My first friday at the offsale in quite some time has come and gone.
People were cheerful, I was friendly and funny, and the tips were good.
I didn't see a single fight or even a punch thrown, and on my side of the building nobody was too drunk to walk themselves out.
I did, however, see a couple break up rather noisily in the offsale. A tall, pretty, stylish brunette came in, a little upset, and talked to me for a few minutes. During this time, she made several disparaging remarks about my gender, the character of her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, accused him of trying to leave with another girl and accused this other girl of having a sexually transmitted disease. Sorry, a sexually transmitted infection, or STI. When did herpes become a Subaru?
She asked me if she could lay in wait for him in the store and I said yes (she may not have used those exact words). There was no way I was going to miss it when, normally, drama like this only happens on television. We actually chatted a little bit, and I had her almost happy again when The Other Girl walked out of bar and through the offsale. TOG smiled at me and said a chipper goodnight on her way out. It must be said that she was quite attractive, whatever the infectious status of her vajayjay may have actually been (I'm guessing fairly clean, based on what was said later). I was not made aware of the fact that this lovely lady was TOG until she had actually left, and then it was with a harsh whisper. "That's her. She has a disease. What kind of man leaves someone as hot as me for someone with a disease? Isn't that fucked up?"
I could only make vocalizations in assent with her right in front of me, but her charm was wearing thin; crazy showing through the more threadbare patches. It must also be noted that TOG was hotter than her, say an eight to her seven. With TOG out of the picture, she looked around for a good spot to stand where she would not be seen from the bar entrance and could launch her verbal assault utilizing stealth and the element of surprise.
Her ears pricked up like those of a cat to the sound of his voice. He was being pursued by one of Her friends, who was berating him verbally all the while, and when he saw her, he exclaimed, "[a]re you fucking kidding me?" And then, my friends, It Was On.
His blond, 6'1", clearly steroid-driven muscular frame was caught in a hellish, no-fury-like-a-woman-scorned crossfire. Volleys of venomous vituperation verbally vivisected him violently. When he tried to leave, his suddenly ex-girlfriend barred his path, threatened him with assault charges and resumed lacing into him. He told her she wouldn't be able to call anyone to press charges if she was dead, and that was when I sent my co-worker to get one of the bouncers. He called her crazy, said it was over and told her to get out of his way.
By the time one of the big boys got there, they'd both left, after a protracted period in which he made as if to go back into the bar, but instead hid behind a section of wall and peeked out when he thought she was gone. She wasn't. There was more yelling, then she stormed out. A few minutes later, he left by way of the same door.
Now, I'm inclined to side with her - cheating is bullshit and should never be tolerated. But though he was leaving with another woman, conversational evidence would seem to imply that dating this girl was a roller coaster ride of stress and emotional trauma. She's nuts, and he's a cheater; I don't know who was "right" in this particular situation, but I do know that they won't be procreating with each other and that, my friends, is a clear win for the rest of us.
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