely different light for these silver spoon licking assholes. Instead of the if you want something done right, do it yourself mentality, it’s, why should I do it when I can pay someone else to do it for me?

Since Dick comes from money, he doesn’t have to worry about the bar doing well or if people are happy or not. He certainly doesn’t have to worry about doing a day’s amount of hard work. He’s a free loading jackass who treats the bar like another one of his toys. He blows line after line of coke in his office with his loser friends, gets drunk just about everyday and has an extensive tab going at his own bar. There have been countless situations of him coming in to work around noon, pulling a bottle of vodka from the shelf and finishing it by nightfall. Of course, when this happens, it’s the employees who have to deal with him.

 

“Hey Dick, why don’t you take it easy?” Roger asked as Dick went behind the bar and poured himself another drink. It was a busy Friday night and the bartenders were too busy pouring drinks to deal with this kind of stupidity.

“Hey! Don’t worry about me, alright?” Dick responded with spite. He hated when people told him what to do. He was a big boy, he could do whatever he wanted. That was the problem with people like him; his parents treated him like a baby his entire life so he never became a man. Roger knew there was no use in arguing. Dick would do whatever he wanted and if he stopped him, he’d get fired and have to go home for the night.

“Just don’t do anything stupid alright?”

“Stupid? Do I look stupid to you?”

Roger fought the urge to burst out laughing and answer honestly. He walked away and took another drink order.

“Don’t do anything stupid, eh?” Dick asked out loud. He was trying to provoke Roger but he wouldn’t bite. Dick decided to display what his idea of doing something stupid was by throwing the cocktail cherries into the air. Since the bar was packed, the cherries were landing on people in front of the bar. Roger, Dakota and the other bartenders ignored him. They hoped that if they ignored him long enough, he’d get bored and go away. It was the same treatment someone would give to a child begging for attention, which is exactly what Dick was; a big, balding child.

Since the cherries didn’t get the proper response, Dick decided to up the ante and started throwing full red bull cans into the air. Once again the patrons who were waiting to get a drink or trying to have a conversation or just watching the people dancing on the stage got the brunt of the attack.

“Alright Dick,” Dakota piped in, “enough is enough, you’re pissing off our customers.”

“You think they’re pissed now,” Dick said and then grabbed a pint glass and threw it against the brick wall. The glass shattered and rained down on the unsuspecting patrons dancing on the stage. He grabbed another glass and tossed it into the air. Luckily this time everyone saw it coming and moved out of the way as the glass hit the floor with a smash.

“We gotta get him out of here,” Roger said. He signaled for Nik, who was standing in the hole watching the entire ordeal to get him. Together, Nik and Roger pushed Dick out the front door. Red and Byrne were talking to the bouncers at the front door, telling them not to let Dick back inside.

“You’re not allowed to come back in for the rest of the night,” Red told Dick who was trying to fight back against Nik.

Dick ignored him and tried walking back inside but Bones stopped him.

“Seriously?” Dick asked, looking at Bones with complete contempt.

“Sorry Dick, Red’s rules.”

“I’m the fucking owner of this bar! You work for me! You can’t kick me out of my own bar!” Dick’s face was red and full of rage. He wasn’t getting his way so he had a temper tantrum, kicking the door and screaming at everybody standing in his way.

“This is fucking bullshit! Let me back inside, right now.”

Since yelling wasn’t working, Dick tried to bull his way in by rushing the door. Bones, being a good foot taller and two hundred pounds heavier was not fazed by Dick’s flailing body and threw him back out the door. Dick tried the same strategy a couple more times before Bones finally threw him to the ground. Apparently accepting defeat, Dick got up, brushed himself off and gave in.

“Okay, okay, I’m done. I don’t want to come back in anyway,” he said, trying to use some reverse psychology to lower Bones’ awareness before he once again attempted to run through him. Once again, he failed. This went on for a good ten minutes. Bones, along with Red, Byrne and everyone else watching couldn’t help but laugh at Dick. He was a complete buffoon. He wasn’t finished with his tirade however. Accepting that he wasn’t going to bull through the door, he ripped his shirt off and started running up and down the street. He ran from one stop light to the other, back and forth, as if he were doing very long suicide drills. No one really knew what they were watching, it was a spectacle that was even ridiculous for the Pony Boy Pub.

