Finally a use for my 40 ounce mug

It was Friday night and I was in the mood to drink. The urge strikes me quite a bit but never as much as on a Friday night, especially after I have been on my best behavior throughout the week, hidden away from the bars. Otis O'Flannigan called and asked if I'd like to head out for a quick bite to eat. I agreed and told him I'd be over after a quick shower and shave. I never meet anyone at the bar anymore. I must always be driven to and from after my run in with the authorities almost one year ago. I almost forgot the day is approaching. The one year anniversary. The day which changed my drinking life forever.

Otis was in the shower as usual so I let myself in and jumped onto the computer without hesitation. The internet is my drug. I can go no longer than a day or two before my body begins to twitch and uncontrollable spasms embrace every vital organ in my body essential for my overall survival. Like the crack head I'm afraid of the things I would do for a fix. A fix is a fix. Even if it is for only for a few seconds. Just enough time for Otis to dry his nuts is all I need to tame my body's need for the little world at my fingertips.

He dressed and we were out the door. It was snowing which usually presents a problem immediately. Not much of a problem for someone privileged enough to own a pair of windshield wipers capable of performing their duty, but it appeared Otis's wipers were still on strike. They had gone on strike months ago but it appears Otis is not planning to negotiate anytime soon. He will push them back and forth, forcing them into working before he takes them for repair.

He performed the task that has become as ritualistic as brushing his teeth. He forced the blades across the ice covered shield. It looked as if a lake had frozen over his glass but not a big enough lake to take on a man possessed with thoughts of beer running through his mind. The ice crumbled and away we went. Speeding down the road, knowing time was crucial. Every minute we spent delaying allowed for the persistent snow to ice the glass over again. Neither of us were in the mood to get out and force the wipers into motion again. It was too cold and we were too thirsty.

We walked into the bar, arms clenched tight, forcing our shoulders into our necks. The standard gait in these parts around the beginning of March. The "Oh shit is that rain or snow coming" look that typical yinzers carry around, along with their mittens and caps. I looked around and noticed a minute female presence. Yup. We were at the right bar alright. If I were ever off to war, captured, held hostage for 20 some years, then blind-folded and marched thousands of miles back to my hometown. I would immediately know I was home. How? The lack of women. I would probably latch myself to the legs of my captors and beg them to take me back so I would not have to face my new prison. I would beg to return to the prison where the two exotic women fed me and shot me the occasional smile. I want to be beaten with whips instead of rejection.

We sat down. I noticed an attractive female sitting across the bar. Where did she come from? I thought. I surely didn't miss her upon initial entry. Maybe my eyes were covered with frost and ample time has passed, allowing them to defrost and bring this new creature into view. Long, wavy, brunette hair. Either a self-applied wave or the styling works of the wonderful weather. She was dressed conservative but her sweater still allowed for me to see she was a busty one. A nice rack indeed. She looked distraught and I wondered if there was anything Otis or I could do to help her over her unhappiness. Maybe a shot. Maybe two. Maybe just a shot for Otis and I and then a half hearted compliment her way would do the trick.

I was about to suggest to Otis what he should do when I noticed the antagonist to her right. A fat, ugly drunk. I would say no older than me. Maybe late 20's early 30's. I would guess late 20's but the added weight and unshaven face made him look older. He was pointing his finger in her face. It was obvious she knew the man because the bartender's face looked as if this were a regular occurrence with these two. He was drinking and she was not. He was smoking and she was not. He was fat and she was not. I could only come to one conclusion; these two people fighting were obviously boyfriend and girlfriend. God! You have got to be kidding me. Why does this shit happen around here? I didn't mention my disgust over the events to Otis because he was probably already thinking the same thing as I. Loser with a hot chick.

He stood up. She stared at him with affection as her lascivious eyes led me to believe this fat slob before me may get lucky on this night. She wanted to leave but he did not because he stopped to mumble at the other drunks seated at the bar. She stood and smiled as he continued to talk. I heard him say "I can't find a job. I need a job."

"I hear you," mumbled a compassionate drunk.

The girl continued to giggle. I no longer found this girl attractive because of her love for this loser. Now I don't have a problem with someone who drinks and is jobless but someone who treats a woman in this manner is a different story. He should have been kissing her ass the entire way out the door. What could she possibly see in this guy? Then it occurred to me. It made perfect sense. If he were kind to her she would hate him. My own theory always holds true. Girls like assholes. I have tried this approach but it is not in my nature. I am a nice person to a fault. Maybe not all girls but most.

They walked from the bar, out into the street, and I was back to making small talk with Otis O'Flannigan. Then I another conversation to my right caught the attention of my bionic right ear. The ear which can listen in to anything I feel is important. If unimportant, it will shut down. A women who appeared to have been plucked from the trailer park was in deep conversation. I looked around the bar area in which she was seated, curious to see where she had parked her trailer. I could not find it but her talk reassured me my intuition was probably correct with this one. She was speaking to an African American gentleman. A well dressed African American gentleman. It was obvious that he was looking for a night of slumming. The two did not match. Bib overalls and expensive suit never do.

"So I told this son-of-a-bitch I'd let him have it," she said.

The gentleman was stared with concentration. I think he was wondering if he was doing the right thing. Was he really pretending to like this woman for a night in the sack. Surely he could do better elsewhere.

"I agree. You should have let him have it," he replied.

Oh Jesus! I thought. I closed my ears and chugged my beer. I couldn't take my surroundings any longer. I put a quite a bit of thought into never returning to the bar. I probably wouldn't but they have good pizza. I returned the next night to pick up a pie. Taped to the box was an advertisement.

Bring your own mug Monday's for $2.75 a draft

Holy shit! Did they really mean this? I will put them out of business if so. I shit you not. I have a mug which holds about 40 ounces of beer. A friend gave it to me for my 30th birthday and have been wondering what to do with it ever since. I feel as if God sent me to that bar for that pizza so I would finally have a use for my enormous beer mug. Now I must retrieve my mug from atop of Otis's stove before he gets wind of the special too.