Wednesday, June 4, 2014

New thing encountered at the bar last night, or, "It's OK, I'm just strange and creepy."

September 7, 2008

I don't think that I'll ever to be able to claim "I've heard it all". Over the years I've heard a lot of unusual, funny or just insane excuses for all sorts of behavior, but people keep coming up with new stories that I haven't heard before.

Case in point:

We were having a very slow night.  The bar has two entrances - one by the back parking lot and one opening to the street out front. I usually stand by the back door, which is our main entrance, since that's where everyone parks & where the taxis drop people off.  It's also where I can duck in and out behind the bar most easily, since on weeknights I also barback in addition to checking ID's and babysitting the crowd.

The bartender usually checks the ID of anyone who enters through the front door; I usually ID anyone who enters through the back door. There's just the two of us employees working on weeknights and Sundays, so we have an excellent working understanding between us.

On that particular evening, I was mostly watching a table of three pretty girls that were sitting a few tables down the aisle from me. I ID'd them when they came in, they mentioned that they're waiting for their boyfriends to show up, and they were all giggly and friendly.  They were also the only customers in the building.

A big, sloppy, burly but heavyset man wearing a ball cap and sunglasses entered through the front door and walked straight to the bar – the bartender checked his ID and served him a bottled beer along with a frosty mug.  The man picked up his beer and the mug, looked around the almost empty bar and went to go sit at a booth directly behind the three pretty girls. (Well, maybe not strictly behind the girls, but two of the girls are sitting with their backs to the man, only one of the girls is facing him, so on a practical level it's pretty much behind them. The table of girls is between me and the guy, anyways).

Almost immediately upon sitting down, the guy started to set off my "creep-o-meter". He began fishing around in his pants pockets and plunked a great big set of keys down on his table along with a couple of other objects that I couldn't quite see from where I was standing.  He didn't touch his drink, instead just stared at the girls. And I do mean STARING, this guy was glaring a hole into the back of their heads.  He had an angry, intense look on his face and started to fiddle with one of the objects that he'd put on the table. The gal who was facing the creepy guy leaned across to whisper something to her friends.  All three girls initially seemed to think that the guy was funny, but as he continued to stare and fiddle with the item in his hand, they grew increasingly obviously uncomfortable.

After watching this process for maybe two or three minutes I decided that it was time for me to get involved, so I moseyed on over to see what was happening.

When I approached the creepy guy's table, I could see that the object he was fiddling with (and had been flashing at the girls!) was a pair of handcuffs. I greeted the gals as I walked past ("Evening ladies"), and then did the same to the guy, ("How's it going, sir?").  I took a couple of steps past his table, then turned around and spoke to the guy again.

"So, what's up with the handcuffs?"

I was a little behind him (and not coincidentally, not within easy arms reach), so he had to twist around uncomfortably in his seat to address me. "It's OK, I'm a Bounty Hunter."



I had to pause for a second, as that's not the answer I was expecting. To be honest, I don't really know what sort of answer I was expecting, but that wasn't it.

"Um… huh.  ...  ... So, are you hunting any bounties right now?"

"No, but it's OK, I work at Kodiak's."

Kodiak's is another bar here in town, a country/rock nightclub, known at the time for having lots of fights and violent, aggressive bouncers.  There was a period of time where more than half of their security staff were people that I'd either fired from other bars where I ran the security or people that I'd declined to hire in the first place.

"Well, this isn't Kodiak's, so why don't you put those away?"

"Put what away?", he said while making a fist around the cuffs, sort of hiding them from me, but also making them into makeshift brass knuckles, as they were then around his hand.

"Put those handcuffs away – it's not really appropriate for you to have them out like that."

He looked at me blankly for a few seconds, then said "OK" and started to put the cuffs back in his pocket.

I walked back past the girls. They nodded at me as I passed them, pleased that I had said something to the guy. I ducked behind the bar and explained my encounter with the creepy guy to the bartender.  We agreed that one beer was his limit & that we wouldn't serve him anymore.

