International Writers Magazine: Drunks:
Bobby: A Survivors Story
up wasted at the bar you work at on a day off can be quite disconcerting,
yet quite comical. Ah, yes. I said it. Drinking off of the clock:
For those of us in the bar industry, weve all done it, weve
all seen someone do it, and well all do it again.
Allow me to explain.
was opening day of the Mariners. It was also Mikes birthday:
A recipe for disaster.
Bobby, a bartender
at the bar I work at, also happens to be one of my good friends. For
this reason, when he is drunk, I somehow assume the responsibility of
him. "Hurricane Bobby" as my coworkers and I like to call
It started off as a typical Monday night; Typical until we were graced
with the presence of the hurricane himself. As Bobby plowed into the
bar in the manner known as "land surfing," his speech was
incoherent and his motor skills even more so.
With an attention span like static, he recognized a woman at the bar
who was wearing a lace bra under a busty, black leather vest. Abruptly,
he jumped onto an adjacent barstool and lunged onto her shoulders.
"You little vixen! I havent seen you in forever!"
"Get off!" the lusty lady shrieked.
you!" she screamed between
gasps of breath.
Noticing Bobbys level of intoxication was worse than most days
off, I tried to lure him off of her with kind words as if he were a
"Honey, you have to do one of two things, ok? You either have to
go over to the other side and lay down in a booth, or you need to leave
and I will walk you home."
"Walk me home! Take me home! But wait! I need another shot first!"
He staggered behind the bar and grabbed the bottle of Southern Comfort,
thrashing all of the glassware behind the bar in the process. He finally
grabbed a shot glass and placed it ever so carefully on top of his head.
"Oh Oh Oh! Look at me go, look at me go!" he chanted as he
poured the liquor into the glass on his head-most of its contents landing
all over his scalp instead. As he danced to the song "Do ya think
Im sexy" by Rod Stewart, he squatted down with the shot on
his head, in an unsuccessful attempt to give it to a random victim,
oops, I mean bystander.
"Antwon, get him outta here!" Tad, the on-duty bartender,
barked from behind the bar.
"Ok, Ok!" I stammered.
Finally Bobby and I left. I was still technically "on the clock,"
yet I abandoned all of my open tabs and remaining tables in hopes of
walking him home in the meantime.
Still wearing my ankle length apron and Bobby still wearing his whiskey
soaked shirt, we staggered to the top of the street-arm in arm-as if
we were trying to qualify for some kind of Special Olympics event. (Thankfully
his apartment was only half a block away.)
When we arrived at his building, of course we could not just quietly
enter. It was a pre-requisite to make a scene!
"Bruce! Hey man, want a drink?" Bobby belted.
"No, No thanks, Im good" Bruce replied
"Oh come on! A little vodka or somethin somethin?"
"No No, Im really ok"
Finally I yanked his arm and lead him to the elevator apologizing to
Bruce in the wake of his intoxication. We finally made our way into
the elevator, but there was a problem: he didnt remember what
floor he lived on. I stood there patiently as Bobby, completely baffled,
stared at all of the numbers and letters.
"Ok, this isnt funny. Which floor are you?"
He still sat there in complete bewilderment, scratched his head and
then pressed the button "S."
"S?" What the hell is "S?"
The elevator descended one floor from the lobby and opened its
doors to face cement walls and parked cars.
"You dont live in the parking garage! Bobby, I dont
remember which floor you are on, so be sober for a second and hit the
He quickly pushed 5.
Thank god. It was the right floor. I guess if youre drunk enough,
an "S" and a "5" look pretty similar.
As we quietly opened the door to his unit, he flailed into the kitchen
I looked at my cell phone to realize I had already been gone from work
for twenty minutes.
"Go to bed. I have to go." I remarked.
I tried to tuck him in but the little rascal wouldnt budge.
"I want to come back down to the bar with you!" he pouted.
"No, you cant. I have to go close out my tabs. You go to
bed, and when Im done, Ill come back and check on you."
"No! Dont leave yet! I have to pee. Wait for me, well
go back down together and then go get breakfast."
It was hopeless. No matter how many times I tried to lose him, his drunk
ass would still be in tow.
As I waited patiently by the door he yelled to me from the bathroom
"Do you pray?
"Yes, I pray, why?"
"Get in here!" He demanded.
I heard the toilet flush followed by the sound of a match being struck,
as he proceeded to light a Mary pillar of faith candle.
"Get down on your knees!" he exclaimed
"What? You want to pray here in the bathroom? Now?"
He got down on his knees so I followed his lead.
"We have to say three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers and
then we can leave." He proceeded to say.
With a "what the hell is going on" look on my face, he glared
over at me with an annoyed look and began with a drunken stammer:
.fools a grace, the lordas weh you
God forgive us.
And then as if praying on the floor of your bathroom was a normal everyday
gesture, he stood up and blew out the candle. "Ok, now we can go."
With a pounding head and a drunk on my arm, back to the bar we went.
As Bobby barreled through the door the second time around, I heard Tad
from behind the bar:
"Antwoooon, what the hell are you doing back here!"
"I know I know! I have to close my tabs and then well leave,
I promise." I closed out my tabs as quickly as possible so I could
get him the hell home- for good this time. As we finally said goodbye
to everyone and their dog, and Bobby told all of his victims how he
loved them, arm in arm we finally left.
We made our way up the street and as we were about to cross the street
to his apartment building, Bobbys arms flail up in to air "Taxi!"
"What the hell are you doing? You live right there?" I stammered
as I pointed across the street.
It was already too late.
"Hey cabbie, can you take us to the 13 Coins?"
"Seriously Bobby, what the hell!"
