I can’t even fit the story of 5-foot-6 guy giving me the middle finger while playing the “I’m not touching you” game because it’s not remotely close to the top two moments of last weekend. I’m only mentioning it because now you have to visualize it.

What we’re really here for is the story of Hard Rock Bottom, and later, The Pissing Magician.

Hard Rock Bottom

Sunshine let me know we already cut off and kicked out a man in a Hard Rock Cafe tee shirt clad in a leather jacket and dirty biker beard. He looked like he both could afford to have a Harley Davidson and not provide a garage to store it. No slouch at 6-3 and 275-ish pounds, HRB made a quick turn of his Bermuda triangle of dejection, quickly pacing between a bar, brewery, and concert venue.

His first attempt at the bar ends in a missing ID. He meanders back to the venue. During this time I learn he was already cut off and ejected three hours earlier.

OK, easy-peasy. Don’t let him inside regardless of ID. I can do that.

So, HRB comes back.

“Do you know why I just got kicked out over there,” he says, pointing at the venue.

“No, why would we know why you got kicked out. We were over here.”

“Well, can I come in?

“No, you just admitted getting kicked out of somewhere else.”

“Who?”

What? Did he just ask who? Who, as in the only subject of his own story?

He leaves in a huff, down to the brewery.

A few minutes later and he’s now across the street, heading back toward the venue. It was only a matter of time …

We heard him before we saw him again. Now more mythological than human, HRB staggers up the street and across the road, right into the pathway of two unsuspecting victims. But it wasn’t violence this man was after.

“I need a 1, 2, or a 3! Give me a Hey! Hey!, A Ho! Ho! Or a HELLLLL YEAH!”

Predictably, the confused couple said nothing.

“GIVE ME AN ANSWER!” HRB demanded. But the townspeople were already fleeing in horror.

On his second-to-last pass our way, HRB just said an incoherent stream of words as if he was speaking in tongues, but that tongue spent too much time between licking frozen poles and gulping hot soup.

His final, merciful pass, concluded with a conversation between himself and the invisible man I’m not sure he could even see.

“Definitely not you,” he said to me. (I didn’t ask him a question.)

“Maybe you, or you,” he said to Sunshine and Peanut.

“No. No. Meh,” he said while pointing at a few more people outside.

And then he walked off without ever completing his thought or actually asking a question to a person. The consensus is that he was pointing out people who might have a cigarette to bum or drugs.

It was probably drugs. Because all of this happened before 10:30 p.m.

The Pissing Magician

Admittedly, this title was a little on the clickbait side. At no point did I see the girl pee her paints, but she threatened to.

Threatened.

To pee herself.

In public.

After she got off the party bus and handed me her fake ID.

And if that were all, it really wouldn’t be much of a story. I’ve had at least a half-dozen people I wouldn’t let in piss their pants outside of the bar. And not in the strangely uplifting Billy Madison style. Nope, full on wet jeans and broken dreams.

The party bus was 30 deep and not all of them made it off onto the sidewalk. About 18 opted to wait in line. Three of which had fakes that I caught (and gave me a temporary 569 IDs on 4/20), while two smarter girls decided not to go inside after seeing my haul in hand at the door.

One of the kids even had a fake Wisconsin and tried telling me it was real WHILE I WAS WEARING A WISCONSIN JACKET.

But any bystander could tell the girl was not giving up without a fight. She had to use the bathroom, after all. Even after getting her fake confiscated she still tried to walk into the bar. In her mind, the ID was of no importance, and only her bladder mattered.

It did not.

Why is she a Magician, you ask? Well, it wasn’t because of any real magic. She just happened to look like the character Julia from the Syfy drama The Magicians, of which Sunshine and I are fans.

Not the actress, Stella Maeve. The character. The hair, the style of clothing, the kind of know-it-all, yet still somehow innocent and sweet demeanor.

She was probably the prettiest person to ever try and jeopardize my job.

And definitely the prettiest person I ever saw threaten public urination.