The bartender pointed over my shoulder towards the girls' table.  "Hey, check it out – "

I turned around to look, and, lo and behold, the boyfriends of the pretty girls had arrived and one of them was standing at the creeper's table talking harshly at him.

I quickly ducked back out into the aisle and I heard the boyfriend say "…what the hell, man, why are you flashing handcuffs at my girl?"

The creepy guy was instantly aggressive right back.  "Yeah? You want to say that to me outside?"

I stepped in between the two – I could see the handcuffs sitting out on the table again.

"Alright, guys, that's enough of that," I said, grabbing the still-untouched beer and mug off his table & setting them on the bar, out of the creeper's immediate reach.  I've got long arms & it's a narrow aisle.

The boyfriend interrupted me, "Man, I don't want to get in trouble here," (he seemed to recognize me as an employee), "but this dude has been flashing his handcuffs at that table full of girls!"

The creepy guy cut in again "Oh, yeah? Well let's go outside, then, let's go outside!"

"Alright," I said to the boyfriend "I've got this, you go sit down, and you – " I say to the creepy guy " – it's time for you to leave. Now."

"FINE!" he yells at me exploding up out of his seat, snatching his huge wad of keys and the cuffs off the tabletop with a sweep of his arm, jumping up so quickly that he bumped into me, swinging the hand full of metal stuff pretty near my face as he got up. "But you better walk me outside! You don't know what I might do!"

For the record, I didn't get the impression that he swung the handful of keys and cuffs at me in an attempt to strike me, it was more of a wild, un-coordinated flail.

I shrugged agreement.  "OK, I'll walk you to the door, I don't know what you might do!"

He stomped away to the front door, stuffing his keys and handcuffs into his pockets, muttering to himself as he walked away.  I followed a couple of paces behind him as he walked up the stairs and out the door. As he stepped outside I said, "OK, thanks, goodnight", and started to close the door behind him.

Before I even got the door closed, he called out to me "Hey, wait – how long have you lived in Alaska?"

"Uh, most of my life, man."

"Yeah, I can tell you're not a real Alaskan."

"Huh?"

"Real Alaskan's settle things outside, like men!"  He stepped off the sidewalk and into the street, flexing his flabby arms at me.

"Like men? Adults?"

"YEAH!"

"Through discourse and compromise?"

He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language.

"You come see me some time at Kodiak's! I'll show you how a man settles things!"

"OK, thank you!  Goodnight." And I walked back inside. I halfway expected him to try to come back in or mess with me while my back was turned, but he didn't, and that's the end of the incident.

The girls were really happy that I'd asked the guy to leave.  The boyfriends were super apologetic, but I explained that they were not out of line for asking the creepy guy to back off, but to please come get a member of the bar staff in the future if any kind of confrontation seemed imminent.

                                                                     *****

There's an interesting postscript, though – later on that night, a cop happened to drop by the bar, just doing a routine walk-through. I told him about the incident, the bounty hunter line and the handcuffs, and the cop smiled and immediately laughed "HA! Oh, man, did he look like ____", describing the guy to a T.

"Yeah, that's the guy!"

"Geez, we have some kind of contact with that prick almost every day. He's not a bounty hunter; he's a clerk at a sleazy hotel across town. He just tells people the bounty hunter thing because he thinks it's cool and tough or something. As far as I know he doesn't work at Kodiak's, but he'd fit right in. I'll be sure to mention this to him the next time I've gotta deal with him."

Then the smile left the cop's face, "But - you definitely don't want him in your bar, ever."

I told the cop that I was fine with never letting Mr. Tough Cool not-a-Bounty Hunter into the bar ever again, we bid each other goodnight, and he left to continue with his nightly rounds.

And thus the list of weird shit that I haven't heard yet gets ever smaller.

Best new Toast!

January 28 2011

"What happens on Raxacoricofallapatorius, STAYS on Raxacoricofallapatorius"
That's my new favorite toast, with which I have confused several co-workers and customers.

