I admit it. I love drunk men.
So I went to see a local DFW band tonight here in Austin. Know what I LOVE LOVE LOVE about Austin? NO ONE BOTHERS YOU. And don't misunderstand, I really do applaud any man who has the balls to address a totally strange female in the hopes of...well, whatever it is he's after. But that happens frequently in DFW, whereas in Austin, it rarely seems to happen. So I am far more ready to hit the town a lobo solo here in Austin than I am back home.
And all was good. Til it got close to 2am.
First of all, I absolutely had the rapt entertainment of the bouncers and staff at this particular bar. One came up to me at the end and said, "That was a first." I guess not too many single, sober people show up to enjoy a show and read in-between.
(For the record, a couple people did come up to me and ask how I was able to read amidst all the din. "Drugs," I said. I was a total WIN all night.)
I had had two screwdrivers and closing was a half-hour away, though my waitress had completely disappeared. So I pulled a Renee Raddick and motioned with my finger to this douche who had been chatting me up the latter part of the night, to come here.
He trotted over, pulling cash out of his wallet for his friend nearby, as if he'd had a bet with someone as to whether or not I'd cave. Who knows. All I know is this motherfucker was WASTED and the friend tossed me the $20. I had originally said, "If you buy me a screwdriver, I'll answer three questions for you." (I didn't want to lose my seat, but I wanted one last drink.) There was a lot of bumbling between the two of them (and drunkenness), and they soon went away, apparently unable to comprehend what I'd said. I was thrilled.
Now, I was raised properly. To the point where I should have tracked that poor idiot down and given him his bill back. However. I pocketed Mr. Andrew Jackson, sauntered up to the bar and got my own darn screwdriver (without losing my seat). That, my friends, is called ASSHOLE TAX.