This is not a bar story, but it’s a story from my life.

We have a neighbor kid, comes to our house, plays with my son. We’ll say his name is Michael. He’s kinda obnoxious, and I don’t really like him. He picks on my seven year old son, Liam, and of course, I don’t approve of that.

He comes over couple weeks ago, knocks on our door, my son answers, he says, you wanna come out and play?  My son excitedly says, yes. It’s snowing out, so he has to put on a bunch of gear. My wife helps him put on his snow pants, his boots, his coat, his hat, his gloves. This takes at least five minutes, as you can imagine. He runs outside, but after five minutes, he comes back in, on the verge of tears. Michael threw a snowball at me, and said, that’s the only reason he wanted me to come out and play. What a dick.

Later on that night, my son and I plot his revenge. While he’s taking a bath, we talk things through. Open up with saying this, then if he says this, you should say that. We practice it a number of times. He’s got it.

Today…it happens. Michael knocks at our door. Liam!  Michael’s here. Liam strolls up. Michael says, can you come out and play?  Liam says, you know, I can’t right now, I’m doin something, but, why don’t you call up your other friends, see if they want to play? Oh, wait a minute…you don’t have any friends. ‘Cause you’re a jerk. Good-bye. My son proceeds to close the door on his face. My son waits a couple seconds, Michael’s still out there, dumbfounded, my son opens the door back up, peeks his head out and says,

I’m sorry…that was your cue to leave. Buh-bye. Buh-bye.

And slams the door in his face.

From my heart to yours,

Clint Curtis. Bartender.

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