Quote:
Originally Posted by Gravdigr
I got thrown out of a bar in New York City.
Words were exchanged, and Billy Joe Badass decided to throw hands. He didn't connect, either time. The guy what runs the joint told Billy Joe to leave and not come back. He told me to leave and come back tomorrow.
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Get
this happy horse shit:
When I got to the bar yesterday evening (I'd been sitting at the bar literally two minutes) the manager comes around, asks how I'm doing, then asks if I'd come back to his office. In his office he proceeds to let me know he's had to ask me to leave the bar twice, and if there's third time he may have to bar me from the bar.
That shit ran right fucking all over me.
I sat there for a minute. I was kinda stunned, to be honest. I grew up with this fellow after all. We're pretty close to being actual friends, and I don't got a lot of them.
He asked me "What're ya thinkin'?"
I said "I've had to defend myself from physical assault at least twice in this establishment. I'm thinking that the next time I have to defend myself from assault in your establishment I might just take the ass-beating. [I can take an ass-beating, too.
Lots of experience.] Call the cops. To the bar. And then sue this place out of existence for not providing a safe environment for its patrons. Drag
everybody into court, waitresses/witnesses, managers, bartender/witnesses,
owners. There are no bouncers. There is no security. There are security cameras, which will prove anything in court, including me defending myself."
His turn to be stunned for a minute. I get where he's coming from, don't get me wrong. But he's not threatening/punishing the right guy in this situation, he's threatening/punishing the guy that's available.
So now I don't feel like I can spend my money there w/a good conscience. And that's pissing me off. That doesn't hurt Mr. Manager, he gets paid the same if I'm there or, not. The only people it hurts are me, and the lovely bartendress that won't be getting my tips. She won't miss 'em, I'm sure, but, it will be $50 bucks or so a week out of her pocket. Besides that, I like the place.
At least four times this year, I've seen the manager come up to guys sitting at the bar, and ask them to help get someone out of the bar. So, stay tuned friends and neighbors, maybe you'll get to read about me getting my ass handed to me. I know
that'd make several of you happy.
Prolly sooner than later.
I think I'll change the name of the place to The Bucket O' Blood.