i am an incorrigible thug

This is the story of how my asshole behavior instigated a fight Friday night and led to me being kicked out of a bar.

I met some friends at Rebel f/k/a Ivy in Wrigleyville. Some of these friends had friends of their own in town. One of these, I noticed, was a cute female, but it was hard to miss the guy hovering around her like a dragonfly over a rancid bog. I didn’t pay much more attention to them, as a) it was obvious they were together b) I didn’t know them and c) they were on the other side of the table. At some point the girl rotated around to talk to Reedy who was sitting near me, at which point she introduced herself and another female friend of hers to me, and asked me how I knew Reedy (she went to high school with him, I went to his college).

That was about it.

A bit of time went by and her guy joined her on my end of the table.

Reedy and Sids were talking about baseball a little. I threw in my two cents to the extent I could (I don’t know much beyond what’s going on with the Cubs). At some point, the girl in question started talking to Reedy again about what work she was doing nowadays. It sounded like something about Morningstar, which is most likely a financial research firm, but is also a communist newspaper, and a nickname for Lucifer, and I thought any of those three things were more interesting than baseball so I started paying attention. The next thing that I was pretty sure I heard was that something she was doing was downtown at Washington and Randolph, and I saw Reedy looking confused.

You’ll never believe what I said next.

“Washington and Randolph don’t intersect.”

I know. What an ass. At least that’s what I was informed by this cheerful young lady — a couple of times, in fact. “Why do you have to be an ass?”, “you’re being a real asshole.” etc. As I later told Reedy, I’ve been an ass – intentionally- enough times in my life to know when I’m being an ass, and I really wasn’t trying to be an ass. She said it enough to catch the attention of her guy, who immediately got into my face with a very angry “what did you say to her?”

You’d think the fight would start here, but it didn’t. I gave him the “Whatever dude, relax, you’re being crazy” look and he backed off and nothing happened. After the girl’s reaction to the Washington/Randolph thing, I decided I didn’t care if she really WAS working for Lucifer, I’d rather go back to talking about baseball, which I did.

Two minutes go by and this guy just shoves me in the back. All of a sudden my mind flashed back to several minutes before the Washington/Randolph incident, when he was bringing her a drink and gave me notably more of a push than was necessary to get by me to get to where she was standing – at the time, it was noticeable enough to justify me making a “did you see that” kind of face to other people standing near me, but not enough for me to confront the guy or even give him a funny look. And it just became clear that this guy was a complete d-bag who was so insecure about god knows what (I’ll casually speculate that it’s his penis size) that he felt threatened by just about any male that his girlfriend had the most casual interaction with.

So now that he clearly intentionally pushed me – in the back – I had had it, and so I turned around and pushed him in the front the way that most non-pussies do it.

I don’t have an angel and devil on my shoulder. I only have lawyer me and college me. Lawyer me has a professional career to think of, as well as knowledge of the law of self-defense and the duty to retreat. College me once chased a guy out of the frat house with a baseball bat. So I was torn between just walking away and punching the douche in the teeth.

The compromise of course was the frequently-seen poking->shoving->shirt-grabbing progression that was broken up pretty quickly by a bouncer. And OK, I kind of grabbed him by the neck for a second. The psycho would not let go of me even after the bouncer stepped in between us. It was that last grab as the bouncer intervened that led to the only real damage – the loss of a button on one of my favorite shirts.

Here’s a picture of me with the button in happier times, keeping my shirt together while my friend Jenny and I battle scurvy.

I just noticed that I do this one-eyed squint-wink thing in a lot of my pictures.

It pisses me off that the fight would have been a draw except I am down one button. I wanted some Old Testament retribution. If I recall my Deuteronomy, it’s an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, and a bloody nose for a button. I’ve been fuming about the button for two days now.

Anyway.

I volunteered to leave, at which point douche yelled at me “YEAH. FUCKING GO” which got me pissed again, and made me want to stay. Finally the manager came over and said we both had to go, which is all I wanted, and I cheerily paid my tab and left. I got some goodbye waves from the fat chicks at the next table, who had asked me to take their pictures about a half hour earlier. Outside the bar, a friendly homosexual informed me that I looked good with the extra button missing. I told him I liked his scarf.

That’s the end of the story.

* * *

The last time I got thrown out of a bar was shortly after I graduated from NU and I had a little bit of what you might call a drinking problem since I had no job and was about to move back in with my parents, which was not an ideal situation. I think we were playing caps at my fraternity house and we ran out of beer, but not tequila. I drank a good chunk of a bottle of Cuervo and then went to visit my girlfriend who was working part-time as waitress at the 1800 Club. I recall getting up from the Pallarino, going downstairs, █████████████████████████, stumbling into the 1800 Club, ██████████████████████████████████████████████████ ███████████████████████████████████ with my head down, ██████████████████████████ the sorority quads face-down, ███████████████ all over a garbage can in Willard, ██████████████████████████████████████████████████ ██████████████████████████████████████████████████ ██████████████████████████████████████████████████ █████████████████████████████████████████████████.

I woke up the next day feeling great and probably wouldn’t have figured out anything had happened if it wasn’t for the gum stuck to my ass, grass stains on my pants, and dirt under my fingernails. And of course the reports from those who were around me, including an absolutely thrilled girlfriend.

The second to last time I got thrown out of a bar was probably the 1800 Club in Evanston ca. 2001, when my friend Beerski pissed on the floor mid-karaoke. My pledge son Matt and I were interrupted in the middle of what was shaping up to be a rip-roaring rendition of “No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature” by the Guess Who when the music was cut off and we were unceremoniously ushered off the stage. We were informed that Beerski was getting kicked out, and we were going with him.

I feel like I must have been booted from other bars over the past decade, but I can’t think of any.

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4 Responses to “i am an incorrigible thug”

  1. Pledge Son Matt Says:

    Beerski peed on the door of the bathroom, not the floor. It only had one toilet, which was occpupied, and he just couldn’t wait. He also did something early to tick the bounce off, but I forget what.

    No Sugar Tonight in my coffee! No Sugar Tonight in my tea! Da-doo-dow-dow-da-da-doo-dow! Da-doo-dow-dow-da-da-dow-dow!

  2. Pete Says:

    He did 4 things. One was peeing on the door. Two was grabbing the waitress’ ass. Three was doing the thing with beer bottles where you hit the top of one with the bottom of another to make the bottom one foam over. I forgot what the fourth was.

  3. Kayleigh Says:

    What is is about Wrigleyville that brings out the most….interesting characters?

    Sorry about your button. I feel for your loss.

  4. Paul Says:

    That guy didn’t like you talking to the person that makes his own comments about one less button being preferable seem innocuous because he is uncomfortable with his own sexual orientation. Clearly.

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