Last night, my date and I went to the Firkin for after-dinner drinks. What was a pretty chill night turned out to be a hot mess. A barfly who was near ready to put his head down at the bar tried to slip out before paying his bill. He was probably in his early 40s, looked like he never found the bottom of a stein he didn’t like with pierced ears and spiked hair. He was the kind of guy that wrote Brut and had the old Old Spice bottle in his medicine cabinet (I’m talking about the one with the white bottle, shaped like a Yop bottle; don’t let my face fool you, I’m in my 30s). Anyhow, the man fully got to the door, but not until the waitress who served our Rick Reds chased him down, debit/credit terminal in hand. Slight little thing had enough fire to burn hell. I’ll call her ‘Shakira’. She got all up in the man’s face, yelling, urging this guy who clearly didn’t have 25 (Canadian Tire paper) cents on him to spare to pay up. The drama continued and he managed to get the attention of the other male servers who also tried to pin him down. He tried another time to sneak out, but this was was unsuccessful and Shakira was flipping her lid and threatened to call the cops. For a school night, who knew someone could go that shiznits over a few unpaid pints, furthermore, how could someone so wasted get served in the first place. In between all of this madness, Charlie Sheen managed to hit on some youngin – couldn’t have been a day over 21, black spikey hair and guyliner – let’s call him Adam. It was the kind of awkward attempt at conversation that one would have with their crazy uncle at a wedding after grouping one of his nieces. In a matter of minutes, Adam, Shakira and my date and I witness the police arrive, and drag Charlie out, no cuffs, no drama, but 100% shame. Unfortunately Charlie didn’t stay captive very long as he managed to runaway without any punishment or paying his bill.
No word of a lie, thought crossed my mind to try to out run Shakira, but in the end I obliged and paid the bill.