Battle Of The Apes

I am one of the few people working as a bartender who has no interest in organized sports such as football, baseball, basketball, and at the bottom of the sports septic tank…golf. All I see are a bunch of overpaid apes in ridiculous uniforms chasing a little ball around a field. Meanwhile, the majority of society gathers around the idiot box intently, as if the outcome of the sun rising in the morning depends on which group of monkeys can manage to toss the ball through a hoop more times. They should pay the players in bananas and give all of us working class zeros the extra money. The following story comes from a few months ago, but it still burns brightly in my mind. I came in to work and there was a Lakers game playing on the televisions around the bar. It was still early in the night so the dining room was packed full of families enjoying an evening out. The bar itself was empty, except for one guy. The day bartender turned the bar over to me and I began getting settled in for another long night. Right away, I here this guy swearing loudly about the way the monkey match was going. Normally, I could care less about profanity at my bar, but it was early in the night and we still had lots of kids in the house. I let it ride for a few more minutes, but on the third or fourth time he beat his chest, it was time for me to babysit a grown man. I casually approached this piece of shit and asked him politely to keep the swearing down. He asked me why I was being a little girl about it? I kept my cool, and told him that I wasn’t a little girl, but to look around, there are several children within earshot.  A couple of minutes later, he was spouting off again. This time, I was blunt and told him next time he chose to crap out of his mouth, I would kick him out. Here is my favorite part. He stands up and screams loudly enough for the restaurant next door to hear…”Just stay behind the bar and do your fucking job!” This really made me laugh to myself…ok you fucking donkey…now my job is to kick you out. I smiled, picked up the phone and called security. It just so happens, the bouncer for the night was a 450 pound friend of mine. The Lakers fan was escorted out without so much as a meager whimper dribbling from his mouth. He got a standing ovation as he left. Only seven and a half hours more to go…