"Other night, things got weird. Started the evening before, when I said out loud, 'I ain't into all that. You wanna put the girl inna basement and rape her -- you're fucking disgusting. And I will kill you when you go to the bathroom.' Maybe them five boys were all just joking. (I don't mind dark humor. I've been known to craft a bit myself: how much does a German birthday cost? About a thousand gold teeth.) But there are some things, sometimes, I just plain don't want to hear. So I put my two cents in.
"Then today, back at the same bar -- it's my fucking local watering hole anyhow -- this fat sow who was with them boys starts shouting at me, 'You got a lotta nerve coming back here. Talkin' 'bout rape and all." -- turns to her buddy, a glassy eyed Mexican fellow -- 'This assholes comes in here last night, starts yelling 'bout rape basements and what all the fuck.
We was just jokin'. Me, Josh, Demmy, Flip, Paul, and Sando. Sez we got no right. Like he's got the bar lady to himself.' --turns back to holler straight at me -- 'She ain't gonna fuck you, ya fucking weirdo. You should apologize to me. I'm offended.'
"So I went over to her. Sat down in the stool next and said as politely as I could, 'I am sincerely sorry if I offended you ma'am. I didn't mean to make things unpleasant. I mistook, what you say was and I got no reason to doubt you, joking for something serious. I apologize for ruining your night.'
"Her face twists up into this grin only the Michelin man could mimic and says, 'That's fine.' I'm on my way, getting up to go back to my beer, when she adds, 'You should know better is all.'
'I'm willing to apologize, not hear a lecture.'
'You should. Sos you'd be a better person ya sorry motherfucker.'
"With a sigh, I take that seat again. Looking her straight in those dumb glazed bovine orbs, the kind only a true heffer can own, I say, 'I am sorry... for all the things I've seen. I'm sorry for all the things I've said. I'm sorry for the way I am; and I'll probably die sorry. But that doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do with myself, you fucking cunt.'
"The Mexican fella starts to get involved (as I'd expect a decent sort to do at that point -- cunt coming out and all.).
He shakes his head, 'There's no need for that.' A difference of opinion I suppose. Not wanting to start trouble with him -- his friends are his business, and I ain't about to beat a man for standing up to cunt talk (even when it is appropriate) -- I simply head back to my beer. The cow mooed a few times more, but eventually, she ran outta breath, let the matter slide.
"Mary-Ann, the bartender, comes over to whisper, "You don't have to defend this place. We're used to drunk assholes."
"I can't help smiling and saying, 'I will miss this: our back and forth.'
'Why you gonna miss it?'
'Because I won't be able to stick around.'
"She folds her arms across her chest, 'How's that?'
'Cuz Ima kill that fat cunt when she goes to the bathroom. Probably have to get rid of her friend too.'
"Mary-Ann laughs a bit, not knowing I'm serious, and says, 'Well, then you should wait a bit. Those friends of hers are coming in a little bit. Heard her sayin'.'
"I take a sip and nod then say, 'Well, that's all right. I can take care of the whole damn sick crew.'
"Not much later her friends all arrive. The same host of people. She jabbers at 'em right away, gesturing her swinging flab towards me. I just drank my beer quietly. They all look at me, shake their heads. I'm the sad old fucker who doesn't know when to let the kids play. Maybe that's right. I never had to say anything, but then neither did they; We're all guilty of what we are. I suppose after forty-five years I shoulda learned to be more accommodating. Let things slide more often. I do. At least, I've been known to. However, some matters I just can't abide. And I know a fucking joke when I hear it.
"I went out for a smoke, using the cigarette as an excuse to go to my car. Got a box cutter outta the glove box. First one of them went to take a piss, I followed him in. Got 'em all in the long run. Made one red hell of a mess in the bathroom.
But I got 'em."
