This place damn sure wasn’t “Cheers”

Heff, here is one that I think you will enjoy.

Years back, after I graduated high school I got a job working in a bar. Yes, my parents were so proud of me. Like most bars, we had “regulars” and I use the term loosely. This post is about one of those “regulars”.

This guy, who we will call Steve, because his name is Steve (and fuck him he was a pain in the ass and if I knew his last name, phone number, address or social security number I would post it too!), who you could depend on to be in the bar day after day. Steve was an older dude, probably in his early fifties, had sort of long shaggy hair and a very full beard. To say that Steve was an alcoholic would be a vast understatement. Steve’s blood type is Budweiser positive. This guy will never die because he is already preserved, or maybe it’s pickled.

One this one particular evening Steve wasn’t already in the bar when I got to work like he typically was. Even though this guy was the Mount Fuji of pains in the ass, when he wasn’t there you almost missed him. After about an hour or so Steve comes in clean shaven and with a haircut. Just about all of the staff asked Steve simultaneously what was up with the shave and a haircut (two bits!) to which he replied “The judge don’t like long hair”, enough said! It’s kind of hard to tell if an alcoholic got good or bad news by their drinking habits but for the sake of this post we are going to assume that it’s good news.

During the course of the night Steve was sucking back Budweisers like a fat girl at a strip bar, minus the woohoo every 15 seconds. At one point I noticed that Steve was standing in the bar’s game room doorway and asked just about every woman that walked by if they wanted to shoot some pool. I also noticed that Steve had pissed down both legs of his jeans. What dame wouldn’t jump on an opportunity like that?

Five or six hours later I noticed Steve paying his tab and heading towards the door. About an hour later one of the bouncers and I were walking the parking lot and noticed that Steve was passed out in his car, in the back seat on the driver’s side at that. When the bouncer knocked on the glass Steve put his hands out like he was driving and said “I’m ok, I’m ok, I’m ok”. This is not a good sign. So we take his drunk ass back inside the bar and tell the owner & manager what happened and that we should probably sober him up a bit before we let him leave again. So we lock Steve in the owners office. About an hour later, roughly 1:00 in the morning, Steve is beating on the door screaming let me out over and over again. I go and unlock the door and start to explain to him that we can’t let him go until he sobers up. Steve looks at me and says “No, no, no, I got to go to the bathroom!!!” Right this way mofo.

Of course the bathrooms where on the other side of the bar. So I walk him to the bathrooms so that I could make sure that he didn’t leave the bar. When we get to the bathroom instead of going to a urinal he went into a stall, locks the door and I can see his shoes, his pants and skidded up tighty whiteys around his ankles under the stall door. Then I heard Steve say BBBRRRRRAAAHHHH and fill his pants with vomit. It was about this time that I needed to do something else on the other side of the bar.

I go to the bar where one of the bouncers was hanging out and tell him to keep an eye on the bathroom door for me. A couple of minutes later Steve comes walking out of the men’s room with his pants pulled up and shaking vomit out of his pants leg with every other step. Yep, he puked in the seat of his pants and then put them back on. I almost passed out from laughter.

Ole Chunks of the Loom makes his way to the bar and actually tried to order a beer. As fate with have it the owner of the bar and the manager of the bar walk by as he tries to order and tells the bartender that Steve is cut off and not to serve him. As everyone expects, Steve gets pissed and tries to throw his weight around. What he doesn’t know is that the owner now knows that his office is trashed and his couch smells of the inside of Steve’s bladder. You could safely say that the owner has pretty much had enough of Steve at this point. One thing that I failed to mention is that the owner of the bar was about 8 inches taller that Steve and outweighed him by a good 100 plus pounds. So Steve and the owner exchange words, F yous mostly, and the owner tried to push Steve’s nose out the back of Steve’s head with his fist. Steve lands in the trash can by the bar and even though his eyes where open Steve was out.

We call a cab and get him a ride home.

The next night Steve comes strolling in the bar and I think that the owner is about to charge him like a rhino when Steve asked, “What happened last night?” Steve proceeds to tell us that he woke up in his mom’s bed with her bitching at him, blood all over his face and his pants stuck to him. Laughter erupts throughout the bar.

Don’t get dead