Then they ask me what the heck it means, and that gives me an opening to gush about Doctor Who, because I am some sort of asshole genius.

Best Thing Overheard:

December 4, 2011

Best thing overheard at the bar tonight, said by a guy to his female companion:

"Honey, some night I'd like to hang out with just you. When I hang out with You and Booze and Cigarettes and Drama, that's just too many people at the party."

Simultaneously both the best and worst thing witnessed at the bar last night...

December 2010

It was open mic night at the bar.  We get some interesting characters in the house, but top marks tonight went to the (apparently) mentally ill 60-year old Russian man who alternately played trombone and scatted/beatboxed while a long-haired young Alaskan Native fellow played death metal guitar as accompaniment.

I put my earplugs in and watched in awe.  Nearly everyone else cleared the room.

There's a difference between sharing your art with the world and inflicting your art upon it.

Nerdiest thing I did at the bar last night:

Mid- to late-November, 2010

I was discussing Harry Potter with some customers who were standing near me by the door.

Suddenly, some loud noises caught my attention - a fight had broken out not six feet away from me!  Maybe I should have been paying attention to the crowd rather than discussing Hogwarts, but, well, no use crying over spilled milk at that point.

I grabbed one of the guys who was fighting, the other bouncer grabbed the other guy.  He would NOT calm down - I had to hem him up and pretty much wrestle him out the door, then haul him up the stairs and get him out the door.  He fought me every step of the way, but I had a good hold on him and got him out fairly quickly.

In the doorway, as I was getting him through the door, I yelled "EXPELLIARMUS!" and pushed him away from me.

This cheered me up, lightened the mood of the crowd, and confused the guy enough that he calmed down a little*.

After a few minutes I was able to talk him into leaving the premises & I walked back inside.  I was still breathing hard and my hands were shaking a little bit from the adrenaline.

I decided to step behind the bar to grab a glass of water, and as I passed my group of fellow Harry Potter fans, one of them said, "You know, you got that wrong.  You really should have said 'wingardium leviosa'."

He sounded all snotty and condescending when he said it, so I answered back, "Why? Are you volunteering?"

I must have sounded a little more aggressive than I intended to (damn that adrenaline...) because he put his hands up and backed away quickly. "NO!  No no no!  I'm good, I'm good!"

"Well... all right then."

And I got myself a glass of water. 

Harry Potter was not discussed again that evening.

                                                                    *****

*I often find that confusing angry dunk people is an effective speedbump for their rage.  It doesn't always work, but it almost never makes things worse, so if I can take a shot at it I usually will.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Best thing overheard:

October 18, 2011

Best thing overheard at the bar last night:

A group of girls were discussing men.

"I like a man who's a little bit jealous. I like it when he knows that I could do better."

Strangest encounter with a customer that I had at the bar last night:

October 11, 2010

Strangest encounter I had with a customer at the bar last night:

There were two contenders, but last night's winner was an old man.  He looked enough like Geraldo Rivera to be his brother, but blonde and weirdly muscled for a 60-year-old dude.  No body fat at all, like Bruce Lee in his prime.  He first came to my attention when he was playing pool.  He was aggressively talking with the other players, asking questions about their religious convictions.

"I am a Man of GOD and I WILL NOT play pool with any atheists!!"

He ran out of money and got upset when I informed him that we were a cash only bar.  I directed him towards our ATM, but he pulled a card out of his wallet and started pointing at it.

"I only have credit cards!  I've never used a debit card in my life!  You have to take my credit card!"

I pointed out that his card clearly had the word 'debit' printed on it, so he grudgingly walked over to the ATM.

I should mention that because of his demeanor and tone of voice, I don't believe for a second that he didn't know it was a debit card.  I think he was just being contrary because A) I wouldn't tell him whether or not I was an atheist, B) he'd had perhaps a few too many drinks, and C) he was all butt hurt that the bar didn't take credit cards.

He stood in front of the ATM for a minute before yelling at me again.  "Show me how to use this thing!"

