new york, like most other cities, is a haven to great little pubs. some divy and quiet. some blaring music & offering elbow room only. this weekend brought me to one right smack in the middle of both. a great, little, perfectly crowded, Irish pub in the Village. enjoyable music including but not limited to classical rock (i recall hearing Shakedown Street at some point). a variety of great beers (Guinness, Magic Hat, Sierra Nevada, Brooklyn Lager, etc) and both bartenders and a crowd that were quite friendly.
with thanks to Hoboken's St. Patty's day celebration, we were all graced with the presence of an absurdly drunk guy.
i must say his tactics were quite entertaining. he somehow thought that trying to run out and then right back into the bar (often forgetting he was still holding a drink, thus slowing his process down a bit and making him all the more obvious) would disguise the fact that he was the drunk guy that was indeed cut off by the bartender. several times, apparently.
unfortunately for him, the staff wasn't as drunk as he was.
the whole affair began to remind me of a reverse episode starring my dog Lucy...escaping out the back door, wagging her tail in the glory of her successful escape, only to be dragged right back in just moments later.
after approximately three fruitless attempts at another beer, and a few variations from the original "out-in" method (my favorite including a full speed run towards the wall nearest door, a slide of his drink onto nearest table, and then a run out door) he was permanently escorted from the pub (with friend in tow this time).
...and i must say, a little piece of me hoped for his grand re-entrance at some point, purely because i wanted a tiny bit of his determination to rub off on me...
if you want to check out the scene of the crime... the four-faced liar
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