Holiday? What freakin Holiday?
Hoo lawdy! While the rest of America took a long weekend, as usual, that meant I was gonna have to work. And let me tell you child, I worked for you muthafuckin bitches!
Well, the Labor Day holiday weekend is over. Typical of all American holidays the name of the holiday has almost nothing to do with the holiday indeed, most of the country does jack shit this weekend. I guess it just sounds better than National Get Drunk, Barbeque Some Cow and Beat Your Wife Day. Add in another weekend of cloudy skies and rain and well, this holiday weekend was much like Memorial Day (where we remember nothing and no one). Except we were stupid busy at the bar. Jabba The Drunk was still on vacation and I was on the late shift and was already tired from the get-go as I spent the week arranging for repairs and liquor delivery and running out to Office Depot because we ran out of ink cartridges for the register and what do we do? Being in charge can really suck sometimes. I was at work even when I wasn’t at work. So for four days I was butt up against various and sundry drinkers/drunks and gay men of various ages and let me tell ya…….ya’ll are a bunch of fuckin freaks! Which brings me to the reason for this post. Inappropriate Public Behavior.
There I am standing at the bar at 3am. I got my manager mojo goin and I’m scopin out the bar, listening to the piano, checkin things out. I see one of our weekend drunks starting to walk across the room. Now, this motherfucker is the fuckin poster child for IPB. As the night progresses and he gets more and more vodka in him this old freak will break into private conversations, he’ll start singing (badly) to you, he’ll tell you jokes that all have one thing in common-they’re wildly unfunny. So it was with a little internal “oh, no” that I saw this booze bag make a very wide arc across the room and head unmistakably for me. Wondering what the hell he wanted but braced for anything I didn’t even look at him. “I betchu haf a verrry bigg dick” he slurred. Now this is what I’m talking about. IPB. What series of thoughts or decisions or combination of alcohol and sorely lacking social skills does it take for a grown man to walk across a room and speculate to another grown man about the size of his dick? (it’s pretty big, by the way. tee hee) Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude or anything but really, what did he hope to accomplish? “Yes, very drunk old man. I do have a big dick thanks for asking. Would you like me to lay it on the bar right now? Or better yet, why don’t I finish work now and take you 40 blocks downtown to my apartment. I can help you navigate the stairs and then pour you in. You’ll be too shit-faced to do anything but at least my sheets will reek of cigarettes because you do. Hey, maybe you can pee on my bathroom floor. Aw, skip it, just piss right on me right now.” For that matter how smart is it to make an ass out of yourself to the bar manager?
Next night, it’s Saturday I think. Again around 2:30 am. I notice some younger Asian boys working the room. I notice, because I’m trying to see if they’re working the room or “working” the room. I decide that nothing is horribly awry. At some point, one very much older man has paired off with a very young Asian boy and they have moved to a couch outside my office in between the bars. IN PUBLIC. As I do more and more as the night goes on I head for my office for some nameless, mindless task. As I look to the tableau on my left I see said very old man kneading the crotch of said young Asian boy. Now when I say kneading the crotch, please don’t think I mean he was kissing him and his hand brushed his dick. I don’t mean they were talking and he rested his fingers up a little too high. I mean this man was kneading this crotch, repeatedly. Had it been dough he would have been halfway to bread by then. And by the way, what did he hope to find there I mean come on, the kid’s Asian! All I could do was roll my eyes and keep walking as a half-assed attempt was made to stop what they were doing. At least the first time I walked by. Once they realized I wasn’t going to say anything they made pizza with abandon. I stopped paying attention after that.
But again, IPB. First and most obvious, hey you dirty old man you what the hell are you doing feeling up that young boy. I realize that he’s letting you and for most guys that’s enough and obviously since he is letting you he is either a) pretty drunk and not worried about a thing b) one of those young guys who have a thing (fetish) for the smell of Super Poli Grip or c) he’s judged you to be at least able to get together the $150 it’s gonna take to close this deal. Either way what is it that makes a grown man sit on a couch in public directly under a chandelier in between two end tables and two very tasteful lamps and stroke a little Asian stiffy in front of anyone who is walking by? That’s what dark doorways and hotel rooms are for. If I was with a guy that started to disrespect me in public and try to grab at my cock for everyone to see I’d be more than a little insulted. Turned on, but insulted.
Same subject, new example. We have a regular customer that comes in several times a week. He sings to himself. Italian opera. The whole time he’s there. When I say sings to himself I mean out loud. Just loudly enough that you can just…..barely…..hear. Is that Opera? Why, yes it is. Italian opera if I’m not mistaken. Now this particular IPB I find truly baffling. Isn’t there a point at which you would say to yourself hey, is that Italian opera I’m singing? When did I start doing that? Is anyone else singing Italian opera? Why no, no they’re not. I wonder if anyone thinks it’s odd that I sing Italian opera all the time. It does seem odd, perhaps I’ll stop it. But not this guy. And don’t even get me started on Tai Chi Guy.
