When It’s Time To Call It

I’m behind the hotel bar, been a busy night. Couple wedding parties in the house, and a Ball. Everybody’s drinking, having a good night. One guy in particular. He’s at the bar with his buddies, on his 7th Tito’s Soda. 

He points down to his empty glass. I hate to do this. He’s been basically a cool dude. But he’s slurring his words, volume of voice rising, crazy look in his eyes. If I don’t cut him off now, there’s no telling what might occur. 

Hey man…  I’m thinking you should be done. …What?  You cutting me off?  …yeah, I know. I don’t like to do it. You seem cool. But I think it’s time to call it. …No, man. One more. I’m good. 

He turns to a woman standing to his right, says, this is my wife. She’ll get me upstairs. I look at her, she nods, says, it’s ok. 

Against my better judgement, I pour him another one. 

About five minutes later, I hear, CRASH. Ohhh!

I look down, he’s sprawled out on the floor. After a moment, he gets up, brushes himself off. 

I say, with a slight smile, mind if I run your tab?

He slurs, yeah. That’s cool.

-CC

drunk-guy-on-floor

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