All about the sort of drunk man all men avoid

Don’t be caught dead hanging around certain types of men in bars. PHOTO| FILE| NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • Then he gets really wasted and I think he decides he’s had enough and calls for the bill.
  • When it comes he stares at it then emits this laughter that is a cross between a cow’s sneeze and that sound that you hear when a butcher slaps meat with the flat end of a knife.
  • Then he goes ape-shit on the barman, talking about how he is being robbed blind.

There are men I can never have a drink with. I might break bread with them, but I will never have a drink with them. The first man will most likely be drinking alone – those men who go to a bar wearing a checked jacket and order a beer, then order a vodka, then start singing along to the music.

I saw one at this bar recently; he was alone, getting smashed on beers. He had taken off his hat and placed it at the end of the counter against a wall. The hat had collapsed in the centre. He looked like he didn’t have many friends going by his 1,000-yard stare. The only friend he had was that hat and it looked like a pet he had taken for a walk and ended up with in that bar. But who am I to speak? I was miserable that evening, myself. I was in a funk. I was as blue as a husband in a  country music song. You should listen to country music; there’s always blue people in country music. People who turn the other cheek to be whacked, people who are moaning about the horrors they saw in World War 2 and people who are in love with a girl called Amanda who won’t ever love them back.

Anyway, so the guy and his dutiful hat are drinking and I’m there feeling like my soul has left me, staring into my bourbon and trying to be a man. This guy starts making conversation my way. Fairly innocent comments like, “Beer should always be served cold.” I ignore him and his collapsed hat.

THEN HE CALLS FOR THE BILL

Then he gets really wasted and I think he decides he’s had enough and calls for the bill. When it comes he stares at it then emits this laughter that is a cross between a cow’s sneeze and that sound that you hear when a butcher slaps meat with the flat end of a knife. Then he goes ape-shit on the barman, talking about how he is being robbed blind. How the bill isn’t his. How there is this conspiracy that has been going on for years now to rob him off his hard earned money whenever he comes to bars. “All of you,” he slurs, “thieves!”

He calls for the manager (poor managers) who comes in with his own hat in hand and talks to him like you would a child who needs to learn how to use the potty. The customer pays, eventually, then picks up his loyal hat, looks at it and thrusts a fist inside it to un-floppy it. The hat refuses. He sighs. Places the hat on top of his head. Adjusts it. Leaves. That’s the first guy I won’t ever have a drink with because he complains loudly about his bill and in the event disrespects himself. And embarrasses his hat.

The second man I wouldn’t wish to have a drink with is that guy who wants to be a hero before his woman. He’s likely to be drinking in a place that sells craft beer. A place with a happy hour on mojitos. A place with just enough light to see your reflection in the mirror when your eyes start looking droopy.

MOST LIKELY WEARS A POLO SHIRT

He most likely wears a polo shirt with its collar turned all the way up. He definitely has chubby cheeks. No hat. He easily flies off the handle. You squeeze past him and accidentally knock his drink and he will be in your face, his woman with the red lipstick holding his elbow and pleading, “Pato, let it go, aii. He didn’t mean it.” The kind of guy who, after a few drinks, wants to fight everyone just to show his woman just how strong he is. Just how he instils fear in the hearts of men. He’s brutish after a few tipples.

More recently he carries a firearm, licensed, but the firearm isn’t as dangerous as his foolishness. He should seek a license to drink with decent human beings with dignity and decorum. His gun is also an extension of his phallus, because he will let every lady he takes out try to touch it. He will threaten to go fetch it from the car should you tell him something he doesn’t like, or look at him in a way he finds offensive, or stare at his woman for a tad too long. He needs little to no provocation. He is a baboon and a buffoon.

One of my closets is like this; ex-rugby, now growing soft in the midsection. One drink and he’s Hulk. He wants to bare his teeth like a rabid dog. His woman is always apologizing for him, breaking up a near ruckus or excusing his lack of decorum. This is the second guy I wouldn’t have a drink with.

I only write about this because January is over and those who were detoxing are done with that fakery and are now back to the bars. The bar is a great place but it can also be a house of stupidity and backwardness. Men lie to men in bars. Men mislead men in bars. Men pretend to be the men they are not in bars. Men lose themselves in bars. But also, men make contacts in bars. Men get deals in bars. Men get ideas in bars. Men learn in bars. They learn to be better men by listening to men better than them. So who we drink with in bars matters a lot. It shows who we are.