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Dirtbags, part 7

Started by Doktor Howl, July 13, 2015, 01:27:05 AM

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Doktor Howl

Little Saigon

Well, what CAN go wrong in a Vietnamese restaurant?  Especially a mom & pop outfit; the Vietnamese are mostly a quiet folk, at least here.  We went in, got seated, and ordered a late supper.  The place was almost empty, with only one other table being occupied.  There were 2 couples in their mid 50s sitting two tables over. 

One of the guys at the table was on one of those Rascal scooters, apparently not having bothered to transfer his bulk to a proper seat.  The back of the scooter seat had a Romney 2012 bumber sticker on it.  He was drunk and loud, braying on about "Obummer" and liberals.

Katie just smiled.  I glared at her...I was hungry, and I didn't want the ruckus to start before I ate.  Even 2 months after the event, it shocks me that I knew it was never an "if", but a "when".  Even knowing that, there really isn't an excuse for what happened.

Halfway through our meal, the lady owning the place flipped the open sign to close, but assured us that we had all the time we needed to eat our meal.  Her daughter came out of the kitchen with a 10 gallon empty rubber trashcan and a broom, obviously setting things up to clean the place when the last two tables left.

"HEY, DRAGON LADY!"  That was the fat guy on the scooter.  "CAN WE GET ANOTHER ROUND OF DRINKS HERE?"

The owner was behind the counter.  She looked up and said, "Sorry, it is 10 minutes past last call.  I cannot serve you more alcohol."

"OH, COME ON, NOBODY'S GONNA KNOW."  The guy was yelling like he was at a ballgame, even though he was maybe 20 feet away from her.

"Sorry."

Katie twitched.  Come on, just 5 more minutes here, lady.  I'm almost done with my dinner.

The fat man wasn't having it.  "FUCK YOU, LADY, GO BACK WHERE YOU CAME FROM."

The owner looked pissed.  "You leave right now."

"MAKE ME, YOU GOOK BITCH."

Bad move, fat man.  Katie was out of her seat and moving.  Fuck, no point fighting it now.

I jumped up and grabbed the trash can, as Katie walked up and smacked the fat guy across his face, and said, "You are in the wrong fucking century, you disgusting pig.  You shut your damn face."

The lady next to him burst out laughing.  The other couple looked mortified...In fact, it occurred to me that they hadn't said anything the whole time we were there.

"WHAT THE FUCK, YOU BITCH!"  Fat man started flailing his arms at Katie. 

I up-ended the trash can over his head and jammed it down over his shoulders.  Katie grabbed the broom and started hitting the trash can with it, swinging as fast as she could.  Thumpity thumpity thump.

"ARE YOU UNDERSTANDING ME?"  She screamed.  Thumpity thump.  "AM I GETTING THROUGH TO YOU?"  Thump thump thump.

I grabbed the backrest of his scooter with one hand, holding the garbage can with the other, and started backing up to the door, Katie whaling away at him the whole time.  The owner yanked the door open, and I hauled the fat man out onto the street.

"Your dinner is on the house," she said to me as I passed by, "You come back soon."  The door closed behind us, as Katie kept whacking on the trash can.  I heard the lock engage.  Glancing through the window, I saw the other three customers pulling out credit cards.  I hauled fatass around the side of the building, then walked back out to the street, leaned up against the building, and waited for Katie to finish explaining things.  There was some hollering and meaty-sounding thumping.

She walked out of the alleyway a few minutes later, smiling. 

"Okay, Dok, we're heading over to 6th avenue."

"Okay.  The fat guy alive?"

"Oh, sure.  He probably won't even need the hospital."

"What's on 6th avenue?"

"A party."

"Oh, dear."

"No, I'll behave.  I think I have it all out of my system now."

It turned out that she did.  The party was a collection of working artists, who made me feel very welcome.  I drank too much, but didn't manage to embarrass myself.  Some guy drove me home at some point.  I handed him some gas money and staggered into my house.

I woke up on the couch the next morning, with a 3 alarm hangover.  As I undressed to shower, I felt something in my pocket.  It was a note.

Dear Dok,

Quit that awful job.  It's more fun being a dirtbag.

Love, Katie.


And you know what?  She was right.

END




Molon Lube

Richter

 :lulz:

Beats what we did to the crustpunk the time he tried to dance on a table at the German Club hands DOWN
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on May 22, 2015, 03:00:53 AM
Anyone ever think about how Richter inhabits the same reality as you and just scream and scream and scream, but in a good way?   :lulz:

Friendly Neighborhood Mentat

Doktor Howl

Quote from: Richter on July 13, 2015, 02:23:03 AM
:lulz:

Beats what we did to the crustpunk the time he tried to dance on a table at the German Club hands DOWN

:lulz:

Do tell.  I can't imagine someone thinking that would be acceptable there.
Molon Lube

Richter

Quote from: Doktor Howl on July 13, 2015, 02:34:04 AM
Quote from: Richter on July 13, 2015, 02:23:03 AM
:lulz:

Beats what we did to the crustpunk the time he tried to dance on a table at the German Club hands DOWN

:lulz:

Do tell.  I can't imagine someone thinking that would be acceptable there.

They had a few bands.  One was decent high-speed rockabilly going by "The Throttles", but the main act completely got on my shit.

IT was some sort of reunion of the various band members.  Anything they could have gone onto was better.  The lead singer tried to establish street cred by describing the plight of his ancestors. 

I only got stinkeye for calling him out on cliff noting "Grapes of Wrath".

Their noise started.  People began yelling.  The fellow next to my ear pulling the shrill finger whistle after every song.  The bartender saw me about to blow, and subtly kaiboshed him with a bottle of Barenyager before I got there.  (Tipping pays off).  Then some demented crustpunk decided to start "skanking" on one of the folding plastic tables. 

I couldn't get through the crowd fast enough, but I have seldom sought divine favor to let me watch a fool break his own ass with gravity. 

The regulars got there first.  He was both up, and helped, with his ass subtly kicked for damaging the club property.

German efficiency  :lulz:
Quote from: Eater of Clowns on May 22, 2015, 03:00:53 AM
Anyone ever think about how Richter inhabits the same reality as you and just scream and scream and scream, but in a good way?   :lulz:

Friendly Neighborhood Mentat

Eater of Clowns

Quote from: Pippa Twiddleton on December 22, 2012, 01:06:36 AM
EoC, you are the bane of my existence.

Quote from: The Good Reverend Roger on March 07, 2014, 01:18:23 AM
EoC doesn't make creepy.

EoC makes creepy worse.

Quote
the afflicted persons get hold of and consume carrots even in socially quite unacceptable situations.

Doktor Howl

Quote from: Eater of Clowns on July 13, 2015, 03:17:41 AM
Such a fun series.  :lulz:

It was a fun night.  In a seedy, sordid kinda way. 

I was NOIR MAN!  Hear me mutter!
Molon Lube