I joined him in front of the machine & showed him how to insert his card into the machine.  The PIN prompt came up, so I turned my back to give him privacy.  He tapped me on the shoulder.

"Now what do I do?"

"You enter your PIN number."

"What's my 'pin' number?"

"That's your private personal code you need to enter to access your account."

"Well, tell me what it is."

"Sir, I have no way of knowing what your PIN number is.  It's your number."

"But you're showing me how to use the machine!  You HAVE to tell me my number!  YOU HAVE TO!!"

"I can't tell you what I don't know..."

"Then that means that you're just going to have to take my credit card, aren't you?!", he said, smugly.

"Actually, sir, since we don't have any way to take credit cards, that means that you're just going to have to stop drinking..."

He stormed off, grabbed his coat, and left the building, presumably for a bar that takes credit cards.

And doesn't let atheists play pool.

*****

The runner-up for strangest encounter was a hippie girl who kept drawing primitive, childlike drawings of animals on bar napkins & giving them to random strangers.

Other than that, she was mostly quietly sitting with her friends, so I didn't think anything of it - until she saw some people throwing her napkin art away or using the napkins as drink coasters and getting them wet.

She approached me to complain. 

"That's my art!  They can't destroy it like that!"

"I'm not sure what you want me to do about it."

"Make them stop!"

"Miss, if you want to keep your napkin art, then I suggest that you keep it.  Once you give it away it really isn't yours anymore."

She wasn't happy with my response, but she accepted it.

A few minutes later I overheard her arguing with the bartender.  She wanted a glass of water, but flavored water.  Regular water wouldn't do it.

"I never drink water.  I can't drink plain water, it'll make me sick!  I only ever drink flavored water.  I grew up in a trailer and that's just how I was raised."

I'm not sure how the bartender resolved that one, but I'm glad it wasn't my problem...

Something nice!

September 1, 2010

The nicest thing said to me by a bartender at the bar last night:

"That's a really strange monkey you have living in your head, Mister Bates."


High praise indeed! 

A note.

August 14, 2010

A note, addressed to the little chubby fellow with the big plastic earplugs, wearing the "I AM THE BRINGER OF STORMS" t-shirt.

Dear sir,

You are not the bringer of storms.  A bringer of take-out, yes, and hissy fits.  But not storms.  Nope.

Sincerely,

-Alex

You may be too broke to be at the bar...

August 13, 2010

You may be too broke to be at the bar if...

... halfway through your purchase of one beer you have to run outside to get change from the center console of your car in order to come up with the remainder of the $3.50...

British Colonial India and how it relates to cock-punching contests.


Sept 10, 2010

I don't play bar games, I never really have. I don't play pool, darts, foosball, or any kind of drinking games (quarters, dice, etcetera). I'm not saying that I've never in my life played a game of pool or darts – of course I have, but I don't regularly, and I'm pretty terrible at all of them (barely competent at foosball, I suppose, but awful at the rest).

My customers often don't believe me. "You work in a bar – you MUST be a pool shark!" Nope, really, I'm not. And it's strange – people will occasionally get seriously insulted when I decline to play a pick-up game with them, or on the rare occasions when I'm slow and bored enough to actually play, they accuse me of throwing the game, losing on purpose. "But someone told me that you play games…" is an accusation that I dread – I'm not ashamed of being a gamer, far from it, but it's no fun explaining that I play miniature wargames to some drunken stranger. I usually end up sighing, shrugging, and saying "Yes, it's like Dungeons and Dragons with little metal figurines" – it's the path of least resistance.

There's this one fellow, Steve, who is an obsessively competitive gamer. BARgamer, not wargamer – pool, darts, quarters, betting on sports on TV, etcetera. He's one of the guys who got all insulted when I first declined to play pool with him, despite my protestations of disinterest and poor skill. Initially, he thought that I was refusing because he didn't offer to play for money, and when I continued to decline, he continued to raise the stakes ("OK, we'll play a game for $5. No? How about 10$? NO? Still holding out? How about 20? 50? Geez, man, you must be really sure of yourself – but I'm better than you think, how about we make it a MAN's bet – a game for a HUNDRED dollars!!") I had to go fetch the bartender and a couple of our regulars, members of our pool league team, to convince him that I really don't play pool! Despite all that I still think that for months he half-thought that we were all messing with him, secretly hiding my mad pool skillz for some mysterious unknown reason.

