Thursday night drunken rant

Tonight was the closest Ive come to wanting to swear off going to the bar. Ever since I quit smoking, its been increasingly difficult for me to be in a smoke filled room and not feel the need to contribute to the pollution. That's not really what sparked my lack of interest in going to the bar, though.

I've found that my fuse has gotten much shorter as a result of quitting smoking. It's not because I'm going through withdrawals so much as I'm not distracted from all the idiotic things going on around me by having a controlled flame in my hands practically every moment I'm in there.

Last Saturday I divided my time between Arnie's and McNellie's. Arnie's wasn't a problem for me because the bands were playing outside in the parking lot. The smoke would disperse in the night air to the point that it wasn't noticeable. McNellie's wasn't too bad because they have good ventilation, more room and fewer smokers.

However, I had to leave Arnie's earlier than usual tonight. My sense of smell coming back has been simultaneously a blessing and a curse because I smell what how disgusting that shit is and what the habit centers of my brain has been missing these past couple of weeks. I find myself not ever wanting to be one of them again at the same time I want to be their leader.

So, instead, I find myself quietly seething at the other things. The little things I was able to laugh off as part of what goes on at the bar but now really bug the shit out of me. For example...

Whenever I would work the door, I'd have people ask why we cover up the shuffleboard table when there's a band on the weekends. I used to tell them it was because the band needed the space on top to place their amps and guitar cases. The truth of the matter is we kept it covered so the band wouldn't be interrupted by the sounds of jerk-offs screaming their heads off when they make a good shuffleboard move. Jesus Christ on a cracker, calm the fuck down, will ya? When a grown man shrieks like a giddy schoolgirl after scoring three fucking points on a warped table, making it seem like this is the be all end all of all existence, it obviously means he needs to get laid, and his behavior is only hindering that prospect.

Also, any asshole who tried to carry three pitchers of beer across a crowed bar room has forfeited the right to complain when he spills half of it when people bump into him or vice versa. Tonight, I was sitting at my table, on my barstool, not moving at all. All of a sudden, Skippy McShops-At-American-Eagle bumps his Miller Lite carrying arm into my shoulder, spilling a good portion of it on the floor. He shot me a dirty look, as if it was my fault. Gee, I've barely moved for a half an hour, doing nothing other than quietly drink my beer and occupy the same space for that time. I guess I was overdue to obstruct someone from their task. I guess next time, I'll try to use the smell of Axe body spray coming closer and closer as an early warning system and try to get out of the way.

Lastly, I've come to accept the fact that if you're downtown, you're gonna get harassed by a bum at some point. Tonight happened to be a bad night for them, apparently. Usually, they are waiting when you're leaving the bar. The general rule is that if you reach your car before they can say anything, they would leave you alone. Kinda like a schoolyard game of tag and your car is base. Every once and a while, you get the aggressive ones, the ones who won't let you go until you've heard their entire life story. Tonight, I got one of the more annoying passive aggressive ones. The way my truck was parked, I could only go forward to get out of the parking lot. So this lady bum stood in front of my truck to ask me for money so she could get some food. Forgiving the fact that she was three miles from the nearest open restaurant, I told her my usual line about paying with a credit card in the bar. Ever determined, she asked if I had any food. No, I didn't. Could I give her a ride to the bus station? No. Still, she won't move from the front of my truck. She gets two words into her next question before I rev my engine a few times, flick on the headlights and reach for the gear shift. That seemed to get my message across.

I guess I'm hoping that this whole short fused temper and not give a shit about anyone attitude will pass with time. I used to be so much more tolerant.