All right. I took a break from the topic of the week. Back to the stories about single life in Connecticut and New York.
I worked at a sports bar in lovely downtown Stamford. Since I was a mere 20 years old, and unable to go out drinking for New Years Eve due to my fake ID that just fell out of a Cracker Jack box, I took a shift at work. I figured I would make decent cash. It wasn’t a bad decision.
A bunch of loud, obnoxious guys came in. I waited on them for the entire night, putting up with their abuse and such. Finally, they paid their bill but for some reason decided to rip my tip (a $20 I think) in 1000 pieces, on the table. Drunks. Sooooo frustrating.
Another waitress sees this and starts yelling at them. She got an early start on the night at the bar and was already drunk by the way. They basically told her to fuck off and ran out the front door. But she decided to head them off at the pass. She ran through the kitchen, grabbing a big plastic beer pitcher from the dishwasher as she ran. She bounded out the front of the kitchen, right by the front door where our friends were zipping up their coats and high fiving each other.
First you heard a guy say, “OH SHIT!” Then you heard a thud so loud that the people in the far reaches of the bar looked up. There ends up being a massive fight, one guy holding another back from jumping on the waitress, and the manager finally tosses them out the front door. End of story. Back to work.
I got home late that night and went straight to bed.
The next morning my brother said, “Hey, come look at the front page of the paper. Three guys got arrested on the sidewalk outside your bar last night. Apparently they came out of the front door loud and unruly and bumped into some other people and it turned into a massive brawl.”
Uh oh. Oops.