Ok, so to review.
I’m in a sleazy, shithole dive. Bouve just made a grown man cry. And then everybody laughed at him. A bunch of strangers think I’m a cop. I still don’t know how that held up when everything else was exposed.
Bouve’s best friend is passed out on the bar. Did I mention I always thought L was meek & mild? Or that his 18 year old daughter was working the party in the back that night, as a waitress?
We go back to drinking, and A-Hole’s buddies are now friendly towards us, I have no idea why.
There are a bunch of drunk Vietnamese guys in the corner. Young enough that they were probably born here, or came over very, very young. They are disturbing L, who is finally awake, by badmouthing his adopted country. L is now building up a head of steam, with nowhere to release it. So we do what comes naturally, and buy him drinks. His daughter goes out for a cigarette and hey, guess what? L’s gets a chance for his catalyst to explode.
Two of the Vietnamese guys were out there too, and apparently started touching her. She comes in pissed off, and tells a friend. Who tells two friends. Who tell 2 more friends. Who tell L. Who goes outside.
This is just a typical bar fight story; move along if you are bored. The kind of bar fight I have almost always successfully avoided, with good reason.
Well…
Normally, not my problem, I’m not in high school, I don’t need to see this shit. Until Bouve hears “L’s mixing it up outside” from a stranger in the bar.
His best friend, his brother in arms, his foxhole buddy. A 55 year old guy Army sergant. Pavlov just rang Bouve’s bell.
Bouve HAS to go. Shit shit shit. Now I gotta go too now. Just to keep a voice of reason out there. Good frigging luck.
Praise Vishnu this just got interesting, to me.
Showing posts with label barfight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label barfight. Show all posts
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Just a story
So I had a special, special evening with my brother-in-law Bouve a few years ago. Many of my best campfire stories involve Bouve in one form or another. This is one.
We had a nice Christmas celebration in beautiful, downtown New Beffa with the in-laws. Bouve & I only snuck across the street to the bar twice, leaving the women to fend for themselves. You know the drill. 47 women, 2 men. We become ghosts, or drunk & obnoxious. Drunk & obnoxious doesn’t sit well at the Christmas meal, so we fled.
Things wrapped up, and Bouve says “Hey, my Army Buddy owns a bar, let’s go see him, and L” (another army buddy, one of his closest friends, a plus fifty, 5 foot 1 Filipino who loves the USA more than orgasms; his name is withheld to protect the guilty as hell)
It’s a Saturday night, family night is over, and we hadn’t hung out in months, so of course I said yes. We drive over to Providence, and walk into this tiny, dark, dank bar. The first thing I notice is the ceilings are about 3 inches over my head. And greasy.
The second thing I notice is L, head down on the bar, asleep.
There is some sort of party going on in the back room, so we belly up to the bar. Bouve is in his element, and we start pounding drinks. His buddy, the owner, gives Bouve a job to do.
Apparently one of the regulars is a complete douche bag, and about 4 years behind on child support. Bouve is an MP in the RI National Guard, just back from Iraq about 5 minutes, as is the owner. L had gone to the First Iraq war. They all look the part. I look like me.
Bouve’s job is to tell the A-hole that he is RI State Police, and he is being arrested for child support violations. My job is to get his back. Everybody else’s job is apparently to watch and laugh.
A-hole has 2 buddies, his brother, and some other guy.
Long story short, Bouve rides him like a drill sergeant till he cries. No shit. He tells him we are state police, his kid’s eating generic saltines for Christmas while he’s out drinking, and a lot more effective stuff, and the guy eventually cries. I stand there and give his buddies the stink eye, and tell them that there’s nothing for them to do here, and they should go concern themselves with something else while my partner discusses the situation with him.
The upshot of this story, other than don’t ever get into a psyche-war with Bouve, is that half the bar now knows I am RI State Police. Which, of course, I'm not.
The rest of this soon
We had a nice Christmas celebration in beautiful, downtown New Beffa with the in-laws. Bouve & I only snuck across the street to the bar twice, leaving the women to fend for themselves. You know the drill. 47 women, 2 men. We become ghosts, or drunk & obnoxious. Drunk & obnoxious doesn’t sit well at the Christmas meal, so we fled.
Things wrapped up, and Bouve says “Hey, my Army Buddy owns a bar, let’s go see him, and L” (another army buddy, one of his closest friends, a plus fifty, 5 foot 1 Filipino who loves the USA more than orgasms; his name is withheld to protect the guilty as hell)
It’s a Saturday night, family night is over, and we hadn’t hung out in months, so of course I said yes. We drive over to Providence, and walk into this tiny, dark, dank bar. The first thing I notice is the ceilings are about 3 inches over my head. And greasy.
The second thing I notice is L, head down on the bar, asleep.
There is some sort of party going on in the back room, so we belly up to the bar. Bouve is in his element, and we start pounding drinks. His buddy, the owner, gives Bouve a job to do.
Apparently one of the regulars is a complete douche bag, and about 4 years behind on child support. Bouve is an MP in the RI National Guard, just back from Iraq about 5 minutes, as is the owner. L had gone to the First Iraq war. They all look the part. I look like me.
Bouve’s job is to tell the A-hole that he is RI State Police, and he is being arrested for child support violations. My job is to get his back. Everybody else’s job is apparently to watch and laugh.
A-hole has 2 buddies, his brother, and some other guy.
Long story short, Bouve rides him like a drill sergeant till he cries. No shit. He tells him we are state police, his kid’s eating generic saltines for Christmas while he’s out drinking, and a lot more effective stuff, and the guy eventually cries. I stand there and give his buddies the stink eye, and tell them that there’s nothing for them to do here, and they should go concern themselves with something else while my partner discusses the situation with him.
The upshot of this story, other than don’t ever get into a psyche-war with Bouve, is that half the bar now knows I am RI State Police. Which, of course, I'm not.
The rest of this soon
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