I don't necessarily buy Pete's story out right. Not till he shows me the box cutter, still in his pocket, covered in red. I say red on the off chance it's all bullshit. Who knows how much a mail carrier is daydreaming? Maybe it's all some elaborate game, or prank, or fuck all I don't know. Definitely looked like blood, to be perfectly honest. So I went to Rachel, my supervisor, the minute I could duck away from the front, and told her, "I quit."
"Then today, back at the same bar -- it's my fucking local watering hole anyhow -- this fat sow who was with them boys starts shouting at me, 'You got a lotta nerve coming back here. Talkin' 'bout rape and all." -- turns to her buddy, a glassy eyed Mexican fellow -- 'This assholes comes in here last night, starts yelling 'bout rape basements and what all the fuck.
We was just jokin'. Me, Josh, Demmy, Flip, Paul, and Sando. Sez we got no right. Like he's got the bar lady to himself.' --turns back to holler straight at me -- 'She ain't gonna fuck you, ya fucking weirdo. You should apologize to me. I'm offended.'
"So I went over to her. Sat down in the stool next and said as politely as I could, 'I am sincerely sorry if I offended you ma'am. I didn't mean to make things unpleasant. I mistook, what you say was and I got no reason to doubt you, joking for something serious. I apologize for ruining your night.'
"Her face twists up into this grin only the Michelin man could mimic and says, 'That's fine.' I'm on my way, getting up to go back to my beer, when she adds, 'You should know better is all.'
'I'm willing to apologize, not hear a lecture.'
'You should. Sos you'd be a better person ya sorry motherfucker.'
"With a sigh, I take that seat again. Looking her straight in those dumb glazed bovine orbs, the kind only a true heffer can own, I say, 'I am sorry... for all the things I've seen. I'm sorry for all the things I've said. I'm sorry for the way I am; and I'll probably die sorry. But that doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do with myself, you fucking cunt.'
"The Mexican fella starts to get involved (as I'd expect a decent sort to do at that point -- cunt coming out and all.).
He shakes his head, 'There's no need for that.' A difference of opinion I suppose. Not wanting to start trouble with him -- his friends are his business, and I ain't about to beat a man for standing up to cunt talk (even when it is appropriate) -- I simply head back to my beer. The cow mooed a few times more, but eventually, she ran outta breath, let the matter slide.
"Mary-Ann, the bartender, comes over to whisper, "You don't have to defend this place. We're used to drunk assholes."
"I can't help smiling and saying, 'I will miss this: our back and forth.'
'Why you gonna miss it?'
'Because I won't be able to stick around.'
"She folds her arms across her chest, 'How's that?'
'Cuz Ima kill that fat cunt when she goes to the bathroom. Probably have to get rid of her friend too.'
"Mary-Ann laughs a bit, not knowing I'm serious, and says, 'Well, then you should wait a bit. Those friends of hers are coming in a little bit. Heard her sayin'.'
"I take a sip and nod then say, 'Well, that's all right. I can take care of the whole damn sick crew.'
"Not much later her friends all arrive. The same host of people. She jabbers at 'em right away, gesturing her swinging flab towards me. I just drank my beer quietly. They all look at me, shake their heads. I'm the sad old fucker who doesn't know when to let the kids play. Maybe that's right. I never had to say anything, but then neither did they; We're all guilty of what we are. I suppose after forty-five years I shoulda learned to be more accommodating. Let things slide more often. I do. At least, I've been known to. However, some matters I just can't abide. And I know a fucking joke when I hear it.
"I went out for a smoke, using the cigarette as an excuse to go to my car. Got a box cutter outta the glove box. First one of them went to take a piss, I followed him in. Got 'em all in the long run. Made one red hell of a mess in the bathroom.
But I got 'em."
I don't necessarily buy Pete's story out right. Not till he shows me the box cutter, still in his pocket, covered in red. I say red on the off chance it's all bullshit. Who knows how much a mail carrier is daydreaming? Maybe it's all some elaborate game, or prank, or fuck all I don't know. Definitely looked like blood, to be perfectly honest. So I went to Rachel, my supervisor, the minute I could duck away from the front, and told her, "I quit."
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