You can drink at every place in Knoxville.

     But no matter where I’ve been — what country, even — there’s not a single person who can say, “Hey, that guy only had four drinks, and he is smashed!”

     It’s not an alcohol tolerance thing, mind you, but a great human truth: some people can drink, and some people cannot.  I don’t have a spelling or grammer checker on this blog, for instance, and I screp up a lot.

     *snicker*

     (If you saw that, good on ya, mate!)

     My reasoning is, every time bartender hands me a drink, I pull a coin outta my left pocket.  I know damn well I need to watch how many, and I’m not stupid.  I’d like to get home — without killing anyone.

     Tonight’s poison: One Milk Stout (which was blah) and three Bombay Sapphire and Tonics.  I like those.  Knoxville didn’t even have Bombay Sapphire before I came back home.  I’m a damn trend-starter.

     It all comes down to this …

     I’m ready to go home.  I don’t want any more.  I’ve had 3.3333333(inf) drinks.  Yes, Two Bombay & Tonics and one Milk Stout (of a brand I’m not sure of, because it was suggested).  Cool.

     It was Happy Hour, meaning $1 off Mixed and Beer before I got there.  I drank a gin & tonic and a Milk Stout before happy hour, and a couple of Bombay & tonics after.
     However …
     I dropped my drink beside someone I trust, and walked to seat next to her, and started talking to some guy … Next thing I know, my drink is gone (that’s where the two-thirds of a drink came in).

     I told the bartender, “Dude, my drink’s gone.”
     “How much did you have?”
     “Like, two thirds … I wasn’t finished, but I need to go, anyway.”

     He walks away.  Starts talking to another bartender.

     She asks, “How much was in there?”
     “About two thirds, but I need to leave anyway.”

     She pours the glass damn near full of Bombay Sapphire, and tops it off with tonic.  I don’t want that.  I just wanna go home.
     And she brings me a $30 check.

     “Hey… this isn’t right… and I don’t want this…”
     “Why not?”
     “I only had four drinks, and the last one got taken.”
     He quickly disappears, talks to the female bartender again, and I get a check for $24.  And a new drink.

     Next thing I know, I’m into an argument with a regular/employee, who’s the reason we went to the damn place anyway….

     “I didn’t ask for another drink,” I said.
     “Yes, you did!  I work here —– You’re being a dickhead!” he says.

     Sorry, but no.

     I can be called an asshole all day.

     But the first time a bar employee/bouncer/karaoke DJ calls me “dickhead” when I’ve done nothing to instigate it, it’s time to find another bar.

     I was being nice.

     And … Hey … Turns out …

     The guy calling me a dickhead?  Never told anyone he works there.  He’s said he does Karaoke a couple nights a week.  But, hey … this was a Wednesday night.  So it’s economic thing, is it?

     Thanks, asshole.

     (Oh, and Bartender who had his power usurped?  Got a $5 tip.  Wasn’t his fault.  A mistake he could handle, and didn’t have a problem with me.)

     Pirate Word For Healing —-

     NEXT!