You Know It’s Time to Get Out of Dodge

There’s seven customers in your favorite dive bar (including yourself). The census...

One obnoxious drunk sitting at the bar attempting to insult the girls on stage. Occasionally “succeeding” when he doesn’t manage to slur or forget most of the words. The bar tender was helping him out by selling him drinks.

Next: Three bikers wearing their colors and a woman accompanying them, also sitting at the bar. The most attractive dancer is spending most of her off-stage time fondling the woman’s tits. Two of the bikers aren’t contributing to the dancers’ tip walk because “We’re not tipping. We just got out of jail today. All I can do is slide my Green Dot down your ass.”

Also: One big black dude sitting on the other side of the floor, near the restrooms and with his back to the wall. The way some of the dancers hover around him, I’m guessing he’s a drug dealer. A large sack of food is delivered to his table; must have been at least $60 worth of food. He calls a somewhat unattractive dancer off stage in the middle of her set to go pay for it. It seems the delivery guy is waiting outside; someone says he’s too afraid to enter the club.

No idea how she’s going to pay for it. (The dancers have been thanking me for tipping because I’m the only one tipping. But there’s no way my $1/song is going to cover the order and she doesn’t seem to be the sort to be capable of bringing cash into the club.) She walks over to him for a minute and I guess the matter got resolved. I didn’t want to be too obvious with eavesdropping.

I’m watching all of this from the other side of the floor too, sitting with my back to the other end of the wall and, more importantly, two step from the emergency exit. Praying that it will open if I need it to.

I decide to cut my visit short. I couldn’t help having a feeling that a 2AMer might be in the making and arrive early. But part of me also wanted to stay: Couldn’t help but think this might end up being another verse in Billy Joel’s “Piano Man”