Before I go into detail about Saturday Night and Sunday Afternoon, I want to thank everyone who knew I was hospitalized for checking on me. I know for certain that this was one of those episodes in my life that was a wake up call about health care and death. (Like I needed a reminder) I won’t go into detail, I cheated the reaper without crashing on several Schedule 4 drugs administered by Medical Doctors in panic mode.
I didn’t realize I still had the three hospital wristbands on when I visited the dive. The wristbands were red, white, and blue. I concealed the wristbands as I sat down at the bar. There were several non-regulars in attendance, but enough regulars to keep things in check, which was necessary. Apparently this group of assholes in their mid 30’s were in need of manners.
I sat at the bar observing and quickly assessed that things were going to spiral out of control, I was in no condition for conflict. Then a punk ass hard knot cokehead called Shelly a “bitch” over payment for his drink. I knew this shithead was begging for trouble so I watched carefully what he might do next (i.e. stiff the bartender and walk out). Then I watched something that didn’t help my blood pressure at all. Shelly transitioned from bartender to debt collector and etiquette corrector.
“Who are you calling a bitch? Shut the fuck up and give me the money, SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH AND PUT THE CASH DOWN!!" Shelly was now more than halfway over the bar. Hector got up and was walking, the Met Fan made his way next to me. The punk ass shithead caved in quickly and made his way to the door. I could see pushing and shoving take place as I watched the Heisman Trophy go to Tebow.
Shelly was now frightening, a cross between a nazi dominatrix and …to quote Chucky “Sister Mary Mussentouch” I saw her come from behind the bar and break up the crowd. Knowing that I was less than half a heartbeat from another trip to the emergency room, I discreetly exited the dive before the Police showed up. The cops were going to take away these assholes or arrest Shelly for cracking her whip and kicking ass. I decided to show up on Sunday.
As usual I came in Sunday Afternoon to watch the Jets Game. The Jets did what they usually do on Sunday Afternoon and lost another game. Yaega had her usual suspects playing games, smoking and drinking while watching the Jets disappoint those who actually believe they might win. Cary came in and stayed awhile, telling me of coming events at his other venues. At the end of the bar, occasionally rising for a smoke was Shelly. She was still pissed off.
I stayed to watch the Sunday Night Game, Yaega stayed behind as Rhoda took up behind the bar. It was a fun, lively Sunday Night when SD showed up and things got even a little livelier as all headed home as the rain fell. Chucky came and went. Left in the dive were me, SD and the three bartenders, Yaega, Shelly and Rhoda. Yaega needed a massage, SD obliged, Shelly didn’t know if she wanted a massage, SD obliged anyway and got a gentle slap….but you sure heard it.
The conversation turned to female sex devices and what it takes to satisfy a woman. Japanese technology and Duracell batteries were not my field of expertise for conversation, so I listened as long as my eyelids would stay open. Do these women have fetishes no newsgroup has support for? Should have been there. After playing old soul, Clarence Carter and Shelly’s favorite song I decided to stay and shut down the place with Rhoda.
So much for a weekending, I thank God I’m still here.
RJ
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