Friday, March 26, 2010

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs....

Do you ever notice all the warning signs we have, because of dumasses? They had to even go and make universal blue picture signs so that even the biggest dumbass can understand. The restroom signs... with a woman with a skirt and the freakishly straight and skinny guy in pants. The blue wheelchair sign in front of the parking space you so desperately want. The red and white no parking signs, the white and black suggested speed limit sign. Let's not even go into the yellow and black signs.

So walk to my bar and I have signs that are required by law, and that must be in a certain font and size, and must be readable from outside the premises by so many feet away. Inside, I have to post a sign that says you shouldn't drink while pregnant or your kid maybe the next gold medalist in the special olympics. The sales tax sign that says (in exatly 1 and 1/2 inches in Times New Roman) that the drink prices include sales tax, which must be placed in an obvious area near the register. By law I also have to post my liquor license, my license that allows you to sing publicly, my license that allows you to dance, my food license, my cigarette license, my business license, the sign that says the door must remain unlocked during business hours, the fire extinguisher signs, the lighted exit signs, and the signs in the bathrooms that tell my employees to wash their hands after wiping their ass. You really need a sign for that?

Then there are the signs that I am encouraged to put up by the authorities or insurance companies. Wet floor, Don't Drink and Drive, the Alcohol Consumption Chart, the Tripping Hazard Sign, the no loitering sign, the tow away sign. Then there is the advertisments which sell every type of beer or liquor you can imagine. It's fucking crazy.

No wonder I am a stress case. So I was having one of those days that if you even tried to talk to me about some stupid ass shit, I would rip your fucking head off. So I'm just trying to sit in my corner and relax for a little while. Maybe get a chance to talk to the few people who don't make me want to shove ice picks in my ears. I get about and hour of non-aggravation in, when I see mr preppy who just walked in, take a big old punch across the bar at my bartender. I'm already out of my seat before my bartender could call for me. I get face to face with the guy and realize he's about 6'4" and 260. A physically fit stud. I am so fucking glad that he is so fucking drunk that I am amazed that he can stand upright.

I think I actually scared him because he never met someone bigger than him. Thank God he didn't realize my fat ass can't fight, although, I am damn good at grabbing and holding on for dear life! The buddy he is with, has obviously done this before because he is extremely adept at talking him out the door. It clearly wasn't his first rodeo.

So it was kind of cool that when I returned, my bartender still had his ID and credit card, when I noticed the 8"X11" sign that is in Size 24, Ariel Font, located within 3' from the main entryway and 48 inches above the floor, in highly contrasting black and white, that said that:

"By entering this establishment, you agree to the following automatic charges to your credit card. $100 for attempting to punch an employee, or $500 for making contact."

It may not standup, but I'm going to have fun with it...

Sunday, March 14, 2010


My bar is in a working class community. I can pick a tweaker out a mile away (with one exception which I will tell you in the future) But I first got my taste of what coke looks like. Let me interject that I have never done a drug harder than hash. Which I think is just concentrated pot. But the pot I smoke, which I have been known to smoke once in awhile before bedtime, is usually far better. Other than that, I have never tried meth, coke, pcp, shrooms, or even ecstacy.

So last night it was slow. But it was super stupid, although not as bad as two weeks ago. I think every week shows just how fucking stupid humanity has become. The neighboring business had a plumbing clog, so they had a plumber cleaning out all the lines. About 50 gallons of sewer water (which would be almost all food) came out of the drain in the parking lot. So boy wonder starts bitching how the water got on his tires and how he was going to sue. Not my problem as it had nothing to do with my business. But boy wonder decides it must be criminal and calls the police. So that is another service call to my business and the cop is rightfully pissed. He tells one of my employees it is the stupidest call he has ever been on in his career. I can't say I disagree with that assessment.

Normally I would toss that person for GP. But he has been a great customer. So I don't know what I am going to do.

So I roll into the bar around 9:30pm and as expected because of the local events, it was slow.

We had been watching this guy all night. He didn't do any thing wrong, but he stuck out. Usually it would be what clothes he was wearing or how he was acting. But he was perfectly cleancut and not doing anything wrong. I had called my cab and walked out to wait for my ride, only to find my three doormen about ready to call the police because Mr Cleancut wouldn't leave. I still don't know what got him kicked out but when I saw him it was obvious he was out of control and spinning very hard on something.

I made the fake call to the cops. After years, I can be pretty damn convincing. I can't act, but I have played this role so long, I should get an award. I even make sure I hit a button to show that the light is on and it appears a call is taking place. Me and the dispatcher that doesn't exist have weird difficult conversations. Now I am am usually playing to a drunk audience and they are completely convinced that the cops are coming for their ass. Well at least 95% of the time.

This night, he heard me and walked down the street. But lo and behold he was back 5 minutes later. He was screaming about us refusing to give him back his car key. I'm not really sure how we got it, but if you are even close to appearing intoxicated, we won't give you your car key back.

He was more fidgety than a cat and jumping up and down on his truck bed. Since my doormen had failed, I figured I didn't have much to lose trying to talk to him. But whenever I got within 20 feet of him, he started to freak out. Screaming, telling, claiming I was out to get him.

Well obviously this wasn't going to workout. So I finally dialed the PD myself. And Mr. Sean O'Conner, thought I was bluffing and yelled everything I needed to say to the dispatcher. So we sat there quietly awaiting the PD. I'm guessing they were busy as it took them awhile. But when the PD rolled up Mr Oconner, decided it was smart to run across four lanes of traffic to get away. Up a hill that had no exit.

