tellhimfred.com

In my last post, I explained that the search is on for a new local establishment where I can have a few beers, play a little keno, and watch a game or two. Well, last night Hoffa and I decided to check out a place that seemed to fit my stringent requirements, The Wave.

If you read the last post, you may have noticed the following bullet point in my requirements:

• Some degree of danger and uncertainty

Well, let’s talk about that for a second.

First, the Wave is located in a nondescript industrial-type park, fairly off the beaten path. This type of location usually lends itself to a diverse range of sketchy people, which is exactly what I want. And I was not disappointed.

When Hoffa and I arrived, the bar was a bit crowded, so we opted for a table near the dedicated Keno TV. He sat down and checked out the Karaoke book, as he wanted to impress the crowd with his self-described “unfair” vocal stylings. This is where things take a turn.

I ordered us a pitcher of Stella for $13 and handed the gentleman a 20. I then took out another 20 and placed it directly ontop of my keno card, as I was going to play 10 games at $1 each. It was DIRECTLY in front of me. The bartender handed me my change and the pitcher along with 2 glasses.

In the time it took me to turn around to hand the glasses to Hoffa, the 20 dollar bill on top of the keno ticket mysteriously disappeared.

In a situation like this, I always want to make sure I didn’t do anything with the missing item before making allegations. I am known to be a dipshit, and often pick things up and place them elsewhere almost subconsciously, so I checked my pockets quickly.

The bartender then asked “Do you want me to play that ticket for you?”

“Just a second,” I answered, hoping I’d just dropped the 20.

The gentleman directly to my left and his “wife” looked sketchy as hell, and I noticed him placing something in his jeans pocket. It was abundantly clear that this scumbag swiped my 20. There was no one to my right, no one behind me, no one else in the immediate vicinity that could possibly have stolen the 20 in the few seconds it took to make the handoff to Hoffa. It would have been physically impossible.

I was angry.

I told Hoffa about what had just happened, and he planned on stabbing the guy in the neck with a pen. I thought he was just joking. That’s foreshadowing.

Now, this is the point in the story where you ask yourself: “Why didn’t you walk up and punch the guy in the throat?”

I’m glad you asked.

See, this was the second time I’ve been in the bar, the first on a weekend night. As a veteran of sketchy and sometimes dangerous establishments, I have some experience in matters like this. And the first thing you want to find out is whether the person you wish to confront is a regular. If this had occured in Bill Ash’s Lounge and I confronted a regular, I would be writing the post from my grave.

So I formulated a plan. But not before Hoffa decided to take action.

The scumbag thief got up and walked to the men’s room, and Hoffa followed. I yelled to him “Hoffa, get back here.” He forged ahead. I yelled a few more times, but he just kept walking.

He would later tell me that he was about to put a pen to the neck of the guy while he was standing at the urninal, demanding the 20 back. But when he heard me yelling to him, he decided this wasn’t the best idea.

I made eye contact with the bartender and pointed off to the side. He followed my lead and came around to talk to me.

“Hey. Is that guy in the blue shirt a regular?” I asked.
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen the guy, and I’m about to cut him off.” He answered.
“Well, I just wanted to know, because he stole my 20 that I’d put ontop of the keno ticket when I ordered our pitcher.”
“You know, I thought you’d put money on top of that, but then I didn’t see it. I’m sorry about that, man. He’s been here for hours and the lady he’s with was just slapping him in the face and screaming at him before you guys got here. I’m going to kick him out now. Your next round is on the house.”

He then informed the guy that he had to leave, and that he saw him stealing my money. The guy didn’t say a thing, got up and left. Hoffa and I followed him out, but with the bouncers with us, there wasn’t much point in saying or doing anything.

There are two points to this story:

1) I would have loved to have said or done something to that piece of shit for stealing my cash, but prior experience tells me that I need to get a feel for a place before doing something like that.

2) Big ups to the guys at the wave. I like the way they handled the situation.

The wave is now high in the running for my new local. And I can’t wait to see that guy again.

HOFFA’S NOTE:

I really did want to stick a pen in this guy’s neck, but I totally wasn’t going to stab him, just press the point of it up against his jugular while he whizzed on his pants, and tell him that he better go buy sick orphans some teddy bears with the 20 he just palmed off the bar, because if I found out he bought meth for his skank, I was going to ventilate his spleen.

I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. But Barry sounded pretty serious about me not doing that, so I let it go. I think we scared him pretty bad anyway.