I don't really know Steve well – he's one of many people in Fairbanks who's in town for a few days, then works up north or in the bush for a few weeks. But he's loud and enthusiastic, broadly genial, and a good tipper. If he wasn't such a sports ("SPOOOOORTS!!!") guy, I'd like him – as it is, I affably tolerate him, and ignore him when he gets too… Steve-ish. And now, because of the whole "pool" debacle, we have sort of a running gag where every time he sees me, he jokingly asks me to play a game of pool, and I always reply – "Not tonight – maybe next time!"

The other night Steve was at the bar with some friends – a group of loud, obnoxious, friendly, competitive guys. They inevitably started wrestling and cup-checking each other, so I approached them and asked them to calm down. More specifically, I said "Come on, guys, take it outside or take it down a notch." Steve and his buddy break their embrace/wrestling hold and look over at me. They're both having a grand old time, laughing, and Steve says "Hey, Alex, it's cool, it's cool, we're not hurting anybody – we're just having a cock punching contest!", and he turns and punches his buddy in the crotch!

Much to my surprise, the buddy laughs, hops back and, still laughing, lunges at Steve, trying to punch him in the junk, too! A retaliatory cock-punch. A *friendly* retaliatory cock-punch. Astounding.

(This is an aspect of jock behavior that I just don't understand. If you walk up to me and punch me, you better be ready for a hostile reaction. I'm aware that sports teams & hard working manly men may see that sort of thing as friendly horseplay, I've witnessed the phenomenon often enough, but I don't feel that way myself. Please don't hit me, ever, unless you really mean it. And for this they call me "uptight"…)

So I step between the two of them – I shudder to think of where the one-upsmanship and following arms race would have led us all to. They pause, not sure where I'm going with this, not wanting to fight me or get kicked out, but also not wanting to give up their fun. "Dude, come on, can't you just let us do our thing? We're old friends, we don't get to see each other very often, this is like a tradition for us!"

A light bulb turns on in my head. I muster my best British Professor impression


"Gentlemen," I say, "let me tell you a story about British Colonial India."

They both stop, utterly disarmed. I do so enjoy confusing the customers…

"Long ago, there was a tradition in India called ‘Suttee', where when a man died, they would burn the widow on the funeral pyre along with her husband. When the British Empire conquered India, they put a stop to the practice."

Steve and his buddy are both hanging with me, confused but curious – they both look like they're waiting to hear the punch line of a joke.

"Well, the some of the local officials sent a delegation to talk to the British Governor, asking him to allow them to continue their practice of suttee. ‘Can't you just leave us alone?' they said, ‘This is our tradition!'

The Governor replied, ‘In England we also have traditions. One of ours concerns men who kill widows – we hang them as murderers. So, if you must carry out your tradition, fine. Build your funeral pyres and carry out your tradition. And next to your funeral pyres we will build gallows, and carry out our tradition."

I pause for a long moment.

"So, OK, we all on the same page now, fellas?"

The two guys look bewildered, disappointed, still waiting for the punch line. I just stand there for a minute, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer.

Eventually, Steve says "I don't get it."

I sigh elaborately. "OK, how's this – you two go ahead and have your tradition, you do your thing – have your cock-punching contest. Then I'll do *MY* thing – my bouncer thing." I look Steve in the eyes and smile as I say this, to let him know this is still friendly, but that I'm not entirely kidding.

Steve shakes his head and laughs, "OK man, I get it, I get it, no problem!" Still smiling and laughing, he and the buddy sit down. They both act fairly civilized for the rest of the evening, and Steve gave me a high-five when he left later that night.

