Let me make one thing perfectly clear - I'm a minimal MySpace user now and although I appreciate that all users who see my pictures will inevitably fall in love with my gorgeous ass, I will never ever be part of your god damned stupid mafia.  

Okay?  Jesus eff.  If I joined your mafia, I'd be the one ripping out a spine and playing it like a keytar.  Please don't tempt my other side.  It's all I can do to keep her supressed as it is.

Anyway, I experienced something today that I never have and that's saying something.  You see, in my line of business I thought I've seen and heard it all.

I was hungover as hell when I came in to work today.  Surprised?  I'm not. 

After I paid the taxi man $15 to take me two miles down the road and after he completely disregarded where I told him to go to make it faster and easier, he claimed he doesn't speak this strange language until it came time for payment, then in perfect English informs me that he doesn't take credit cards and needs me to go in to the bank and change the $20 I got out of the ATM, I waltzed (literally three-step WALTZED) in to my work with sunglasses on and my usual pale-faced scowl. 

"Hey Amby!," my GM squeaked. 

Why my general manager calls me Amby is beyond me, but it makes my entire body itch. 

"Hey," I rasp, then take my sunglasses off. 

"Oh.  Oh my.  Did you just wake up?" she asks, kinda sorta genuinly concerned - you know - as much as a restaurant manager might be able to be concerned about a $2.12 / hour employee. 

Nah, it's because I'm 30 going on 31 and have an incredibly unhealthy sleep habit and lifestyle.

No matter.  I don't exactly care.

Clearly, yes I am hungover.  I am 50% of the time.  Just stay out of my bar and let me conduct myself without the eye-roll inducing corporate micro managing.

I stumble to the bar and see a regular I haven't seen in a good 2 months.  We'll call him...ummm....Hal.

Hal's already in the pocket by time I get there, probably circa the day bartender that assaulted me before my coffee by asking me if an ameretto sour was made by mixing ameretto with sour apple pucker.

That's unusual. 

Not unusual that all the bartenders we hire are all fuckweeds, but it was unusual that Hal is actually drunk. You see, Hal is a very mild mannered individual that just wants to take advantage of our stingy happy hour that consists of Bud (retch!) and Bud Light (horck!).

Of course, being the professional that I am, I ask "Hal!  Gosh!  I haven't seen you in a long time!  How are you?" As I'm downing my coffee.

"Not so good," Hal says.  "I've been to the hospital and have gotten some bad news."

Well, now he has my attention because I think I might care...maybe...

"Bad news for you, or bad news of a loved one?"

"For me," Hal says.  "I got some bad news about my own health and it's not good."

I swear to whoever made humans dumb that the day bartender actually said out loud, "OH!  Is it CANCER?"

Turned out, yes.  That's exactly what it was.   

I asked the dumb cluck day bartender to please cut his limes in the back room prep area as opposed to right in front of this poor ailing gentleman that he just insulted and that just learned he had cancer.  

You should be proud of me for not kicking the day bartender square in the mouth and watching his teeth wiggle like piano keys before they splintered out of his face like in Tom and Jerry cartoons.  

The day bartender should also feel lucky that I wasn't on top of a desert cliff, holding an ACME anvil over his numb skull.

Regardless...

"I sincerely apologize, Hal.  We are not so equiped to hire anyone here without the prerequiste of having a pulse..."  I stammered. 

There was a long period of silence, then an even more uncomfortable minute of looking at each other.

"Vibeology" by Paula Abdul came in to my head. 

I deal in my own way. 

Horny horns!?

Thank goodness the other bartender that works with me finally came in an hour after he was scheduled. 

Go Paula.  Go Puala.  Go. Go. Go.  Paula. 

Anyway, Hal was drunkfaced when he went to leave.

The other bartender that knew Hal better than me said, "Hal, I've known you for a long time and I never knew a better man than you.  I have every confidence that you can beat this." 

Hal said," We'll see."

Fair. 

Then Hal addressed me. 

"And Amber?"

I said, "Hal, all of my good energy is with you.  We will see you again.  There's no doubt of it.  You're not going anywhere.  You're a wonderful man and..."

Hal turned around in front of every other patron at my bar and said way too loud: "And Amber...YOU HAVE A NICE ASS."

My mouth immediatly shot open to defend my honor because no one... NO ONE... says that to me - but nothing came out for once. 

I waited for him to leave and tried to understand why he said it. 

Turns out...I still don't understand. 

I waited a minute, thought about it, then decided to say to my tipping audience and apalled co-worker that heard this desperate assault, "That was uncalled for.  I suppose that one may slide."   

I hope everything well for Hal.  I really do. 

But there's no reason to be a dick to someone who cares nothing for humanity, but cared for you for a minute.