Every Thursday night I drink at the same bar. The bar plays the same songs, serves me the same cheap beer and shots, and generally raises my mood no matter how I am feeling.
But as is often the case with places that you consider your own personal haven, these wonderful times don't always last. And so my Thursday night dive bar is slowly and surely becoming more and more crowded every week with douchebags: frat boys, i-bankers, hipsters, et. al.
So this past Thursday I'm sitting at the bar waiting for some friends (who, as it turned out, never showed up. Fuckers), but I'm sitting at the bar, drinking my beer, and these frat boys surround my general location because there was space on either side of me on the bar.
I'm mildly claustrophobic, but more than that I just don't really like people that much. In particular, I don't like fucking idiots who continually slam in to me. And this frat pack was doing just that. And, more importantly, they were deliberately doing it to try to get me to move so that they could have more space.
Interestingly, I respect that. I have no problem with making someone uncomfortable to try to get more space for yourself. I mean, yes, I was there first by a lot, so it's poorly played, but still, read my Subway Etiquette Lessons and you'll see similar things to that.
Now, and here's the thing, not only were these guys twatwaffles extraordinaire, but they also came in to a bar in New York City wearing St. Louis Cardinals jersies. Thankfully, there was no particular animosity against the Cards that night because the Mets/Cards game had been rained out. There was, however, lots and lots of general animosity because I love the mother fuckin Amazin's and last fall is not far enough away to be forgotten.
So, they tried to move me, and I did not budge. And unfortunately for them, and as it turns out, for me, I was not going to move under any circumstance. So, they eventually stopped trying to pummel me and got to the drinking.
And now, finally, we get to this week's Douchebag of the Weak. There are 4 of these jackasses, and they order shots of Jim Beam. One of them, this week's distinguished recipient, pussies out on the Beam and asks for Cuervo instead. He's wearing his grey Cardinals jersey and generally sucking at life directly behind me, while one of his friends is to my left hitting on this chick and his other two friends are to my right, one behind me, and one next to me. So, they pass this fucker his Cuervo and what does he promptly do while his friends are readying their Beams? He spills most of it on my back.
And, that, in and of itself, is not so bad. What was bad was that he then made no attempt or effort to apologize. Not even a pretense of being sorry about it. His friend to my left also took my Beam shot that I had been waiting on, and his friend to my right, seeing an extra shot of the ones he bought offers me my own Beam shot as an apology. And that's fucked.
And I said to him, "I don't need another shot, I'm already wearing one. Thanks though."
And he says back to me, "You don't have to be a dick about it, man." As if it was possible for me to be a dick about getting a shot of tequila spilled on MY FUCKING BACK.
Oh, but the dude to my left did then buy my next $2 beer on him and apologized for his friends. Also, he wasn't wearing a St. Louis jersey. So he was ok.