The Kitchen Manager Douche and His Bipolar Cheating Wife

Posted: September 6, 2011 by VT in Daily Ramblings, Viva La Douche

Q: What’s the proper response when a guy buys you a drink from across the bar? Do you have to actually talk to him?

That’s the question someone submitted right before the divebardiva came down to Florida to visit me. And wouldn’t you know it? That exact situation happened to us. Here’s how it went down …

I picked up Ms. Diva at the airport. And after a quick stop at the house to drop off her suitcase and grab a bite to eat, we were on our way to a local dive bar. We were looking forward to spending a couple hours catching up in person over a few cocktails. YIPEE!

We got to the bar, sat down and ordered two beers. Our bartender was a lovely girl — I’ll call her Linda — with an angel Hello Kitty tattoo on one elbow and a devil Hello Kitty tattoo on the other. The diva and I were talking a mile a minute, sucking down our beers and enjoying every single second of being together again.

We were about halfway done with our first adult beverage when Linda sat another round in front of us. “These are from the guy across the bar,” she said. I looked over and saw a guy wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt and tie. (Ick. Fellas, not a good look. Trust me on this one.)

I smiled and mouthed, “thank you.” The diva raised her glass in a “cheers” gesture and that was that. At least that’s what were hoping.

But alas, twas not to be.

It wasn’t long before the guy got up from his stool and started making his way over to us. He was looking at us with a Rico Suave I-eat-girls-raw-like-sushi grin.

I could tell the divebardiva and I were thinking the same thing … “Shit, I really don’t want to talk to this random.” But we were in awesome moods — the diva was on vacation, after all — so we both sighed and gave the guy a half-smile.

“Thanks for the drinks,” we said.

“No problem,” he replied. “Next round is on me, too.”

“Umm, okay. But the next one is on us,” the diva said. (She’s always felt weird accepting drinks from strange guys. Now me, on the other hand … I don’t have that issue. If you buy ’em, I’ll drink ’em.)

He slid onto the bar stool next to the diva and extended his hand. “I’m Alexander.” He was slurring his words slightly. It sounded more like. “I’m Alecshhhander.” He’d obviously been at the bar for a while.

“Nice to meet you.”

“I work at our other location on the beach,” he continued. “I’m the manager.” (We found out later that he was actually the kitchen manager.)

We made some small talk. We were trying our best to look disinterested. But he wasn’t taking the hint. A few minutes later, the diva wandered off. As soon as she left, he asked. “Hey, can I get her number?”

Excuse me?!!? Dude, we’ve only been talking to you for like five minutes! But I answered, “Sorry … I don’t give out my friends’ phone numbers.”

“What about you?”  he asked. “Can I have yours?”

Douche! First he waits until the diva leaves before asking for her number. And then when I refuse, he asks for mine. What girl wants to be second best? Who will this pathetic technique actually work on? Not in this lifetime, pal.

“Sorry. I’m taken,” I replied.

“So am I,” he said, and flashed his wedding ring. Just then the diva walked back up.

“I’m married but I’m unhappy,” he continued. “My wife waited to tell me until after we got married that she’s bipolar. I think she should have told me before. Don’t you?”

“Well yeah. I guess so,” the diva said.

“How long have you been married?” I asked.

“Five years,” he said. “She cheats on me all the time. She treats me really badly.”

“Have you ever cheated on her?” I asked.

“Never,” he said.

Homey was obviously looking for sympathy. The diva started to tell him that it was nice to meet him but that we were in the middle of a conversation.

“No! Let’s do some shots,” he said. To which point he started screaming to the bartender (who was helping another patron). “Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda!”

“Dude, stop. You’re being an ass,” the diva said.

“It’s okay. I’m the manager at our other location.” He smiled, trying to be charming.

“Yeah, you told us that already,” I said.

He looked at the diva. “I love your hat.” Then he reached for it.

“Don’t touch it,” the diva said. I could tell she was near her boiling point.

“Awww come on,” he said, reaching over.

“I said don’t touch it.”

“Hey, let’s do some shots,” he said. “Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda!”

At this point, both Linda and the divebardiva looked like they wanted to kill him. Linda brought over the shots.

“Here’s to us,” he said as he looked at the diva.

“I’m going to hurt him,” the diva whispered.

“Hey,” he said. “I love your hat.” Then he reached for it. The alcohol had obviously affected his short-term memory.

“DUDE, I SAID DON’T TOUCH IT!” the diva said.

The divebardiva and I huddled together to decide how to best get rid of the guy. We then looked back over and Alecshhhander was taking a little siesta on the bar. Out like a light.

Suddenly, he popped his head up. “Let’s do shots,” he said. “Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda! Linda!”

“We don’t want any shots!” The diva said. “Seriously, you need to go.”

The divebardiva gave me THE look and headed to the restroom.

“She’s right,” I said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“But why? I’m a nice guy,” he said. “I’m a hard worker. I’m a good dad.”

“You have children?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, a son.”

“With your wife?” I asked

“No. I was never married to his mom.”

“So how old is your son?” I asked.

“Two years old,” he responded.

WTF?!!!!? Drunk douche was obviously having trouble with his math — and keeping his stories straight. Let’s recap:

  • He’s been married for five years to his wife.
  • He has never cheated on his wife (although he appears DTF either of us).
  • He has a 2-year-old son.
  • The son is not his wife’s.

Um … I may not be the sharpest bulb in the chandelier but someone gots some ‘splainin to do!

The diva returned and promptly, in no uncertain terms, told the guy to get lost. He shuffled off, drunk and dejected.

So now back to our question. What do you do when a guy buys you a drink from across the bar? Do you have to talk to him?

The answer is a resounding NO. Unless, of course, the buyer ranks way up there on the do-me-meter. We didn’t follow our own advice and ended up wasting valuable Vodka-Diva time on a total loser.

We sure as shit won’t make that mistake again.

Never stay thirsty, my friends!
Vodka Toxic

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