The Teacup

Dear Girl Who Bartends at a Certain Bar At or Near 7th and B,

Look, I'm not gonna lie, I know I come off looking like a total drunk when I roll into your bar drinking scotch out of a teacup. But you know what? I happened to be home enjoying a fine evening of NCAA basketball and decided to meet up with some folks for drinks, and this was a pretty fantastic scotch I was enjoying here in my apartment (good enough not to waste), and I don't think it makes me a bad person to want to take my scotch on-the-go to finish during my cab ride. So I did what any self-respecting drunk does, and I emptied it from a scotch glass into a small ceramic teacup. It had a little country print around the side, with a farm, and a fence, and some ponies. It was really a nice teacup.

I arrive at the bar, and I spend maybe 94 seconds saying hello to the folks I was meeting with, kisses on cheeks, sipping what was probably the last 2 fluid ounces of my tasty scotch. I was feeling good, frankly. I had just rocked some great new music on my iPod during the trip, and I was excited about the prospects of the evening, and the great unknown adventures that await me. The world was my oyster. And your crappy little bar was my supermarket-bought oyster. I walked in, I thought to myself "this place sucks," and then said out loud to my sister, "this place sucks," but I wasn't going to let the fact that these girls picked the worst bar in the east village dampen my spirits. With a smile on my face, I approached you at the bar eager to order a beer for myself and 6 or 7 assorted drinks for my friends here. You asked me what was in my teacup, and you had this scowl on your face that looked like like I'd just run over your dog with my vespa and then made him into a rug. But I'm happy, and feeling fun, and trying to spread my cheer to the masses, so I smile and respond "tea!", and give a little wink. Anyone else in the city would have just giggled it off. Anyone else...

Now, I had a hard time understanding why you felt the need to tear the teacup out of my hand and smash it into the garbage behind the bar. That made me (and the ponies and the farm) sad. My oyster suddenly smelled like it had been left out on the counter a little too long on a hot summer day. But I had a harder time understanding why you had to THROW ME OUT OF THE BAR. OVER A TEACUP. I didn't understand then, but through the haze of this hangover it somehow all makes perfect sense...

It was funny that as the "bouncer" (he was literally half my size) you summoned escorted me to the door -- you know, because this teacup incident with a mild mannered, friendly, sober patron required immediate backup -- your short bartender chick companion with the lazy eye screamed out "cheap asshole!" Now, that's funny on about 14 different levels, not the least of which being that anyone who knows me knows I am ANYTHING but cheap, I am notoriously terrible with money and spend it like a drunken (teacup-toting) sailor, and I'm a generous tipper. But what makes it funnier on this particular night is that I'd just raked in about $4k in online poker before I left my apartment. So, really, as I saw it, I was playing with house money here tonight, and I was so excited to buy drinks for anyone and everyone who'd have them and then leave a big fat tip for you and lazy eye at the end of the night. I mean, what fun is success if you can't share it with others?

But, like I said, I get it now. Honestly, and I don't want to get all Tucker Max here, but if I were you, I'd hate me too. I'd be angry -- no, furious with the world. Especially the bastard who walks up looking all ... HAPPY. And SMILING. No, if I knew that I was stuck spending the rest of my life being you, I'd probably hang outside the teacup factory with a baseball bat after work and smash every teacup within reach. I would make it my life's work to eradicate teacups from the face of this earth. I'd probably set up a cool lair in the side of a mountain, and I'd have some thugs and a large screen with a Google map of the world with little tags on all the major teacup locations.

We ultimately found a bar that did not suck (I say "we" because: thanks sis for getting yourself kicked out too -- that's what family is for, and I'd have done the same). And out of spite -- no, principle -- I tipped the bartender at the next place $100 after he served me a PBR in a can. He seemed like a friendly guy, seemed like he was working hard late on a Saturday night, and so I figure he deserved it. You and lazy eye? No, you don't deserve it.

So that's that. As I said to the bouncer after he apologized profusely to me at the door, "hey man, life's life, this sorta stuff happens." I'll just cross your sucky bar off my list and work my way through this hangover and move on.

By the way, whenever I'm hung over, I like to start my day with a shower and hot cup of coffee. Well, I'm just out of the shower, and I'm sitting here right now enjoying my coffee, and you wanna guess what I'm drinking it out of? (It was a set of eight -- suck it).