I guess I have to clear up a few things from last weekend.

No, I did not get into a knife fight.

I barely got into a fight.

But that doesn’t mean people didn’t want to fight me (and several other bar employees).

So, let’s circle back and settle this rumor.

The Scorpio Moon

I don’t pay much attention to horoscopes, but full moons have my full attention. I think this might be the third or fourth full-moon related post on this site. Anyway, a tall, lanky man comes up to the gate, but before he can walk in, he slumps over and sets his half-drunk bottle of tequila on the pavement.

He does not say a word.

His friend says he’s fine and he’s okay because he set it down.

His third, much smaller friend has his fake Indiana ID ready in his hand.

Of course, I accept the ID and count it as No. 583.

Lord Farquaad does not accept these terms.

Little Fucker and I jaw back and forth. he claims it’s real. I know it’s not and safely inside my pocket. Or, so I thought.

Still no knives.

LF lunges at me but manages to get a hand inside my pocket.

He didn’t even ask me out yet, and now we’re rounding first.

A struggle ensues. J-Dog, back for a week from out west, gets punched in the head. Poor guy.

After the struggle, the LF crowd leaves. We called the cops and gave them general descriptions, and warned the crew that if they came back, we’d call the police again. They came back a couple hours later but kept to a distance of about 50 feet. Then they came back for the third time.

At 2:05 a.m.

And tried to get the ID, which didn’t even scan on a phone app, back.

Cops called. But their response time was, weak. LF’s crew disbanded but not before a few more threats from LF himself and a fourth friend wider than Fat Albert. Then, and only then, was a knife brandished in self defense due to numerous threats. By Face, who was semi-erotically rubbing the blade handle on his chest.

It was distracting.  

Four or five peole, right at our door, all wanting to fight, and I can't help but TURN AWAY FROM THEM to look at Face and say, "What the hell are you doing?"

Cut to - the next morning. LF calls up the bar and demands his ID back. Which we don’t have.

But the cops do.

And he’s more than welcome to ask them for it back. I’m sure they’ll get right on that.