A while ago I asked readers to send their writing so I could post it. I got another anon posting so here it is.
I always loved bars until that night in the summer of 02. I guess I knew I shouldn’t have gone into a bar with six motorcycle parked outside. What the hell, I needed one of the 7 course Irish dinners Sully’s served – 6 domestic drafts and a boiled potato — so against my better judgment, fuck it, I went in anyway.
I was working on my third draft when the trouble started. My ex had to show her ass with me in the room so she started talking shit about my ability in the sack. Nice and loud with all six of the bad-assed bikers sitting with her around a big table in the corner.
She was my ex because she used a biker gang for company while I was playing in the sand box. I probably could have overlooked it – hell, I wasn’t entirely innocent myself the 9 months I was gone – but she couldn’t give up the strange dick when I got back.
I thought it was tacky of her to blame my prosthetic leg and arm on her need for as she put it, real men. So I did what I had to do — cashed out and got the divorce.
“Hey, soldier boy, the lady here says you used to wait on her real nice before she traded up. How ‘bout bringing another round over here for her and her new friends?” I thought for just a second about heading on out and leaving before shit hit the fan. No, I don’t think so. I didn’t spend 4 months fighting towel heads and sand niggers and 5 months in rehab with my new arm and leg just to be run out of some dive by a few assholes who thought they were tough.
I went up to the bar and told the bartender, “You heard them, they want another round.” We both smirked when I added, “Put it on their tab.” I kind of stumbled when I got to the table and ‘unfortunately’ lost control of the tray of beers and dumped it on the asshole who had done all the talking.
I woke up on the good side of the grass in a hospital room, which is more than could be said for the asshole who wanted another round. I found out later that the box cutter I used on his throat made it difficult for air to get to his longs and he drowned in his own blood.
Some of the other five suffered some damage and they all learned that if you fuck with the bull, you get the horn. I might be a little shit at 5-11 and 175 but I’m a highly trained little shit. The bartender broke it up before they totally fucked me up. The cops were a bunch of ex-military police and thought it was all in self-defense. The DA wanted to make trouble for me, saying I used excessive force defending myself. That didn’t fly when he took my prosthetics and size into consideration.
When I get out of this hospital, I don’t plan on frequenting a lot of bars but not because I don’t worry about bumping into the ex again. I understand she has decided making smart remarks about me is a bad idea.
I’d been looking a job and Sully thought I just might make a decent bouncer. So while I don’t like going out to bars, I don’t mind working in a bar like Sully’s that serves a good 7 course Irish Dinner.