I know it’s been a while, but I’ve got a few more local pub moments for you. If you haven't already, I recommend you read Part 1 and Part 2. But, do what you like. What do I know? After all, I’m not a doctor or anything.
I know it’s been a while, but I’ve got a few more local pub moments for you. If you haven't already, I recommend you read Part 1 and Part 2. But, do what you like. What do I know? After all, I’m not a doctor or anything.
Aaron being Aaron
The time when Aaron went to a bar in St. Petersburg to find the waitress he took home the night before (because she had stolen all the food from his refrigerator the morning following their tryst). A waitress came over, asked what he wanted, and Aaron replied, “A pitcher of Bud and my food back, you bitch.” At which point Peek said, “Aaron, that’s not even her. Did you even see her face?” Brian followed this up with the line, “Great, now we have to ask them all to bend over.” That story will live in the annals of Tampa Bay lore for like, as long as I’m still around to tell it.
No Bud Here
The time in Tampa when my step-dad, who only drinks Budweiser, went to a pub and grill with my Mother (they were nice enough to bring me along, too). The place had great steaks, but it turned out to be a microbrewery. So a fifty year old, law-abiding, Fire Chief went out to his car and snuck in some Budweiser from his cooler. Our waiter saw him do it and shot him an angry look that said, “I see that.” My step dad matched that with a look that said, “Do you want your tip or don’t you?” One of the funniest wordless moments I’ve ever experienced.
The Bartender Got Your Back
The time when buddy Josh and I were lost in Mississippi and we decided to stop in at the most run down shack of a local pub we had ever seen. There were about nine people in there, all men, and they all seemed nice enough. Anyway, we were there about ten minutes when the phone rang, and the bartender (who was seventy years old if he was a day) winced and asked the pub’s clientele, “Who’s not here and who just left?” The response to this question was a chorus of “Just left” and “Not here.” The bartender picked up the phone, answered it, and was heard to say, “No, Molly. He just left.” A mustached man in a plaid shirt quickly finished the rest of his draft beer and said, “Ain’t it wonderful being married?” before exiting the establishment. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a local pub.
Shooting with the Harley Man
The time in Daytona, during Bike Week (an annual Harley Davidson festival) when I was doing shots in a Tiki bar with a biker who called himself (for whatever reason) Wedge. Wedge and I were enjoying a beautiful day, laughing at the morons driving on the beach and swapping stories about (of all the things) classic literature (Wedge was a sucker for the Romantic Poets, especially Coleridge, and he knew more of the writers’ histories than he did of their work, whereas I had the knowledge the other way around, so it was a great conversation). Wedge bought all my shots and introduced me to his late arriving girlfriend, who said, after meeting me, “He’s cute. Can we keep him?” Wedge responded, “I don’t see why not” and stood up like he was gonna kick my ass. I froze, poker face style (I didn’t even stand) and just shrugged Wedge off with a wave. We both laughed heartily. Wedge then uttered a sentence that no adult, before or since, has ever said to me: “I hope my boy grows up to be just like you, Nate. You’re a cool kid.” Classic.
The Dutch Man who Speaks no Dutch
The time I was at a bar in Zaandfort, Holland, when buddy Jan (Dutch for John, I think) introduced me to his friend Peter. Peter asked me my last name and I told him, “DeGraaf” (pronounced d graph). Peter looked at Jan and asked, “DeGraaf?” (pronounced day gruff). Jan responded, “Yeah, stupid American can’t even pronounce his own name.” For the rest of the trip, all my Dutch buddies introduced me as either the stupid American or the Dutch man who speaks no Dutch.
Again, I promise more of these. I think this gimmick could go on forever.