And that's how I was able to connect British Colonia India to a cock-punching contest in a little bar in Fairbanks Alaska.

Best out-of-context quote overheard at the bar last night:

July 12 2010
 
One female customer was talking animatedly with another female customer.

"Oh, no, I was sober when I got AIDS *that* time."

I didn't stick around to find out how not-sober she'd been when she got AIDS the other times...

Worst song lyrics overheard at the bar last night:

June 24 2010

Worst song lyrics overheard at open mic night at the bar last night:

"You're the pothole in my road trip, you're the backwash in my last sip
..."

Best toast overheard at the bar last night:

June 15, 2010

Best toast overheard at the bar last night:

"Boo to crackheads!"

No-one is more Irish than an American white guy on St. Patrick's Day...

March 13 2009

There are some excuses that I'm willing to listen to, and others that immediately raise my hackles. Today I'm going to focus on a specific one that I've heard several times recently. Maybe St. Patrick's day is coming up, so the "Irish" thing is on people's mind…

I swear, guys – half of the people in this town must be 1/64th Irish or something… either that, or the drunks have picked a new lie to tell me. All three incidents happened over two weekends, and all three involved different people.

Recent incident #1:

Alex: "Dude, did you just vomit all over yourself?"
Drunk guy: "Hey, it's OK – I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*

Recent incident #2:

Alex: "Hey there buddy, please don't pee in our parking lot. We have bathrooms inside."
Drunk guy : "WOOOOOHOOO! I'm Irish!"
Alex: *facepalm*

I'll get into a bit more detail with "recent incident #3", because by then I had finally had enough… It started with fairly standard macho B.S. Two guys who apparently knew and disliked each other from outside the bar happened to run into each other one evening while I was at work.

Things started out calmly, then as the evening progressed and the two gentlemen drank more and more, they worked themselves into a fighting temper. Early on, I approached each of them separately and told them something to the effect of "OK, guys, so far no-one's done anything out of line, but things look a little tense. We like things to stay calm here, so please keep it that way"… they both assured me that they were cool ("It's OK, man, I'm cool, I'm cool").

But of course they weren't cool… I can see that one of them is definitely the instigator, much more aggressive than the other, but the other guy isn't backing down or helping to make things calm, he's willing to throw down. Eventually the aggressive one walked past the other and gave him a hard, high-school-style shoulder bump, and the other spun around, ready to fight.

I'd been expecting something like this to happen, and I'd given them fair warning, so I was only a step away, and I got between them. "Cut it out! This is the kind of crap I was talking about earlier, gentlemen".
The guy who'd been bumped gave me the kind of answer I like to hear – "I'm sorry, man, but this guy's been eyeing me all night, and he just shoulder checked me for no reason. I just want to chill out and drink my beer".

But the other guy… well… "Nah, FUCK THAT!! This fucking fucker blah blah blah aggressive posturing, insulting terms, name-calling, several pejorative terms synonymous with homosexual, boring boring boring…"

 (I'm paraphrasing, but you get the idea, I hope…)

I look over my shoulder at guy number one, "Hey, calm guy, why don't you go sit down and finish your beer", then back to the aggressive guy "...and I think you need to get your coat, you don't need to be here anymore tonight."

Suddenly the guy relaxes a bit, trying to adopt a friendly pose, acting like he's my buddy. "Oh, c'mon, man – you know how it is, I can't help it, I'm Irish!"

"Yeah, I know, you can't help it. The same way black guys can't help stealing cars, right?"

"Yeah! No – wait, that's not what I meant!"

I point my finger at him – "That's exactly what you meant. You put that racist crap back in your pocket and take it out the door with you."

"But…"

I just keep talking over his objections. "TAKE OWNERSHIP OF YOUR OWN CHOICES AND ACTIONS! OR DON'T!! BUT DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE!!!"

He keeps sputtering and complaining, more confused than angry, but I get him out the door.

Once he's outside, he says "Man, you're like some kind of Nazi or something!"

Standing in the doorway, I say, "I can't help it. I'm German."

And I close the door.