As Dick ran his shirtless suicide sprints, people coming in kept going up to the bar completely perplexed.

“There’s a guy outside running around yelling that he owns this bar,” a girl said to Roger when he asked her what she wanted to drink. Roger just laughed.

“Yeah, that’s Dick. He’s one of the owners. It’s cool, he does this kind of shit all the time.”

Red and Byrne had enough of Dick’s tirade so they went out into the street and told him that the cops were on their way. This time, Dick ran down the street but didn’t stop at the light. He just kept running, shirtless, clueless and completely out of his mind.

 

Out of Towners

By: The Mighty Canuck

 

     When you work at a bar there are slow nights and busy nights but there is no such thing as an uneventful night. Slow nights can be just as eventful, sometimes even more bizarre than the busy nights. The reason being that on busy nights, the bar is usually too packed for people to do anything totally crazy. On the slower nights, with just a few employees working and no real crowds, people tend to really let loose. Not to mention without a wait, they are able to get drinks whenever they want.

            For some people, instead of drawing the line before crossing it, they decide to pull out the pole vault and leap as far over the line as possible. To their credit, they don’t know what they’re doing. Alcohol is funny that way. That bullshit about a drunk man’s words being a sober man’s thoughts only applies when that man is on a buzz, not when he is three sheets to the wind and barely capable of speaking in coherent sentences.

            Now, it is the bartender’s responsibility to prevent a patron from becoming overly intoxicated. They have to take classes and tests on alcohol awareness to make sure they know when to cut someone off. The reason being is, if someone were to walk into a bar, have a drink then go drive his car into a tree, the bar and bartender who served him could be held liable. In most cases, unless the bar is corporately owned, the majority of bartenders will wait until a person is either passing out, becoming aggressive or puking on himself before he is cut off. After all, the drunker people get, the less logical they become therefore they become better tippers. It’s a vicious cycle of give and take.

           

            It’s a Monday night in early spring. The rooftop deck is still closed and the bar is extremely slow. Dave is the only bouncer on duty and he has spent the entire night reading a book and keeping to his self. Hank is bartending solo because it was so slow that he decided to let Beanie, the other bartender and Bix go home. Luckily for both Hank and Dave, Dick was in the bar getting loaded and being obnoxious as always.

            The night was slow and uneventful. That is until last call. Dave put his book down and went up to the bar. He noticed a couple of guys, who were playing pool all day, order another couple of whiskey cokes and two shots. This had probably been the sixth or seventh time that night that Dave saw them do this. They had placed most of their orders in with Bix before she left but Hank must have realized that the two guys were pretty hammered. Dave didn’t bother saying anything because he knew it wouldn’t matter. Hank was going to serve the guys whether Dave approved or not. Either way it wouldn’t matter since after their drinks, the two guys were going to have to leave anyways. As Dave started his closing duties, a group of eight young guys walked in the door. They were also clearly hammered.

            “Hey, can we get some shots of tequila over here? It’s this guy’s birthday,” one of the drunken clan demanded. With the excitement of the “crowd” that had come in, Dick decided to jump behind the bar and started to pour the shots of tequila.   

“Those are eight bucks a piece,” Dick told them. He was too drunk to do the proper math.

            “Eight bucks?” the demander asked in disbelief, “I’ll give you five.”

            Dick, amused by this act of haggling told them that the price wasn’t negotiable. Sensing that trouble was brewing, Dave walked over and stood next to the group with his arms crossed and a stone cold look on his face. He was not in the mood for this. One of the kids in the clan looked over at Dave and asked if everything was cool.

            “Pay for your shots and everything will be cool. If you keep up with this bullshit we’re going to have a problem.”

            Dick, noticing that Dave looked like he was ready to murder the group of guys told him to relax and waved off the blatant disrespect they were showing him. Dave was not about to walk away. These guys were wasted and apparently thought they were better than everyone else, and there was nothing more irritating to Dave than arrogant pricks.

            “Just make it one shot of tequila and make the rest of us something cheap,” the demander said.

