Thursday, June 22, 2006

Can't we all just get along? No

No class tonight; it's another "online class," which means we don't meet, and there's twice as much work to hand in next Tuesday. Naturally, I blew all that shit off and went to the Hangout. I met The Friar there. He's helping me with my upcoming court appointment, but it's coming down to the wire and I hope nothing goes wrong. Anyway, we played video games. Pubcrawlers Fat and Tall were there and horned in on our game. We had a round robin type session, with the sitting champion choosing the game and the challenger paying. After somehow beating Friar at one of the card games (just luck), I changed it to trivia and proceeded to kick each one of their metaphorical asses twice. Then my actual ass was tired of sitting at that stool, so I abdicated. Ah, brief shining glory.

To my surprise, Waitress T showed up (dolled up like Paris Hilton, and tantalizing Hangout's oafish and lecherous doorman something fierce). She was effusive and affectionate and insisted we need to hang out in the future, but I've come to realize that's just her way and she doesn't mean it. That's OK. It was Waitress W's birthday, and I would have bought her a drink, but her party headed out to some other place.

As I sat and talked to Friar and some of his band buddies, two fights nearly broke out by the pool table. A scrappy little fellow was being cantankerous and shoved one of his acquaintances and later tried to antagonize another. Both times it was because he felt he was being jerked around in the pool game. Oafish Doorman actually had to stand between them, the first time I've ever seen him do anything resembling bouncing (according to Feline, the Hangout waitress from this post, Oafish Doorman is a wimp; I can't speak to that, having seen him only lolling his eyes at the ladies and bumping his head on the overhead lights). For just a brief moment I felt an infinitesimal spark of what the Clublife guy feels every day. Sweet Shiva, if you get so riled up over a pool game with your peers that you feel you have to physically come to blows over it, hang it the fuck up and go home. Or better yet, join the army and take that aggression out in Iraq. (Waitress T was acquainted with the scrappy guy and said he was always a jerk after I told her about the pushing. Some people are just pricks, I guess.)

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