Hula Hoop Girls

I’m at the bar, busy hippie show.  Lull in crowd at the bar, think I’ll go pick up some empties.  At the front of the crowd are two hula hoop dancers, really taking up a lot of room.  The empty bottles, cups, glasses are on two tables on opposite sides, they’re right in the middle.  I try to work my way around them.  OW SHIT.  One of them hits me in the arm.  And she just keeps on going, no excuse me, sorry about that.  As if, this is HER CLUB, to hula wherever the hell she wants to.  I go for a second armful, and DAMN RIGHT IN THE NECK.  If it had been sharp, I’d be decapitated right now, instead of telling you this story.  Finally I have enough.  OK OK, I say.  Time out.  I make the T with my hands.  They stop briefly, I go past, then they start hulaing again.  Jesus Christ.  I have to make a number of trips ‘cause there’s so many empties.  They aint gettin it.  Man needs to get through.  I’ve got one more trip, yep, hits me in the knee.  I YELL, ALL RIGHT THAT’S ENOUGH FUCKING STOP.

They look at me with disdain, as if I was stopping them from birthing a child.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis.  Bartender.

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