            “Okay…what do you want?” Dick asked, still amused by the group.

            “I don’t know, whatever is cheap. Just make us something.”

At this point Dave was biting his tongue and trying not to punch this kid in the face. He looked over at Hank who was equally annoyed but he just shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing either of them could do, it was Dick’s show now.

            One of the guys who was watching Dave decided to try and ease his worries but just pissed him off even more by telling him to relax.

            “I’ll relax after you guys finish your drinks and get the hell out of here.”

            “What’s your problem, man?” the guy asked in a latino accent.

            “My problem is that it’s last call and you guys walk in here like you own the place and blatantly disrespect me and the bartenders by acting like a bunch of punks,” Dave said loud enough for the entire group to hear. Realizing that Dave was at his breaking point, the one semi-sober kid in the group convinced his friends to finish their drinks and leave the bar.

            Dave was relieved but the fun had just started for him. The two older gentlemen who had a few too many whiskey drinks were now absolutely shitfaced. Dave told them that the bar was closing and that they had to go. The two men, who were in their mid to late thirties looked at Dave with crooked eyes and stumbled up to the bar to pay their tab. As the man with the short hair looked at his tab with utter confusion, his buddy with a long, blonde ponytail stumbled over to the bathroom.

            “I’m not paying for this,” the short haired man said, still squinting at his bill. Hank looked at him with annoyance.

            “Excuse me?”

            “I’m not paying this. It’s too high.”

Dave was just about to lose it. He walked over to the man and told him to sign his tab.

            “Okay, okay,” the man said. But he didn’t sign it. He stood up and looked at Dave, his eyes glazed and half shut. Dick went over to the guy and tried to charm him into listening. It didn’t work. The guy wasn’t going to sign his tab.  

            “Look, buddy,” Dave pleaded, “we’re closed so just sign your name on the line and get out before I lose it and throw you out.”

            “What? Okay, I’ll sign it, I promise,” the guy said as he extended his hand to Dave. Dave shook his hand in good trust just to have the guy slap him in the face with his other hand. It wasn’t a hard slap and Dave decided not to retaliate, partially because he knew the guy was black out drunk and partially because he was just too tired to care. If the man had actually slapped him to cause harm, Dave would have pummeled him into the ground until his fists tired out. To his great surprise, Dick actually got upset by the man’s sneak attack.

            “Don’t hit my guy like that,” he told the guy as he got in his face.

            “Oh yeah, why not?”

            “Are you serious?” Dick asked, his voice growing louder and more aggressive, “I will drag you to the back and beat you like a red headed step child.”

            Dave wondered for a second if Dick was actually going to fight this drunken idiot but thinking better of it decided that this argument could go on for hours. Then he noticed that about ten minutes had passed since Johnny Ponytail had gone to the bathroom. Dave went in to check it out and heard the guy puking in the toilet.

            “Hey, buddy, it’s time to go. Puke outside, I don’t care just get the fuck out of this bar.”

            “Ten minutes,” the guy muttered as he tried to hold down his stomach, “just give me ten more minutes.”

            “You have five.”

Dave walked back to the bar. He had reached his breaking point. He walked right up to the drunken idiot and told him that he had two choices: either you sign your stupid fucking name on that piece of paper or I am going to call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing. The guy turned his back to Dave. Resisting the urge to choke the drunken idiot out cold, he looked over at Dick who gave him permission to call the cops, which he did. Hearing the conversation, the short haired, drunken idiot got scared and agreed to sign his tab. While he managed the coordination to do so, Dave went back to the bathroom to tell the Pony Tailed puker that it was time to go. As he opened the bathroom stall, he was greeted by the fat, pale legs of Johnny Pony Tail, taking a big ol’ dump on the same toilet seat that he had just emptied his dinner on. Disgusted and completely fed up, Dave told the guy that he had called the cops and if he didn’t leave the bar before they got here, he would be arrested.

            Mention the word “cops” and even the most inebriated man will sober up in a heartbeat.

            The two blackout friends, scared and smelly, walked out of the bar and down the street but barely made it half a block before the cops showed up. Dave pointed them out and told the cops what had happened but mentioned that they left without fighting and paid their tab so there was no need to press charges. The cops spoke to the two men but after a warning, let them go.

