I was riding my bike home late Friday night.  I had full reflectors and lights because I’m many things, but one thing I am not is an idiot. 

My route took me past a local topless club. 

In the parking lot of the bar, groups of frat boy types were doing the typical donuts and hydraulic bounces in the parking lot. I rode by, bored and generally uninterested. 

The D****iest D****e peeled out of the parking lot in his Dodge Charger with the intent to run me off the road. (I know because he and his friends were mocking me for riding a bike as I waited at the stoplight, and he loudly declared his intentions.) 

I swerved and managed to dodge, but I still rear-ended a parked SUV and face-planted into the rear windshield. I suffered a broken nose, a moderate concussion, and a sprained wrist. 

The jerk missed the brake pedal with his foot because he was so drunk, jumped the sidewalk, and hit a brick wall. 

The club bouncer called 911 for me, as the d****es were too busy tending to their D**kface-In-Chief. Police and an ambulance crew arrived and got everything sorted out. 

The Number One Moron Who Tried To Run Me Off The Road blew about two and a half times the legal limit — the legal limit is .08 and he blew .21 — and was subsequently arrested. 

I was getting patched up in the emergency room. Late Stage Alcoholism Face was there, too, as a precaution. (He wasn’t hurt, but I’ve been informed that it’s policy that all people arrested for DUI are assessed in the ER if an accident occurred before being booked.)

The father of The Worst Person I’ve Encountered This Month spent nearly an hour yelling his idiot son, loudly, for the whole hospital to hear. Statements were given, and contact information was shared. It turned out that Creepazoid McGarglebrains wasn’t even twenty-one yet, raising some serious questions about how the topless club even let him in.

The following morning, The Father called me personally even though their lawyer had strongly urged him against this. 

He apologized profusely for T**tbrain Fartharder’s actions. He explained that his son wasn’t charged with assault for trying to ram me because he had plausible deniability by claiming he was just trying an idiot stunt and messed up. But he was dead to rights on DUI resulting in injury and underage drinking. 

The father said he would write me a blank check to cover every dime of my hospital visit and a new bike and helmet, plus a fifteen percent round-up for my troubles. We made a handshake agreement that I wouldn’t sue and that I wouldn’t inflate the figure. 

The father also assured me that he was ashamed of how his son had turned out, that he would not let the kid use the family lawyer, and that Dingleberry was cut off from family money until he completed two years of community college on his own dime and stayed sober for two years. 

I chose to agree because he was making a good-faith effort and I don’t need the hassle of going to court.

I am a bouncer at a bar in Spain. We live in a touristy town, and I am fluent in English, so I am usually the first to be called up if we have issues with visitors trying to enter who might be underage.

There are a couple of girls who definitely look closer to sixteen than eighteen. They are speaking English with American accents, so I am dealing with them.

Me: “Can I see your IDs?”

Teenager #1: “I have a tattoo! You can’t get a tattoo if you’re under eighteen!”

Me: “In Spain, you can get a tattoo at fourteen with parental consent. This tells me nothing.”

Teenager #1: “Well, we left our IDs at home.”

Me: “Best go fetch them, then.”

Teenager #1: “Ugh, I thought Europe was supposed to be cool!”

I then notice something else.

Me: “Actually, maybe don’t bother coming back.”

Teenager #1: “What… why?”

Me: “I have a feeling your IDs might be as fake as your tattoos.”

The girls look down on their ugly tattoos that have started peeling around the edges. They squeal a little and leave the queue.

Teenager #2: “I told you that wouldn’t work!”

Caller: “Is this the Smith’s Therapists Office?”

Me: “No, this is Smith’s Gin Bar.”

Caller: “Ooooh! That works, too!”

It is around midday. A woman walks into the bar with a baby in a baby car seat and sits at the bar counter.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t allow children in the bar.”

Customer: “But she’s just a baby. I’ll take a double Jack Daniels, neat.”

Me: “Babies are children, ma’am. We don’t allow anyone underage in the bar.”

Customer: “This is discrimination against mothers who can’t get babysitters!”

Me: “That’s… really not, ma’am. Bars are no places for babies.”

She stands up and grabs the car seat.

Customer: “You’re acting like I’m putting my child in danger by being here!”

Me: “Ma’am, I see your car keys in your hand. You were planning on getting a drink and then driving away with your child in the car?”

Customer: “She’s in a car seat!” *Storms off*

She storms out, and I look at my manager, who has been watching.

Manager: “Go! Go get her license plate!”

I did. My manager called a friend who is a traffic cop, who was able to get one of his guys to “have a word” with her.

I was behind the bar loading the dishwasher in front of a couple on seemingly a first date. She was picking at pasta while he was sipping a beer. From the beginning, the vibe was off; she looked deeply unhappy and he kept speaking for her.

She asked if he had seen “Fleabag”, and he responded that it was a “show for women” and he didn’t really get it. She kept quiet and continued to pick at her pasta. He left to go to the restroom, and I turned to her.

Me: “Well, I really like Fleabag.”

She laughed quietly.

Woman: “Is he gone?”

I nodded.

Woman: *Whispering* “Please help me…”

It turned out she was on a terrible bad date and didn’t know how to leave. I asked her for her phone number, had my coworker take over, and headed to the back to call the woman. In between two tables, I called and pretended to be a hysterical friend.

Me: “Can you come mad quick? My boyfriend just broke up with me, my house is on fire, and I’m locked out!”

Immediately, she got the check and dipped out.

Five minutes later, she called me back to check to see if her date was still there. I confirmed he had left.

Woman: “Thank you so, so much! I’m on my way back!”

She ran back in and gave me a huge hug, shouting about how she just wanted to eat her pasta in peace!

She sat back in her seat, and we got her a glass of wine and s*** on this terrible dude with her.

It was such a sweet moment. It was so nice to see her actually enjoying herself for the first time all night!