Tuesday, June 07, 2005

DFG, otherwise known as, Drunken Flirty Guy and a Pool Hall Adventure

Alcohol has a way of creating stories. People act differently when they are intoxicated and once in awhile I run into drunken individuals when I am out and about. Last Wednesday night was one of these times.

Char and I went to RC’s to play a bit of pool after work. Tony was up there working again and we got the usual table. RC’s is a “sports bar” with a full bar and a pizza joint. There are two types of patrons of the establishment. You have those who love to play pool on one of the 20 tables inside or you have those who sit at the bar and take shots and chase those shots with pitcher upon pitcher of beer. Moderation is rarely observed in these patrons.

Normally this is no problem for Char and I. The bar is on the other side of the building and we stay content at our table, shooting stick. It is when the drunken patrons feel playing pool will sober themselves up that we get to enjoy a show.

An hour before last call, two men wandered over to the nine-foot table near our seven-footer. Neither were unattractive but the vast amounts of alcohol consumed by them made them uninteresting, in respects to dating. Since they were so close to us, and we were the only females in the building, we were the objects of their affection. That is where the hilarity began. The following will be random observations of the two men and their attempted interactions with us.

Drunken Flirty Guy (DFG) is the main character in this tale. Obviously more intoxicated than his buddy and more interested in looking for a little action, he made more attempts to interact with Char and I. The weather was a bit nicer this past week and so he was wearing sandals (thankfully NOT with socks on), shorts, a gray T-shirt, and his baseball cap on backwards. His first attempt at talking with us was to walk up and try and ask questions. (Translations follow.)

DFG: R U shoooooooooootin’ poo’? (Are you shooting pool?)
B: No, we’re playing soccer.
Confused look as the sarcasm sets in.
DFG: Wa ta pla doublassss? (Want to play doubles?)
B: No.
DFG: Are ya ‘fried? (Are you afraid?)
B: No, you’re drunk.
DFG: Yar ‘fried. Ter-i-bee ‘fried. (You’re afraid. Terribly afraid.)

At this point, I just stopped talking to him. He wandered sashayed back to his table. Have you ever seen The Birdcage? If you have you’ll understand this. Nathan Lane’s character tries to imitate John Wayne (and does rather well) and the characters realize how The Duke actually walked. This man did the same, but in his drunken state it appeared rather feminine. Especially with the hands outstretched at the ends of his limp arms.

The duo starts playing eight ball on their table. DFG is racking for his buddy to break and bangs his head into the overhead lights. The lights start swinging. He finds this amusing. So he head butts the lights, full force.

In a drunken state, the notion of a pendulum seems to slip one’s mind. The theory of objects in motion remaining in motion did not occur to him. Since the lights were attached to the ceiling, the only path for them to take once they reached the end of their cord was right back into his forehead.

The sound that pool table lights make when smacking a drunkard in the head sounds a bit like, “BAM!” The reactions of young women at a nearby table when witnessing this is to try and hold in smiles and giggles and not being successful in any way. The pool hall attendant (Tony) has the reaction of walking over and warning the pair that if this behavior continues, they will be thrown out.

Another common thing in a pool hall is music. Rock music, blues music, country music and sometimes (as much as Char and I beg and plead to have the station changed) rap/hip hop music. This evening was 80’s Hair Bands and the song; “Live and Let Die” started playing. DFG is a fan of this song. He sang screamed along, over powering the actual song. I had to comment, under my breath to Char in my sarcastic way, “I. have. never. been. so. turned. on. in. my. life.”

DFG got it back in his head that there were females present. He sat over at his table, yelling at me (not in a way that he was angry, no, yelling because the notion of volume control has now escaped him). “’Ow ooolld ah ya?” (How old are you?) When I declined to answer, he kept asking. When I got up to take my shot, he stopped attempting to ask that question.

Pretty soon, DFG became tired of the game of pool his buddy was playing with him. He dropped his cue on the table hap-hazardly and exclaimed, “I’ dun!” (I’m done!) I do have to hand it to his buddy. He just said, “Okay, pick up your cue and sit down then.”

As DFG found his way to the chair, the bartender announced last call. There is an intercom system at this pool hall, yet it is rarely used for last call. Instead, the bartender will place his hands by his mouth and yell, “LAST CALL!!!” It is quite effective.

The duo already had two pitchers of beer at their table and thankfully they were not drinking them. DFG sat in his chair, unmoving, with his chin resting on his hand. This lasted for twenty minutes and Char made the comment, “I think Drunken Flirty Guy is dead.”

Almost on cue, DFG made a movement. I’m sure he felt the movement the next day, once he sobered up and regretted his actions from the evening before.

I know a woman who has a nervous reaction to anyone falling down. No matter what the situation, she will laugh. She does not want to laugh, but she cannot help it. If she had been with Char and I, she would have died of laughter.

The chair DFG was sitting on was a tall bar chair. The seat is a good three feet off the ground and it has no armrests. He tumbled out of that chair like a pro. His head went first. Being drunk, his arms had no reaction to the fall, they were limp and his forehead is what met the floor first. His legs went straight out in the air as he fell and then he rolled over and went to sleep.

No one in the pool hall did anything for three solid minutes. We all just stood there, staring at him. We each realized he was not hurt, just still really drunk, and then everyone had a bit of a chuckle. His buddy tried to make him get up and sit back on the chair and then realized that may not be a good plan. If he’s on the floor already, he can’t fall again.

The buddy made a deal with Tony about the price of the table and he played out the remainder of his game. DFG lay silent on the floor for twenty minutes until his buddy went to pick him up and bring him home. I timed how long it took his buddy (who was licking his chin through most of the night) to pick him up and get him on his feet. It only took 45 seconds. I was a bit impressed.

As they swayed out the door (DFG was the drunk one, the buddy was not actually that bad, it was more of the fact DFG couldn’t walk and he had to move with him), DFG was in the front. And then he opened the door with his head.

BAM! A drunk man’s head slamming into a glass push door makes a similar sound to that of a drunk man’s head crashing into a row of pool table lights. Just subtract the metal clang and you’ve got it.

Char made the comment; “Do you think this means he won’t remember us?” Again, I had to laugh. At least we got some entertainment!