            The next day, as Dave was hanging out in the hole, the dynamic duo themselves walked up to him and apologized for their poor behavior.

            “We’re from out of town visiting and we just got a little out of hand last night. We normally don’t drink that much. We’re really sorry for the way we acted,” the short haired man said embarrassingly.

            “It’s all good fellas, it happens to everyone,” Dave said as he extended his hand. There was no slap in the face this time.

 

Haiku #27

by: The Mighty Canuck

A heart is broken

In time the heart heals but it

is never the same.

 

Death is a Funny Thing

by: The Mighty Canuck

 

Death is a funny thing my friend.

It comes and you go,

Like it or not.

We fear it,

We loathe it,

We curse it,

Yet sometimes we ask for it.

Maybe for ourselves,

Maybe for someone else

But it is always there,

Always in our minds

Haunting us and

Taunting us

And reeling us in

Closer each day.

 

So what is there to do about it?

LIVE! Oh yes, live, of course!

We live like it is something that comes easy.

We live like it’s a privilege.

We live like we’re waiting to die.

And when death comes we look back and say,

Man I wish I had lived,

Really lived!

 

Foolishness

By: The Mighty Canuck

 

Why do I still make the same mistakes

That I’ve made so many times in the past?

When will I stop doing this to myself

And open my eyes before I go diving

Head first into unknown waters?

 

Perhaps it is all for a reason,

Perhaps it is all meant to happen.

The more mistakes I make

The better I learn to avoid them.

 

But then there is the issue:

I recognize the mistakes I make,

I know what I am doing and still

Do it again and again.

 

What should I do with myself?

This heart of mine won’t quit.

How is it that I can’t trust my head

And continue to let my emotions

Get the best of me?

 

Questions go unanswered all the time

And these are no different.

There really is no right answer,

I am just a fool.

Ce la vie, mon ami,

Tomorrow is another day.

Maybe my mistakes will finally show

Their true meaning.

 

Ode to Dresden

By the Mighty Canuck

(Although the fire bombing occured 39 before I was born, Kurt Vonnegut’s description of the disaster and terrible loss inspired me to write this. It is more of an ode to those lost in war and ignorance)

The scorched earth breathes on my feet.

The smell of rotting flesh burns my nostrils,

penetrates my skin.

I am the only one left,

a survivor among the lifeless masses.

My soul has been blackened with rage.

It is charred like the bodies of women and children

that I must pull from their rubbled graves.

I would pray but there is no God.

HE was incinerated

with the rest of humanity,

destroyed alongside hope, faith, belief and childhood.

It all went up in a hellish fury.

I am alone.

I am already dead.

 

Stars

By the Mighty Canuck

The endless blanket of sky drapes the black night. The tiny holes of light died millions of years ago but still amaze the fools below with their heads turned up and their feet fastened to earth.

“They are holes to heaven,” one says.

“They are proof that there is life on other planets,” another states.

“They are balls of fucking gas you jackasses,” I tell them as I waslk by. What can I say? I am a cynical bastard. The bottom line is that they are up there wand we are down here and unless gravity decides to take a vacation, that’s the way it will always be. So what’s the point in looking to the stars for help? Are they really going to grant your wishes? For your sake, I certainly hope you think not.

“It’s romantic,” my girlfriend tells me.

“Romantic?” I ask, “you want romance? I’ll take you out for a lobster dinner then we can come back, drink some wine and make love all night.”

“That sounds nice,” she tells me, “but can we make love under the stars?”

“Jesus! What’s the big deal with the fucking stars?” I ask rhetorrically.

“I told you, they’re romantic.”

I roll my eyes and luckily my girlfriend misses it. I change the subject, “How about we fuck until the sun comes up? The sun is a star after all.”

She gives me a look that half says, I can’t believe you just said ‘let’s fuck’, and half, like you could even make it that long.

“Fine,” I say. “Forget it.”

I look up at the sky as my girlfriend walks back into the house with absolutely no intention of sleeping with me tonight.

“Fuckin stars.”