That Guy

I approach this guy at the bar, he’s got this bad shiner, I say, I’d start out by asking you how you’re doin, but I can tell not great with that black eye. He goes into it. Super-charged. Yeah, I was in Colorado, a guy comes up to me, asks for a cigarette, I reach for the cigarette, and he cold cocks me, right in the eye. Check this out, he says. He shows me a picture of an X-ray of his face. See right there?  He says, pointing. It broke that part. Yeah, yeah, I say. Looks bad. So what can I get you to drink?  He orders, I make it.

Then he starts becoming that guy. Obnoxious. Butting into everybody’s conversations. Making people feel uncomfortable.

I’m talking with a customer, I’m telling them, I’ve had a rough couple weeks. I got sick for a week, stuffed up nose, sore throat, cough, got better, then got sick again a week later. That guy butts in with a, maybe you have AIDS.

He asks me to call him a cab. I always hate doing that, for the cab guy’s sake, because 9/10 they leave before the cab comes, then I have to be the asshole that tells the cabbie, sorry, guy’s gone.

I get him a cab, good way to get rid of the guy, it comes fifteen minutes later, I say, ok dude, your cab’s here. He leaves, COMES BACK FIVE MINUTES LATER. What the hell, dude?  He says, I wanted to finish my beer.

Just great.

Then he says, ten minutes later, I want to buy the whole bar a pint. Forty beers, please. Trying to be the bar’s best friend. I make an executive decision.

Nope.

He leaves. Finally. But then ten minutes later, comes back. It’s my birthday, he says. I’ll take a birthday beer.

By the end of the night, I wanna punch the guy in the other eye.

And you can keep the cigarette.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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