The PD didn't even run after him. Just a quick walk. After a few minutes they brought him bcak and asked me if we had a hose. We thought he had spit or puked on the back of the patrol car. So I yelled at my doorman to get the hose or a couple pitchers of water. Now my doormen are good. They are used to dealing with the everyday drunk/tweaker. Yet they aren't the brightest when it comes to thinking for themselves.

What do they do? They bring out two pitchers of water full of ice, like they are waiters. I can only look at them and ask why they think we may need ice water? Are we going to have a party in the lot? And the guests need their water glasses filled?

So after they finally bring me a couple of pitchers of tap water do I realize, Mr O'conner got a taste of the capsium spray. It's amazing how this spray can tame the wildest of assholes. If I could use it, I would probably spray 10% of my customers in a given night.

He is now way cool as I poured the water over his eyes and kept telling him to blink to wash it out. All of a sudden, he was the most appreciative guy I ever met. But then when the pain subsided just enough, he became Mr dumbass again.

Other than going to jail, I don't know what happened to him. I only found out later he was looking for Crack. No one, including my employees, dared to come near me during this, so I only found out later. I'm glad I finally got to see it and reconize it, but a crackhead in "White Pride" community, scare the fuck out of me.

Thursday, March 11, 2010


The economy has hurt us all and some competitors have reached the point where they are selling dope to try and survive. I will will go bankrupt and pay for the rest of my life before I ever do that. When I say dope, I mean meth. If I keep this blog up, I will undoubtedly bitch about this drug over and over.

I had read some stupid statistic that meth had killed about 300 people the year before. Bullshit! They say about 450,000 people die a year because of cigarette smoke. I don't deny that number as both my parents died from smoking. (and it is what I expect to die from) One at 62 and one at 79. Yet in 7 years I have seen at least 6 people in their 30's or 40's die from meth. I am sure there are more. But these are the people I know for sure.

Anita is giving me a ride home, and will most likely spend the night. We are just a block away from my house and I am getting happier by the second. Then her phone rings.

She utters a few uhh huhhss and passes my street without even looking at me. She starts to speed up and I have no clue what is going on.

"They called an ambulance for Simpson"

"What's going on?"

"I don't know. That was his roomate. And someone needs to get his son"


We finally find the exact address of the apartment complex and run up to the door. I knew this area from when I was younger and delivered pizzas. That was maybe a decade or so ago. And it didn't look like they did much maintenance since the last time I had been here. As we ran up, even though it was in the middle of the night, I noticed the pool was greener than grass in a spring meadow.

I barely noticed the cop standing outside when we got to the door. Looking in we can see him inside watching the paramedics do full CPR on him.

I don't really want to watch so I start talking to the cop as I am drinking buddies with most of his superiors. I let him know we are only there for the kid. He is somewhat greatful. He can't release him to us, but he would rather have someone else take care of the kid than the roomate. Just about this time, I see the "roomate" come out of his room followed by the skank that he was fucking. It just so happens, the roomate picked her up at my bar an hour or two earlier.

He wants nothing to do with the kid. He went through Simpson's phone and dialed the first number he reconized. That was Anita...

It's about this time that the first paramedic/firefighter walks out and being the callous ass that I am, I ask him if there is any chance. I guess he saw me talking to the cop and gave me a real answer. Smiling, he said "we got him back, but he is circling the drain".

Anita just looked at me because she didn't understand. I had to explain that he was alive but would probably be dead by the time he got to the hospital. He ultimately made it a few more hours before he died.

He was neither the first or last meth user I saw die. Just the one that fucked me up the most watching his 7 year old son, being kept away from watching his father die.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Women.... (You won't find any answers here!)

I like strong independant women! I like it even more when they can be... comfortable with being equals. Women like to get dressed up and act like women. Men SOMETIMES like to act like men. Fighting is not how real men act! I want a women to wake me up to check out the sound that the dryer is making because the dial got stuck!

I lived with a woman I was utterly and completely in love with. She didn't quite feel the same way. Not even close. She was stubborn beyond belief. It pissed her off because I would apparently wake up whenever she even had to go pee. It's probably true. I just don't rememeber it...

As many flaws I have, (and I got a lot!) I never expected this one to bother a woman...

Friday, March 5, 2010


I own a bar

I have a blog on my bar's, myspace page. It has about 4 regular readers. I just want to write my thoughts here, as I really don't have anywhere else to let them out. It's not for you, but me. I only write when I am drunk... so my grammer, syntax, punctuation or spelling is probably fucked up. You may find my thoughts, stories and lies boring or poorly told. I love the art of the story teller. And I hope by this, I can improve my story telling skills.

My bar is in the Ronald Reagan portion of California. More precisely, the Jesse James portion. More specifically, the wannabe Jesse James portion. In the very unlikely event that any person who knows me, my bar or any of my stories... I will never use a real name in my posts.

My bartender tells me tonight, that she is afraid she maybe pregnant. It's her unemployed... ex-con... dirt-bag husband... who hasn't worked in a year's fault!!!

Lack of responsibility pisses me off.. "SO STACY... YOU ARE FUCKING 30! YOU USE BIRTH CONTROL... RIGHT?" "Well yeah.. I use the rhythm method." I ask if she knows what they call people who use the rhythm method? "Nooooo..." "PARENTS!"

"BUT IT IS STILL HIS FAULT!!! she declares..." Ok Stacy, how is it his fault when you should know your cycle as well as he does? "BECAUSE WHEN I AM OVULATING AND HE IS READY TO CUM, HE ALWAYS LETS ME KNOW AND I STICK IT IN MY ASS OR SUCK IT CLEAN! BUT HE CAME INSIDE!!!"

ok then...