Street Pizza, Penguin & The Bitch
I’m back after a short stint in the Pacific Northwest. What did I miss? Everything. And nothing.
Here are some quick hits before the aforementioned title sequence.
Mask Meltdown
A fresh 21-year-old man had to be told twice to keep the mask on while inside, but he didn’t approach meltdown status until he was outside searching for it. After taking a phone call out of the bar, he was walking back to the gate when he realized he left his mask somewhere unseen. Between searching his pockets, lighting up his phone flashlight on the ground, and calling his friend inside, he was nearly inconsolable when he couldn’t find the cloth mask.
His friend was ready to throw one to him when he realized, as Maui and I already noticed, that his mask was… around his ear.
Mr. Lennay Kekua
Manti Te’o isn’t the only one with an unseen significant other. A well done up woman (for our standards) found herself in a pickle when she drove from the middle of the state to meet her boyfriend — who never showed. She claimed her boyfriend was coming, yet also said he told her bars closed at midnight in the big city. Relaying worthless information is one thing, “standing up” someone who drove two hours to meet you is another. We doubted this mysterious suitor existed at all. But no mind. The woman found solace in two lonely regulars and even Peanut, who was unwittingly drawn into a deep tissue shoulder massage.
As all parties were leaving, the woman faced a tough choice — drive two hours back home, or drive her new best friends back to their place. She drove her late model Audi to their place.
*I should note that this wasn’t a power play on the men’s side. One of them was slurring his speech while the other hadn’t spoken a word in over an hour. Predator or prey, we won’t know until our two regulars report next week.
TMI
A woman wanted to use the restroom. Now, most people walk up to us offering some collateral. “Take my phone,” or “you can hold on to my ID,” but never “here are my tampons. I’m on my period. I swear.”
Lady, as long as you’re wearing a mask, please go to the bathroom and stop talking to us.
Eventually, we had to kick her out for peeing her pants.
Never Answer the Phone
“Hello, this is (bar).”
“Yeah… uh… do you have Bud Light?”
<Dies inside>
“Yes. We have Bud Light.”
“Oh. OK. Do you also have BudWEISER?”
<Angels Weep In Heaven>
“Yes. We have both. We have almost all the most popular beers in America.”
“Uh… Thanks.” Hangs up.
I hope this was a prank call, but every fiber of my being tells me it was not.
IDs For Three
On Friday night, I snagged an ID from a girl who still claimed it was real after I showed her her public Facebook account showing her year-2000 birthdate. Her friend said everything was going to be OK and that she was calling the police as they speak. A few minutes go by and she comes back, “I have the police on the line and they said you have to give the ID back.”
“No, they didn’t.”
“Yes, you are correct.”
Scene.
Saturday night featured two guys at opposite ends of the spectrum. One barely reached my belt loop while the other kid was a stout 6-foot-6 and 250 pounds. Shorty had a poor Pennsylvania ID who didn’t even put up a fight. His friend just looked at him and looked back at me and asked if he could use the bathroom.
The second guy was in a small group where the lead literally said “I’m 19.” I know he was joking, but then to have the next person in your group actually BE 19? That’s pure comedy right there.
Street Pizza, Penguin & The Bitch
Famished, I was desperate for some “fresh” street pizza. I was going to walk to my car to retrieve some cash, but Maui stopped me and said he’d get me this time, as I grabbed him one a few weeks back. The pizza truck was a few hours out, so I had to bide my time with Honey-Lemon lozenges.
As the pizza truck was rolling to a stop, a large group was stepping up to the gate. Luckily, we had room for them, but just barely. It would be this group and another halt, possibly for quite some time. Maui hands me the personal pepperoni pizza soon after I let two women in. The next man up is smaller, wearing a salmon polo, but has his arms tucked in the shirt for warmth.
It’s not cold outside, but the breeze is chilling everyone out real fast. He fumbles with his pocket and phone before trying to hand me his ID from underneath his shirt.
“Can you please put your arms back through like normal?”
“What? Yeah, I guess. Why?”
“Well, you kind of look like a penguin.”
Innocuous, right? Asking someone to act like a civilized person with their arms in the armholes isn’t challenging their masculinity, right?
I hand him back his ID; he walks behind me toward the bar, and everything is fine until…
“Well, at least I don’t look like a BITCH.”
Hold up? Your skinny ass who forgot a coat is just going to accuse me of dressing like a bitch?
How dare you accuse me, a 6-8, 280-pound man in red Levi jorts, camo hoodie, black gloves, fanny pack, and a red dragon-scaled mask of looking like a bitch.
No. You don’t get the enthralling privilege of buying a Long Island while trying to shout at uninterested women lip-synching WAP and thinking of the next Wednesday’s Tinder date. Instead, you now get to experience the one-armed personal escort back outside while the other arm is still holding a m*****f***ing personal pepperoni pizza.
Maui took care of the conversation while I wolfed down every empty calorie of that pizza.
