Lunch and the Drunks

Nothing interesting happens at lunch today. Nothing at all. Hey, it's not my fault. Sometimes it just happens that way. Skip ahead to the next vignette if you want.

The bar is half full. Jack, a regular, is already there. I sit down two seats from Jack and order lunch. We talk while other customers come and go. I stay for about two hours, drinking tea and talking. Shortly before I leave, two men come in and seat themselves at the other end of the bar. They each order a beer and Bambi serves them. At first I pay no attention to them; they are just two ordinary guys having beers. They sit there for some time, quietly talking, when I begin to notice something about the man closest to me. He is—not to put too fine a point on it—shit-faced, as they say. He has trouble lighting his cigarette—can't quite hit the end of it with his lighter flame. After a while Bambi comes over to me, leans across the bar, and whispers, "I think those guys were drinking before they got here—they're pretty fucked up." Well, yeah!

Sometimes people have a few drinks before they come in. They handle themselves pretty well until they take one drink too many and go right over the edge. It's not always easy for a bartender to know if someone's been drinking before they come in. They sit at the bar, they look sober, they act sober, they drink one beer, and they're drunk. Then you know.

After a while they leave. I hope they called a taxi.