The Lyin, the Bitch and the Bathroom

Posted: May 1, 2011 by VT in Common Sense ... Not So Common, Daily Ramblings

Thanks Vino911 for yet another hilarious post! You are the shit!

There are times when sitting on the other side of the bar, instead of slinging drinks behind it, provides more entertainment than you planned for. This is the story of one of those nights.

Early one morning my BFF called, whom we will refer to as B, and told me she needed to go out. What you must understand is that B, having partied a wee bit too much in college, had laid off the alcohol for over a year. At this point, her tolerance was about two beers — and that’s being optimistic.

We made plans to go out that night. She planned to drink, I planned to babysit.

The bar we chose was a favorite for many reasons. It’s local, it’s cheap and the term “dive bar” doesn’t even begin to describe it. This is a bar where even the cockroaches are ashamed to frequent.

But if you’re having one of those days, and you just don’t have the heart to climb out of bed but you really need a beer, you can go here in your pajamas and they won’t judge. In fact, I bet they wouldn’t even notice.

But I digress…..

The bar was located in a basement, only accessible from a dark alley, and it had a ramp to get to the door. Not the smartest move, especially in a Minnesota winter.

On our way to the door, we had to step over not one, but two drunks who tried to fight the ice on the ramp and lost, thus taking a quick nap before fighting the good fight again. B says, as she steps over the snoring bodies, “This place seems exciting.”

We get inside, take a seat at the bar, and she orders a beer. I look around, as we girls tend to do, to seek out our entertainment for the evening. Seems it’s my lucky night: A large man with an uncanny resemblance to Mr. T is already sliding down the stools to take a place at my side.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks.

“Absolutely!” I reply.

He flips out a couple cardboard chips from his pocket and, with a big smile, waves the bartender over. “Get the lady what ever she would like,” he says. “I’m buying”

Clearly my choices are limited being that his method of payment is free beer chips (probably won earlier that night at a hot-dog eating contest or something similar). But a free drink is a free drink, and I’m not picky.

The door to the bar opens and in walks Mr. Cool. This is a guy that every warm-blooded girl had a crush on in high school. The good-looking jock. Unfortunately, Mr. Cool is also the guy who — 5 years later — is still standing on the basketball court at the public park every afternoon with a shit-eating grin because everyone has neglected to tell him that high school is over, and he should probably get a job.

He immediately walks over to us. I turn around and look him in the eye. “Not happening. I got over it in the 8th grade.” Mr. Cool with some glossy eyes and a wobbling nod says, “I appreciate your honesty.”

I checked on B who was on her second beer by now and then brought my attention back to Mr. T.

“So, what do you do?” he asks.

“Doctor,” I say.

“What kind?”

“Surgeon.”

“Wow, do you do anything special?” he asks leaning forward, very interested.

“Brain stuff,” I reply.

“Oh my god, that’s awesome,” he says. “You’re a brain surgeon?”

“Yep.”

“You have fake nails. Isn’t that a problem in your line of work?’

“Oh no, they’re required. Helps when I really need to dig in there and get the job done.”

He leans over and takes my hand, “To think of all the lives you’ve saved with these hands.”

I put my head down and nod.  I’m trying so hard not to laugh but a little sniffle/snort escapes me.

Unfortunately, Mr. T thinks I have suddenly become emotional over his life-saving statement. He pats my back and yells at the bartender while flipping another chip on the bar “Get her another beer! Can’t you see she’s suffering?”

While sipping my second — and then third — beer, still trying to discover the depths of Mr. T’s stupidity, I feel a tap on my shoulder. It’s B.

“He asked me out,” she says.

“Who?” I ask (but I already knew the answer). “Mr. Cool?”

“Yes, he wants me to go into the bathroom with him.”

“Uh…on a date?”

“I guess so.”

I look at the bar in front of her. Not only is she on her third beer, but there are some empty shot glasses still waiting to be cleared. I blame those tiny empty glasses for her inability to realize the urinal is an unacceptable third wheel for a first date.

“Tell him no,” I say. She nods and turns back around to break the news.

Feeling a bit tipsy myself, I lean around her and give him the “I’m watching you” finger-to-eye hand gesture. He Just looked confused, and I poked myself in the eye in the process, so it obviously wasn’t a win-win situation. However, I still considered it fair warning.

I resumed my conversation with Mr. T, answering all his questions with what I had learned from watching E.R. and basically just making shit up. I get another tap on my shoulder; its B again, this time with all her hair combed forward covering her face.

She tells me, in a trembling voice, “I can’t see. I’ve lost my vision.”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

She nods, obviously starting to panic. “Help me!”

I brushed her hair back away from her face. “Uh…Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you!”

I then got a high five from Mr. T. “Way to go, Doc!”

I leaned around B, held up two fingers and looked at Mr. Cool. “That, my friend, is strike two.”

I told B that I was going to order one more for each of us, and then it was time to head out. I needed just a few more minutes to come up with a plan for us to leave without our new friends. I waved Mr. Cool over.

“Listen, B changed her mind about the bathroom thing. She’s all over it. The thing is, can I come too? It sounds awesome.” I could barely get the whole sentence out without vomiting but I did it.

He enthusiastically agreed that we could meet in the bathroom. I instructed him to go in first and count to ten.

Having never actually seen this work in real life, I was a bit skeptical. But he was walking toward the bathroom, no doubt getting his popsicle sticks and masking tape ready to help with the “whiskey” problem I was sure he was afflicted with. I called our ride, grabbed B and headed for the door.

When we got there, the icy ramp loomed large before us. “I don’t think I can do it,” B said.

“Yes we can!” I told her. We scaled that ramp like it was Mount Everest and did a victory dance at the top.

Once again: Good friends, flat beer and stupid people made our night one to be remembered.

Comments
  1. Johnny( He left his keys on the bar Im sure he'll be right back)Clow says:

    Funny shit woman…side note.. Irina and I celebrate 20 years May 7th…ahhh ..Stronger than I look Eh?Just call me The He-man……miss ya,Clow

    • divebardiva says:

      You guys are amazing! And I tell the keys (cigarettes and lighter) story to my customers all the time 🙂 Give Irina my love and the next time I am in Atl. I will come and stay for a night so we can drink, eat and be merry.

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