As Bobby "land surfed" his way into the lobby of the 13 Coins,
a popular 24-hour, gourmet diner, we made our way to the big leather
back chairs at the kitchen counter.
Not paying attention, I look over as I notice Bobby has grabbed the
"Hey!" He grumbles in a drunken stupor. "What the hell
is that guy over there lookin at?"
"Its a cabbie waiting to pick someone up. Chill out man!!"
the waiter barked.
I grabbed Bobbys face.
"Do me a favor. Dont look at anyone, dont talk to anyone,
and dont touch anything!"
In the midst of scolding him, a redheaded dorky looking man with a bow
tie and a perfectly starched white shirt approached us. "Hi Im
Nick, Welcome to 13 coins! May I start the two
(Bobby interrupts) "Yea Nick, Well take two vodka tonics."
"Im sorry but the bar has already closed for the evening."
"Yea, but cant you--ya know, get us a little something"
"No I cant, Im really sorry. But here are some menus."
"We already know what we want: two eggs benedict and a side of
fries. " Bobby ordered.
"The Benedict comes with hash browns, are you sure you want fries,
"Yes, bring it all."
Not even five minutes had elapsed when a waiter-not Nick-walks past
the two of us with an order of crab cakes.
"Hey! How much for those crab cakes?" Bobby demanded
"Sir, Im sorry these arent for sale. These are for
"Yea, but how much can I give you for them. Right here, right now"
as Bobby whipped a wad of hundreds out of his pocket.
"Im sorry, sir. I can order you some crab cakes but I cant
give you these"
Not even a complete minute later, the waiter-again, not Nick- returns
with the crab cakes and apparently a change of heart. "Here! If
you want them soooo bad, theyre yours" he said while hastily
setting them down and quickly walking away.
As Bobby mowed the crab cakes, sans a fork, I couldnt help but
wonder how the hell my night ended up like this.
"Ok, lets go." Bobby said as he stood up and reached
in his pocket for his cash.
"Bobby, we ordered food, remember?"
"Who cares, lets go."
Embarrassed, I asked Nick, "May we have our check and could you
put that food into to go boxes?"
As we pay the bill, we call a cab and wait in the lobby.
Ever heard the saying, never turn your back on the ocean? Well I think
that quote should become "never turn your back on a drunk."
I turned my back for one second to look at a pamphlet and in that brief
moment, Bobby had stumbled into the hostess stand nearly taking out
the giant bowl of complimentary after dinner mints.
"Hey, do you have any banana cream pie?" he asked the general
"No sir, sorry we dont."
well ok then."
"What the hell are you doing now? I exclaimed. Why do you want
"Banana cream-its my mothers favorite, duh" as he shrugged
his shoulders and walked away.
*Side note: Im pretty sure were 86d from the 13 coins.
When the cab finally arrived, we quickly hopped in and I directed the
cabbie where to go. Half way down the road I looked over at Bobby and
it appeared that he had fallen into a bout of narcolepsy. As a stream
of drool hung in limbo from his mouth, I abruptly hit his leg.
"Hey! Youre drooling!"
"Oops you werent supposed to see that."
Finally, 3rd Avenue. Home.
As we enter his building, again, door guy Bruce looks at us carrying
box upon box of take out food. "Oh good, you got him something
to eat!" (Little does Bruce know that NO amount of food will be
able to help this fool!)?
"Alright Bobby, were here. I need to go home and go to sleep.
So you need to get in your bed now. "
"Well we can do one of two things right now. We can either eat
this food, or go in the hot tub." he mumbled.
And before I could even say neither, Bobby-with two towels
in hand-made a speedy exit out his apartment door. I began chasing him
down his hallway. Too late. He was already opening up the door to the
I may not be a rocket scientist, but Im pretty sure that drunk
people should probably abstain from any kind of water activity, but
once again-too late. By this point, his little drunk and half naked
body had already made its way over to the hot tub, removed the cover,
and hit the button to turn on the jets. Not a moment to soon and he
slithered his way into the tub and cozied up all drunk next to one of
For the next ten minutes or so, I was having flashbacks of high school,
when I used to have to baby-sit for this well off family that had a
pool. Everyday I had to watch the kids swim, and everyday I was paranoid
that one of the kids would drown. I was indeed babysitting; only this
time I wasnt getting paid.
By the time I had finally convinced him to get out of the hot tub, what
does he do? "Cannon Ball!" He screams as he jumps into the
adjacent swimming pool.
"Shit!" I scream as I jump in after him, afraid he may indeed
"Gotcha!" he exclaims.
"Alright! Enough water activity. Get out of the pool!" I demanded.
As we gathered our belongings and splashed our way back to his room,
he belts out "Lets watch a movie now!"
"Dude, you still cant even walk! Go to bed and stay there!
I had gone into the bathroom to towel dry my hair when I heard thud
of his body fall on to his bed, followed by the faint sound of a snore.
Alas! Home free!
I quietly grabbed my stuff and made my escape.
As I made my exit from the lobby with my belongings in hand, not to
mention sopping wet hair and clothes, Bruce just looked at me in bewilderment.
I think," he uttered
I anxiously made my way to the street corner to hail a cab; somehow,
I managed to hail the same exact cab driver that had dropped us off
at 13 Coins. Go figure, because Im pretty sure there are hundreds
of cabs roving the streets of Seattle on any given night.
The cabbie began laughing when I entered the cab and in his Jamaican
accent remarked, "Back so soon! And without your part-ner in crime?"
as he laughed in an Eddie Murphy sounding manner.
"Just another manic Monday." I replied as I quickly closed
my eyes for the rest of the ride home.
(Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)
© Antonia Greco July 2008
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