I was working in a bar near a professional baseball stadium and had
seen my share of drunks and idiots, but one guy really took the crown.
On a summer afternoon this guy shuffles in sunburned and wearing a
jersey unbuttoned to his navel, obviously just coming from a
nine-inning bender, and pours himself onto a barstool. I can smell him
before I get within three feet and I also notice that he has wadded
all of his cash into a sweaty ball in his hand. He is squinting at the
beer taps, about four feet to his left, on the bar.
He grunts, turns his head and points at a tap on the back bar area
that is connected to nothing asking, “What’s that?”
I explained to him that it was simply a decorative tap handle and was
not an actual beer or beverage option.
“I’ll have that.”
I try one more time, very patiently, to explain to this guy that no
beer comes out of the decorative tap handle.
“Yeah, gimme one of those Deca Razons.” He is now emphatically
“Sorry sir. It’s just there for looks; a deco-ra-tion.”
“Yeah a Deca Razon!”
“Um sir. That tap is a …”
Now screaming, “I know what it is and that’s what I want!”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “Sir, it’s not a Mexican beer, it’s
a… I don’t think you understand.”
Standing up he cuts me off, “I don’t think you understand! Do you
know who I am?!”
I’m thinking to myself – Yes I do. You’re the sunburned,
middle-aged guy who is too drunk to order a beer. Then he slams his
fist holding the cash ball down on the bar.
“You don’t want to serve me? You don’t want to give me a Deca
Razon? You don’t know who you’re messing with. You’re making a
And with that he turned, paused to gather his balance, and stormed out
the front door.