Tweakers, puking fiddlers, thieves and drunk, drunk people

Last night was the first time I worked the door at Arnie's in almost a month. Larkin was playing, which is enough of an indicator of a strange night ahead. However, just when I think I've run out of new experiences to have on this job, something even stranger always happens.

Early in the night, I glanced out the front windows to see a guy sitting on the bench outside. At first blush, it appeared he was talking to himself. Then, his movements got a little more erratic. I asked a guy coming in to the bar what the guy was doing out there, and I was told he was rapping to himself. I really didn't mind what he did out there. He appeared to be off in his own little world. As long as he wasn't bothering the customers as they came in or started begging for money, I was willing to just let him be.

Just as I pointed the guy out to one of the owners, he leaned forward on the bench and it looked like he was going into convulsions. She leaned out the door to ask the guy if he was okay, and he just flipped out. He was picking up and throwing anything he could get his hands on, and as we got closer to him, he'd back away, screaming his head off, doing some badly coordinated karate moves and making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Case in point, after a botched roundhouse air-kick that threw himself off-balance, he screamed, "I'm undercover! Do you really want to mess with me? I'll rat you out to your parents!"

It was one of those things that simultaneously weirded us all out, scared us a little, but most of all, made us laugh our asses off. He eventually left...with his brain firing off like a set of tangled christmas lights, screaming like a madman. A walking poster for drug prevention. It makes me wonder why people start taking meth in the first place. It's hard to imagine someone seeing a guy like that and saying to themselves, "That guy's got the right idea. I gotta get me some of that action."

As Larkin was setting up, we got the news that their fiddle player was home sick with the flu. Karen, the fiddle player, told them she'd try to make it, but as soon as the words "puking my guts out" were mentioned, they decided it would be best for her not to come in for the gig. Besides, can you imagine having to hold a bucket in front of someone playing a violin for four hours? They briefly considered calling in a replacement, but ultimately it was decided that they'd rather go one one member short than have someone who didn't know all the songs. The irony was that while they were mulling it over, I saw at least three people from the Tulsa Symphony performance that just let out walk past the front of the bar with violin cases on their backs.

Another bit of irony for you: Around 12:30, I had a guy try to leave the bar with an empty beer pitcher. He had it barely hidden under his coat, but he was so drunk that he started taking it out of his coat before he made it completely out of the bar. I swiped it back and told him to get lost. About an hour later, one of the girls with him came back to the bar frantically trying to find her wallet. She found it, only it was completely cleaned out. Her cash, credit cards, ID, everything was taken. He failed at stealing, and his friend turned out to be a victim. Gotta love karma.

So, I made it through another weird night working the door. I got to thinking how this job has changed my perspective. I remembered how there was once a time when closing down the bar bummed me out and the only cure for it was to head to Village Inn for some pancakes. Now, I find myself really wanting to get home as soon as possible, but only after making sure my friends are gonna get home safe..and I find myself sick of everyone else. I used to commiserate with total strangers as we were getting ushered out the door at closing time. Now, it's like "C'mon...those telephone poles aren't gonna hit themselves. Time to go, buddy!"