12% BEER
No she didn't.
  Oh, what a grand evening it was. Surrounded by people I respect artistically, reveling in the atmosphere of Long Branch Inn, sipping my fifth glass of water to remain hydrated as I knew I should. Jacks and Cokes are not Gatorade, children. You have to replenish.

Was bought a beer. What a wonderful thing, to have a a beer bought by another person. "Can I get you anything?"
"I'll have what you are having."
"I am having a beer."
"I will have a beer as well. Oh, and a water."
"Two beers and two waters, please."

And the water is placed in my hand. And the cold beer in its brown bottle is placed in the other. And then you turn from the bar to hop back into the deep end of the schmoozing pool.

But wait. Maybe you should go to the restroom real quick like. That way, you won't have to break a conversation in two with the need to pee. Good thinking, gal.

Long Branch Inn is awesome. It's dark and red and there's wood. Nice. Real nice. Boy, I sure do like coming here. What a wonderful-


What just happened? Why are your pants soaked? Oh Jesus you didn't just- no of course not, you didn't.

Wait. Look. There at the floor. Oh no! It's your beer. It's lying there on the floor, its innards leaking out onto the cool concrete, a dark puddle creating a giant circle around it.

"Oh," is all you can say.

Then this girl will look up at you from a table. Her arm is still frozen in the air, mid-way through a gesture, but stopped because something was in its way. My beer was in its way.

"Oh," is all she says.

And you both stare at the bottle on the ground. The now empty bottle of beer that was once full of liquid and potential. The white noise of the bar creates a strange silence.

In the silence, you look at the girl. Your face is one of horrid confusion. It asks her silently if she's going to buy you a replacement beer. She looks back at you.

"Ow. I hurt my arm" she says.

Your mouth opens but doesn't say anything because you're so blown away by the rudeness. How could this happen? How could this girl have knocked your new beer out of your hand and not even care, but rather tell you that you beer, the one that is lying there on the ground, caused her pain. Caused her to hurt her arm.

You look back at the beer on the ground. It is empty now and filled with only the foam of what it once was.

And you look back at the girl and you close your mouth and press your lips tight and nod to acknowledge that something rude has just happened. But you're the bigger person and you will walk away. Empty handed. Well, except for the cup of water in your hands.

She'll get hers.

Oh, yes. She will get hers.

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Copyright 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004 L.Leroy