The One Where Bob Ross Gets Trashed
If some of you avid readers may notice, I don't always keep track of the number of IDs in these posts. Sometimes I gloss by days or whole weekends and give the Cliff Notes version of bar events to focus on these prologues.
Others may see jumps in the number from post to post. Why did I skip three here or two there? Does he really keep count or is that for shits and giggles?
Yes, I really do count. But not all make the stories. Some I catch for others, as a consultation. These hardly, if ever, make the final cut. They're not the fun ones or the ones I work for.
Halloween is a long day if you're going out, even longer when working from 12-4 at one place then 6 to close at another. But this year was relatively easy. I saw some great costumes, Gump and Jenny, Aaron Rodgers and his broken collarbone, and two Bob Rosses (the painting sensation). But the best was the whole roster from Legends of the Hidden Temple. Helmets, name tags, and pads. The whole nine yards.
Then there were the last-minute jobs. Oodles of Mario and Peach, Bananas, various clergy, women with half their faces painted in some form of a skeleton, and the first Bob Ross.
Ross No. 1 did not end his night singing the song of happy little trees.
He nearly faceplanted on the sidewalk after trying to pick up his mixing tray that fell to the ground, because he dropped it on the ground in favor of grabbing his phone.
His opposite hand was free. That's right, instead of putting the fake mixing try in his other hand and then grabbing his phone from his right jean pants pocket, he just threw down the tray altogether and went for the phone.
Ross No. 2, a regular, was much more composed. His fro was better, too.
Friday Fake No. 1 (263): Eavesdropping the Hammer
Hey, friendly tip, if you're a minor and friends of a friend with a bartender on Facebook, it's probably not a good idea to brag about being underage and then naming the bar you're going to all for six degrees to see.
Friday Fake Nos. 2 & 3 (264 & 265): Skeleton Pants and Bat Ears
The title says it all.
Friday Fake No. 4 (266): "You wanna know my address?"
No, I want to know how gravity stole those 11 inches from you. Muggsy was walking up with Sir Charles' ID.
Friday Fake No. 5 (267): Pulp Friction
I don't know where to start on this one.
Do I start with the bottles of Crown Royal and Captain Morgan finished off in the line and then thrown away in OUR garbage bin?
Do I start with being called racist (again)?
Do I start with 10 angry Koreans yelling at me?
I don't know.
There's a long story in here, but it's so convoluted that I'm not Tarantino enough to pull it off.
Here were the highlights.
A young woman throws away a bottle of Captain in our garbage. One door guy saw her drink out of it. Good, she's done and can't come in.
The woman proceeds to pull out a bottle of Crown and pass it around. Fine by me, more people, easily identifiable, that aren't welcome.
This was the back half of the group. The front half is a wedding party, some of whom are already inside.
The group is large, maybe 16 people, 10 of which are of some Korean descent.
The third or fourth member of the party is not who she says she is.
Her face doesn't match the picture, and her height is off (and already very short) by three inches, give or take a half.
She takes great offense that I'm questioning where she lives. She misspells the city. And not merely parts of the backend, the first letter. Every. Single. Time.
It's not her. Let's see some of her excuses:
"My parents cut off my data."
"I only have cash."
"I'm drunk, that's why I can't spell."
"She's drunk. Who cares if she can't spell her city, you couldn't probably, if you were this drunk."
Unless she was the one who polished off that Captain, she was not drunk.
I ask her where the city is in relation to our present location.
"It's two hours northwest!"
It's two hours southeast. Two hours northwest is water.
"A lot of Koreans get plastic surgery before coming to America."
Did you get enough surgery in the past three years, despite already being enough of a permanent resident of the United States of America to obtain a driver's license?
"Korean Swear Words."
"Korean Swear Words."
"English Swear Words."
"Korean Swear Words."
"This is my address. This is my city (spelled wrong again). Judy is my American name."
Judy, that's funny, because you kept trying to convince me you were Leslie. For like, six solid minutes.
Five minutes later Courtmarshaled Captain Morgan comes up.
"If the rea ... If Judy comes back tomorrow can she get her ID?"
Real Judy, is that what you mean?
Silence.
Saturday Fake (268): One in a Million
If you're going to bring a fake, albeit a high, possible $150+ fake, on Halloween, why not dress up? Have some fun with it.
