Wednesday, August 12, 2009

The Friendly Drunk Guy

It’s midnight, give or take an hour. He’s on his tenth drink, give or take five. He is the life of the party, and yet he is barely coherent. His face is painted red from his own internal boiling blood. His eyes are blood shot, but the grin tells me he can care less. The reason he is the life of the party? He is buying everybody shots. Not to mention he is so damn friendly. It’s as if he’s known me for twenty years and while I’ve only know him for ten minutes, it feels more like five hours. “Another shot of Jack Daniels you say? Well, I don’t know. I do have to be up by noon tomorrow. Oh what the hell, make it a double.”

He’s either from England or Australia, but I can’t remember which. From the stench of his shirt I would say…well I still couldn’t say which. Nevertheless, he’s here on business and his business is supposedly something in finance, but it seems more like drinking to me. I sure hope his place of work is paying for this excessive tab. Come to think of it, I’m actually getting a little hungry looking at those sliders.

“Hey, Ted (that’s his name) what’s your last name again?


Get out of here. Here I thought all McGinleys were Type A personalities. Well, pardon me once more. This is no type A. Maybe AA. Or maybe he needs to visit AA, but that’s another story.

“An order of sliders please! Put it on the McGinley tab. Thanks Ted.”

“You got it. For what, though?”

“Oh, nothing. How about another beer?”

“I love this guy!”

The night would continue in this manner and the moochers were lining up outside the door to meet Ted. Somebody must have been texting their friends about the free food and drinks, compliments of Mr. McGinley.

Ted wants to know if I’m interested in soccer. I’m going to need some help on the subject, asap! Well, I followed Team Italia during their World Cup run. Actually that’s another story. SOHO was off the hook that day. I suppose I could discuss their win over France, and how Zidane was a big d-bag who cost the French the Cup. Plus, with this accent, Ted probably doesn’t care for the French.

Indeed I was right. But, Ted has already moved onto the next topic. I don’t know why I bothered to come up with a soccer anecdote in the first place. I should have known he wasn’t going to pay actual attention for more than ten seconds. He’s starting to slur a lot now and he’s spraying onto my face. Are those sliders almost done? By the way, how old is this guy?

For starters he’s definitely not married. Sure I could simply look at the ring finger and see nothing but knuckle hair and a scab. Maybe he’s divorced. I would say he fits the profile. He hasn’t really hit on any girls yet. He’s not gay is he? No way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Maybe I should hook him up with one of the ladies around here. They’re not exactly the cream of the crop. I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult. Ugh, I just got spit in my eye again. On second thought, it may be difficult. Are those my sliders? You’re the man, Ted.

Nothing like three miniature burgers after a few beers and a double shot of Jack Daniels. If I didn’t fill my stomach soon, I may have turned into Ted. Nobody wants that. Although he is so damn friendly. No matter how annoying he is about to become, I can’t imagine anyone wanting him to leave. Ouch! Ted, watch it. You just stepped on my foot and spilled half a beer on my jeans. No worries. Just be careful next time.

“What was I drinking? Oh, just a Peroni. No, you don’t have to buy me a drink over this.”

Thank you. I’m convinced my wallet will not see the light of day for the rest of the night. These are the best nights, financially at least. Where are my other friends that I came with? How are they not taking full advantage of this? I should text them, but I don’t want to take full advantage of Ted. Those chicken fingers look good. I could dip a few of those in Ranch dressing.

“McGinley. Yes, with Ranch dressing.”

I was still hungry – alcohol will do that to you. What’s one more order of appetizers? Ted would have wanted it. Is he talking about religion? Oh no, he’s entered the downfall of the drunkenness. Drunkenness is like the stock market, it reaches its peak and takes a turn for the worst. This could turn ugly real quick. I’m assuming he’s Catholic. The gold cross dangling from his neck gave me a slight inkling. Let me try and lighten the mood with a quick joke.

OK, that didn’t work. Ted, I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m actually Catholic myself, not by choice but by birth. Church? I love going to mass. Sarcasm? Since when did you think I was being sarcastic with you? Ted your face is getting really close to mine. You have officially crossed the boundary of my comfort zone. How about a piece of gum? You were supposed to chew that not throw it behind the bar. No, those aren’t my chicken fingers. McGinley? Oh, Ted did you order those?
Do you honestly want to fight me over a religious wise crack? I love Jesus! I’m not being sarcastic, that’s just my normal tone. Actually, I think I should check up on my buddies. They should be around here somewhere. Well, it was great meeting you Ted. I’m not a big hugger. Again, I’m not going to fight you over this either. I know, I know, you’ve had a few drinks. It’s OK you don’t need to apologize. We’ve all been there. What these chicken fingers? You want me to have these chicken fingers? I can’t take these. I don’t even know whose they are. They do look really good though. No, I shouldn’t.

These chicken fingers are really good. Where were you guys? I was by the bar the whole time talking to that drunk dude. That guy over there. Is he being carried out? Yea, well you should’ve seen him five shots ago. What a really friendly guy. Oh, he was from New Zealand. That’s right. I knew it was one of those countries. It’s a shame he had to go out that way – usually they toss them feet first. Get your own chicken fingers. I paid for these.


anita r. said...

I know ted!

Amy Enever said...

I think Ted was one of my professors at Uni!!

The New York Pasquinade said...

Yea, Ted gets around...