Creepy, Cut-Off, and Caught!

, , , , , , , | Right | January 8, 2021

It is the summer of 2008 and I am working at a sports bar/pool hall as a cocktail server. I could write volumes about my time there, particularly the constant sexual harassment. This is long before #MeToo and I’m ashamed to say that in favor of a chill, one-of-the-guys reputation, I just play along. Soon, I’ve heard it all and it is nearly impossible to offend me. Until this one jerk. 

We are in the suburbs of Virginia, about a forty-minute drive from DC. A lot of our Happy Hour crowd consists of government employees and military folk from Quantico. 

At the very end of the bar, right next to my station, there’s a very inebriated man being loud and obnoxious. I am running the pool balls through a machine that cleans and polishes them. 

The fact that I am “polishing balls” is enough to set off the obnoxious jerk. He makes several poor attempts at ball jokes, slurring badly and gesturing sloppily. It isn’t anything I haven’t heard a million times so I roll my eyes and ignore him.

He does NOT like that. He starts ranting very loudly.

Customer: “I hate b****es who don’t like sex, like my whore ex-wife!”

He tries to involve the man next to him, who is staring intently at his drink, very clearly trying to not engage with him. I quickly make myself busy elsewhere.

Eventually, I have to go back. When he notices me, he gets excited and leans as close to me as he can without leaving his stool, and asks:

Customer: “What about you, little girl? Do you like sex?” 

I cannot describe how lecherous and disgusting his tone is, even while slurring. The way he says, “little girl,” makes my skin crawl.

Me: “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Customer: *Scoffs* “I knew it! These hot young p***ies all hate sex, but they love to tease!”

The bartender beats me to the punch and tells him:

Bartender: “You talk to her like that again, you’ll be kicked out.”

The perv waves him off and starts talking to his unfortunate “new friend” next to him. However, as soon as the bartender is out of earshot, the perv leans back towards me.

Customer: “Ya know, I could teach you all about sex, little girl. I could make you like it. I know what to do.”

I am beyond horrified and frozen in shock. Good thing he is too drunk to control the volume of his voice, as the bartender storms over.

Bartender: “That’s it, buddy, you’re out!”

He slams down the guy’s tab, which he wisely had already printed out, just in case. Everyone at the bar, including several large regulars, are staring at him menacingly — except the guy next to him, who is doing something on his phone. He wises up and pays begrudgingly, grumbling and cursing the whole time. Then, he stumbles out of the bar.

The shock has subsided, but I am still shaking with helpless fury that I didn’t speak up for myself. I am so disgusted by what he said, I want to go scrub off three layers of skin in a long, hot shower.

Just when I think I am doomed to a ten-hour shift of furious repulsion, the quiet guy who has been barstool neighbors with the perv becomes my hero. After paying, he approaches me with a big smile.

Barstool Neighbor: “Don’t worry, I got him for you. I work for the DEA.”

He shows me his badge.

Barstool Neighbor: “That idiot actually asked me if I wanted to buy some Percocet! I’m off the clock, so I told him my ‘buddy’ was interested and asked for his phone number. He’s about to go sell some drugs to an agent who will nail his a**!”

As he leaves, I look at the bartender, who heard everything, in amazement. With a look of dawning realization, he says:

Bartender: “Oh, he was on pain pills! I wondered how he got so trashed on two drinks…”

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