Good Samaritan Bar
12-22-05, 11:15 AM

This story should be about how I explained to the hair stylist how in great detail I wanted my hair to be cut and ended-up nearly bald: the Brad Pitt look without the face nor body or Angelina Jolie by my side. This excerpt should also be about how I purchased an incredible $500, black, leather coat for only $178.00 because of 50% sale plus 10% off for opening an account, a 5% off coupon in addition to $50 off coupon received in the mail. I also could have wrote about: how I was challenged and nearly attacked by raccoon that I stumbled over while jogging in the park on a moonless night. However, none of these quaint episodes measure to my night at the bar.

�Shit-for-brains-former-jock co-worker� must have called my cell phone eight times throughout the night looking for me. Finally, on the eighth attempt, I answered while jogging through the park explaining I would arrive in roughly forty-five minutes. After showering and changing into bar drinking clothes, clothes that I don�t care about absorbing stale cigarette smoke, I rushed to the local bar and sat directly across from the �Shit-for-brains-former-jock co-worker� who didn�t recognize me with my Brad Pitt hair-cut minus the body and face. Finally, I walked over and plopped myself down to his surprised blank stare that connoted the thought: you look familiar but I don�t recognize you.

�I told you it was a crap cut.�

�Well that�s the style these days. Twenty year old girls, for some reason, like that look. Greg wears it that way and he has a stripper girl-friend.�

�She�s everyone�s girlfriend and I�m nowhere near twenty.�

�Well, you can always tell the girls you just got back from Iraq.�

Mindless discussions continued and down to the point where we considered leaving until a young group of people came in for their office Christmas party. At a minimum, we could deduce it was a post-Christmas party because who would come to dive like this for their holiday party?

We stared and ogled at the pretty girls who would love to be with Brad Pitt�s hair, face and body but I only had one out of the three criteria which doesn�t measure up to Meatloaf�s minimum criteria of �Two Out of Three Ain�t Bad.� The women returned my flirtatious glances with a hinting smile of interest or were simply looking beyond me at the large screen, television playing the first episode of �Lost�.

We noted the group�s particular style of clothing and guessed that they worked in a call center or for a radio station because they were eclectic with 80�s dresses, gothic, rat tails, mullets, country red flames like Garth or a very, sexy black dress. One woman, twenty-three or so, could have been model material and threw herself at the Boss. We knew he was the Boss because he announced himself as such and three other women clung to him, as well as a sycophant guy hanging on to his every word and laughing with a bit too much gusto. The sycophant was also the only one of the group not drinking and following proper Christmas Office Party etiquette in order to save face the next day.

Being locals at the bar, we sat at the corner of the bar such we could easily observe the room and hopefully catch someone�s eye or join in a conversation. Masters of observation, we noted the �sycophant, face-saving guy� was sweating profusely for no apparent reason. He stood and attempted to walk to his group when he fell face first into the floor with a dull thud.

The Manager/cook about ten feet away didn�t rush to his rescue but rather sat calmly at the table and said, �Wow, he must be allergic to something.�

I nonchalantly suggested to the bartender, �Hey, do you think you have a cold wash clothe for the guy over there on the floor?� as my co-worker continued drinking his beer and commenting on the women.

Good Samaritans were not present in this bar and jumping to his rescue. This is a beer-drinking, whiskey-swilling dive bar. The people are there for a single purpose�to drink. Eventually, one of the girls from his party helped the sycophant walk to a table where he continued to drip. One of the less drunk women decided that they should call 911 because it wasn�t normal for someone to just pass-out in a bar� at least pass-out without drinking.

Without missing a beat, the bartender continued to mix drinks and pour beers while disinterested patrons proceded with the business of drinking and not caring the barrel-chested, police arrived followed by the paramedics.

What did I do? Even though I had six beers, enough for a good buzz, I opened my cell phone pretending to document the scenario but focused upon her � the twenty-three model like woman. Two other creepy locals, much like myself, were quite please with the zoom function of our cells and her plunging neck-line.

I really need to leave Kentucky or, at a minimum, find a better bar or be a better person.

Yesterday - Tomorrow