Man, for a while, way back, I used to be the Head Bartender at this big fuckin huge cowboy bar back home.
This place was so massive, there were like 4 bartenders, plus one for the Dining Room, and a Bar Porter, all working the night shift.
Made fucking crazy money there.
Anyways, we used to make up all this wacky-assed shit to amuse ourselves.
This joint had, like MAD regulars, probably 45-60% of the trade on any night was in there 4 or more nights a week, it was kind of an over-35 meat market kind of deal.
So we would have all these deals that we would tell the cutomers.
There was this young fella, started out as Porter (Bar Pig) and worked his way up to Junior Bartender.
He had the same name as me, so we called him Hawk.
I don't know where it started, but somehow we decided to tell all the customers that Hawk had a glass fucking eye.
And they really went for it, man.
Sometimes Hawk would open up the glass washer to take out a clean trayful, and you know, that huge cloud of steam would billow out, sometimes when that happened, Hawk would yell out really loud.
And I'd go, like "Hawk!! What is it man??"
And he'd yell "My glass eye!! It's all fogged up!! I can't see anything!!"
And I'd go "Don't move, man! We're coming to help you!" and a couple of the waitresses would run around behind the bar and take his arms and shit.
Fucking customers ate it up like Coco Pebbles.
Sometimes he'd pretend it fell out and we'd started yelling for everyone to check their drinks.
Fucking drunks will believe anything.
Oh yeah, anyone with a (real) glass eye is welcome in The Tribe.
Can I get in with a FAKE glass eye? Which reminds me of a story from when I used to work at the pool. There was a girl who used to come in regularly with a false leg, and we were all used to seeing her in there. Then one day a fella comes in with a false leg, and I'm not paying much attention till I realise he's got a REAL FOOT. I finally (FINALLY) work out that he has some sort of leg brace, made to look as discreet as possible, but man, for a while there...
ReplyDeleteI'm a huge cowboy. I should go to that bar.
ReplyDeleteHuge cowPIE, maybe.
ReplyDeleteWe wouldn't even SERVE guys like you.
Piffle. I'm wearing cowboy boots right now. With the jean legs neatly tucked into the boots. It is quite debonaire.
ReplyDeleteMan, are you TRYING to get kicked out of The Tribe???
ReplyDeleteAnd, by the way, you're just barely squeaking through with that "e" on the end of debonair.
Which comes from the Middle English "debone".
So it's actually more apt than you know.
Oh, and, excuse me, PIFFLE???
ReplyDeleteWhat are you, Leslie Fucking Howard?
The Scarlet Fucking Pimpernel?
Tish tosh, dear fellow, tally ho and jiggery pokery to the lot, eh wot, old man???
Get bent, you clown.
What I was doing there was one of those ironic juxtapositional things. See, I start off claiming to be a huge cowboy, but go on to brag about my cowboy boots in foppish language that no cowboy would ever use. That's where the funny comes from.
ReplyDeleteNext week I'll explain to you how babies are made, and teach you how to tie your shoes.