confessions of saint fall

This posting is dedicated to the wonderful cast of characters from way over at the Kris' Korner forum. Burn in HECK Sir Shady, for starting this train of thought.
And yea- I mean that in a nice way. Me isz goofy.

Late Fall of 1999, I was employed at a pizzeria here in Louisville, actually the second time I lived in this city. I was 21, and completely full of myself. At least somewhat moreso than now.

In those days, I was all about the hard work, the life experience. As such, I was the known "go-to guy" insofar as willingness to work insane scheduling. Typically during the work week, I did not work mere doubles- I worked triples, or even quadruples. I would pop in around seven AM to start up the prep cooking for the day, and work on through lunchtime hours of nine til three. I was then relieved for an hour or so, via time spent sitting in the affiliated pub chain smoking and reading (I was on a mother of a Tom Robbins kick at that time). I would clock back on and work through dinner/supper until the dining room closed at eleven, at which point the kitchen would stay up with one employee (almost always me) so as to provide service to said bar. Sometimes, when finally locking up at four AM, I would go upstairs where the day manager had an apartment and crash on his couch to be ready for the next day's open. In those days mind you, I only made it home two or three times a week. Great times.
This was one of those darned quadruples.
I was relieved late in the evening, after having been on the general property for around forty hours straight, and it was a payday, and a Friday to boot! So of course, I head directly to the bar. Fast forward a couple of hours and about a hundred and thirty bucks later, and I am in a warm place.
Except for the trio of fratboys sitting a bit further down at the bar. They from the get-go just thought blue collar and still in uniform me to be the funniest thing ever, whereas they had clearly spent mucho amount of time primping before their dormroom mirriors so as to better their chances of laying skanky pipe for the night, like good bible belt christian republican offspring are prone to do. The giggles evolved, as the drinks mutually consumed progressed, into chortles and outright spitballs. These fine young americans could not leave well enough alone.

In retrospect, maybe they were threatened by me. My sweat-stained workshirt and clear need to drown my exhaustion into the magical bottle of oblivion was a party pooper to their attempts at pinching mini-skirted bottoms of the equally drunk co-eds present that night. A taste of reality, bitter and unasked for.

Whatever the case, I exploded, and proceeded to beat the religion out of each of the three. It was one of those truly bizarre moments in life- the coverband had ceased playing, there was suddenly a circle of patrons around us. In less than a minute all was over and done. I was standing, they were all on the ground. My then friend Joe (who had just been relieved from the kitchen) was suddenly at my side, asking me if I was okay.
I turned to the bartender, a leathery skinned woman in her early forties, made eye contact- and proceeded to vomit a full two or three gallons of puke all over the bar. And just behind the point of impact at the bar- the neatly stacked lines of clean glasses for the night, all immediately drenched in the contents of the barely digested booze from my stomache. I did not blow chunks, it was all liquidy goodness.
Time froze.

Joe was halfway carrying me outside, while the bouncers were closing in for the kill. Suddenly, I was at a payphone across the street, calling for the big sister to come pick me up.
Because of my otherwise undeniable job performance- I was not let go. Moreso, due to the fact that the pizzeria and bar shared ownership, the remainder months of my employ thereabouts were kinda funny. I remain banned for life from the pub- I put it to the test a few years ago, and a pic of me is proudly kept on file. While I continued to work there, especially during the late night hours, the bartenders had to come and meet me halfway to pick up their orders, as I could no longer physically enter their half of the building.

Even better (and this should say something for the type of people I share this city with)- I am still recognized for that night from ten years ago, for being the kung fu movie that turned into upchuck and bile.
King of the world, madre. And take that, Chinsang.