Notes on a Cocktail Napkin

My friend, let’s call him “Paul,” called me in the afternoon to watch the Laker game at a bar.  Although I had been out the previous two nights and really didn’t want to be in a bar, I figured since he flew 3000 miles, I could ride my bike 2.  So I grabbed a bag of cookies and rode down to Rick’s Tavern.  Now Rick’s is a place that I do not frequent.  It’s just up the street from my bar but seems to attract an odd element.  My understanding is that those who get 86′d from O’ Brien’s end up hanging out at Rick’s, which is saying a lot.

I arrived at Rick’s and Paul was sitting at the bar.  I ordered a beer and a burger and a seat opened up a few stools down from him.  Although they had a huge lead in the beginning, the Lakers were giving it back.  The whole bar was into the game, which is always a bonus.  I ate my burger then distributed a cookie to Paul and a friend of his and gave Paul the bag.  I stipulated that these were for him but I didn’t feel that he should eat more than one.  He’s had them before, he knows the drill, but does he listen?  Who ever does in these situations?  We’re in the fourth quarter and my cookie’s kicking in.  Paul keeps ogling the bartender and mentions for the sixth time how he’s been in love with her for four years.  Of course, this gets louder each time.  At some point Paul decides to have a second cookie.  Bad idea.  Paul’s idea of humor now is to shout out, “Go Spurs.”  The second time he does it, he elbows me first to show that he’s joking.  When asked why I didn’t laugh, I told him it wasn’t funny the first time.  Eventually, this Jerk Off who I’ve served at O’ Brien’s sits down near us.  I’ll call him “Jerk Off.”  Now when I say Jerk Off, I mean this guy is probably a nice guy who tries way to hard to make people laugh or ingratiate himself.  Now Jerk Off is relatively harmless but he can be annoying.  Something I can ignore.  Unfortunately he has an exchange with the bartender which ends with the bartender saying, “This isn’t New York.”  Being from New York, Paul feels that this is his chance to jump in, which he eventually does.  I try to dissuade him but he starts in with Jerk Off and nothing but words are exchanged, which I find unnecessary, but no harm no foul.  Now I’m not a fan of violence, I can hold my own, but I just don’t want to be a part of it.  I feel that sometimes people need to be taught a lesson.  Apparently, Paul feels that way about everyone, when in fact he’s the one who needs the lesson.  The game ends, the Lakers win, we close out our check.

We’re outside.  Paul and a couple others are having a smoke when one of the customers walks over and asks to bum a cigarette.  When I used to smoke, my rule was to give them to anyone who wasn’t homeless or underaged, because I never knew when I would be in the same position.  Paul turns and yells, “No” in this guy’s face.  To relay how loud it was I’ll just say that my sphincter tightened real hard.  They exchange words and I walk away.  The night is going from funcomfortable to uncomfortable.  The plan at this point is Paul wants to go back to where he’s staying to smoke some weed he’s hooked up.  I’m high enough for two people so I just want to go grab a drink at O’ Brien’s.  I’m persuaded to go with him to where he’s staying which, by the way, his host asked that he not bring anyone back with him.  This is something I’m willing to respect but in for a penny in for a pound.  The mission now is to find rolling papers.  We walk into a liquor store where two women are paying.  One has a sixer of Heineken so Paul says to the other, “She’s getting a six pack of Heineken, what are you getting?”  She replies, “Tampons, advil, and water.”  Paul says, “Can I get your number AND can I call you next week?”  The girls laugh and I’m thinking that this guy who is embarrassing me to no end finally has a modicum of wit.  That is until the one replies, “Calling me next week is a good idea.”  And Paul says, “Why?”  He’s not even in on his own joke.  I wish I could write this stuff, luckily, it writes itself.

We get the papers and cross the street.  We’re walking back towards Rick’s when Cigarette Bumming Guy walks toward us.  Paul, who is on the phone, walks towards CBG cutting off his path.  I’m thinking, “Really!”  I feel like I’m back in high school.  Words are exchanged, we walk away.  Nothing good can from this but it’s Santa Monica; no one is looking for trouble, except the one guy I’m with.  We get back to where Paul is staying.  He had mentioned that it was messy, but nothing prepared me for this.  When he opened the front door there was a free-standing corporate sized copier in the entry.  Beyond that was just “eeew.”  And those who know me know that I am in no way a clean person.  All I could think of was what the bathroom looked like.  Then I thought maybe this is the bathroom.  I took a few steps in and decided against going further, so Paul went inside while his buddy and I stood outside laughing.  A neighbor happened by looking for Paul’s host.  We conversed with this dude for a few minutes to learn that his friend flowed him super rare and expensive bottles of wine, which apparently were stolen.  Good times.  So I’m leaning against the wall with my right shoulder and I’m so high that I feel like I have to switch positions, so I turn so both shoulders, my back, are against the wall.  But then I notice that Paul’s buddy and the Stolen Wine Recipient were leaning with one shoulder, so I switched back.  Phew!  Didn’t want to seem like a weirdo.

We made it to O’ Brien’s.  Hung out on the patio.  Had one drink.  Paul complained that his head was killing him and he shouldn’t have had that second cookie.  Where had I heard that before?  Oh, yeah, from my mouth.  Although I find humor in it, the whole experience left me a little sad.  I wasn’t proud having a friend who was “That Guy.”