I asked a friend about the weather recently. I couldn't choose one thing to say from a dozen different topics on my mind, so I chose the banalest subject at the last moment.

I've been having this problem lately - not getting words out right. There are two primary instances.

At the moment I want to say something I briefly flash in my mind the entire conversation. I imagine all of the back and forths - the ums, buts and repeats, exaltations, lamentations, pleasantries and goodbyes. All before uttering a single word, which I can't seem to get right.

And sometimes I start sentences with a silent block. 

Some might say a stammer or stutter, but this isn't The King's Speech. Imagine gearing up for a big track-day race, getting into position, hearing the starting pistol — and forgetting you have feet. 

And I'm beginning to think it has something to do with working at the bar.

I'm not a great conversationalist. Never was. But when the wind picks up at 20 degrees, or the snow falls in January, and when the temperature dips to single digits, new people feel the need to talk to me, and almost exclusively about the weather. 

So when I begin an exciting tete-a-tete with someone, it’s not that I don’t have other jobs and fascinating stories, but when the starter goes off in my head, and it's time to start the race, I ask something like, "Did you get to see the sun today?" already knowing you probably did.

My mind never got out of the blocks. And I have to reorder the words in my head to say something basic and coherent because the alternative is a mouth agape without sound. Take weather out of the scenario and the block is disturbingly apparent. I have no fall back. Nothing to change direction. I have to wait for the block to pass, relearn how to speak like a normal human being.

I think this is why I'm so good at trivia. I finally get a chance to blurt out all these things swirling around in my head in the confines of proper heat and ventilation.

Without layers of socks, gloves, and shirts. Without the need for longjohns and boot warmers, Carhartt and a knit cap.

Friday Fake No. 1 (328): Estee Laughter

What happens when you bring in an expired ID that's also not you? Blame it on the cosmetics.

"I wasn't wearing makeup in that photo."

"Well, you aren't wearing any makeup now, and you still look different."

Saturday Fake No. 1 (329): The Wave

There's nothing better than a no-doubter. It's what Steph Curry must experience hitting all those three-pointers I just need to wave goodbye until they get the picture.

Saturday Fake No. 2 (330): Funny Boy

Outside of height do you want to know what the most defining characteristic of guys' ID pictures is? Their ears. By their nature, ears stick out. And when you're 6-foot-5, and two inches taller than the ID which has a set Dumbo would blush at - and you don't - it's not going to end well for you.

Saturday Fake No. 3 (331): Ummmimpressive

What's worse than saying "Ummm" when being asked to spell your first name? Nothing. Nothing is worse.

Sunday Fake No. 4 (332): Baby New Year!

The first fake of 2018 came from a lovely couple, one with a very shiny fake Washington Enhanced ID. Yes, that's right. If she had been caught with this ID in Washington, it's a $250 fine, up to 90 days in jail and up to 25 hours of community service. And that's just your FIRST offense!

Saturday Fake No. 2 (333): IlliBYE

This case seemed weird to me. The guy was traveling in a group of five, the rest being young women. Typically, my brain flipped to "hey, I'm going to get four more fakes." But it was the guy at the very end of the line. And it was beyond cheap. I sincerely hope he got it for free.

Enemies at the Gate

We kicked out 30 people on the New Year's Eve shift. Anything from drunk and disorderly to high and rowdy to drunk and flagrantly violent. And then there are the ones who linger.

As many as 12 ejectees hung around at one time, with five sticking in for the long haul. 

Three fell in the snow and tried to come back inside.

One claimed to have lost his phone, only to retrieve it in a snow bank down the block with the aid of his friend's phone and iPad.

One threatened to punch his way outside. He was 5-8, so I just stood out of his reach.

One threatened to call the cops. Not on us, but this fucking dude below.

It doesn't take a lot to startle me, but a drunk and possibly drugged up dude wrapping his scarf around his head like an enthusiastic actor prepping for his big breakout in Tora! Tora! Tora! freaked me the fuck out. He charged the door and shook the handle repeatedly, only to then walk silently up to the vinyl sticker on the glass door and whisper "bitch" over and over again.

Let me make this clear. He could not see inside from his vantage point. He was calling the sticker a bitch. It was 2:10 a.m

He kept claiming he was waiting for his boys to come outside for him. His boys left the bar just after midnight. They would not return. I hope he follows suit.