Spitting Images!

Here’s a concept. If you want to hit on a woman at the bar or at least make a good impression, try to do it while not spitting in a bottle. Just a thought. And if the apple of your eye is a total stranger, moved though you are by her presence, try to avoid screaming out a marriage proposal. It might be too soon. And while your friendly bartender in no way claims he’s an expert in any of these matters… the E Harmony dot com of the Barland mating dance… he feels pretty sure these are “don’t’s” you don’t want to do. In fact, if last Wednesday night’s outrageous performance is any kind of eye-popping indicator take it to the bank!

The night was nuts anyway, lots of hollering for some damn reason, maybe it was something I poured, but then this group of guys took it up a few notches. They started with me as three at the bar, two Bud’s and a Coors Light, then quickly grew into eight so they took it to the tables. Which was fine. The first three were daytime regulars so I figured they’d be cool. But then somewhere around the fourth or fifth beer this octet suddenly morphed into one big tailgate party. And the only thing missing were tickets and turned around baseball hats. They screamed and high-fived at every zinger, which seemed to be every five seconds, they whistled and hooted at every female who ventured down the stairs to come in, and when the piano man started to do his thing, much to his well-hidden angst, they bayed like a bunch of wolves in a fucking full moon. It was awful! Then one guy stepped to the fore and took it to a new level. The basement!

This rather attractive young female, who with two other women had survived the gauntlet of cat calls coming in the door, ventured up to the piano to ask if she could sing. But before she got to ask that question, as she stood there politely waiting for the piano man to finish, this knucklehead left the pack and cozied on up to her. And though he clearly wasn’t the alpha dog, by that I mean alpha in looks… too tall crew cut, much overweight and a mug that looked like it should’ve been blowing on a tuba… I admired his courage at least for taking a shot. But when I saw what he brought to the piano that admiration ended. In one hand he had a bottle of Bud which was actually filled with Budweiser, and in the other he held a bottle that was filled with brown spit. Spit from the pinch of snuff that was wedged in his lip.

Now before I go any further here and before I lose my mind, let me just make this point regarding this habit. And it goes like this. Doing snuff in a bar is about the vilest fucking habit in the history of decorum. Public decorum. And I don’t care who I offend because it’s a fact. For to make a point in a civil conversation, then have to pause to spit, is nothing short of, “Excuse me, I have to spit up.” And to do it in front of a woman doesn’t even make sense. I mean do you actually think any sane woman would want to kiss a mouth that entertains snuff? A mouth that’s been lined and soaked in brown saliva? Well here’s a clue. Unless she’s one of the Yokum’s you can bet she doesn’t. But amazingly some guys haven’t a clue, which brings me back to the beta dog gnawing at piano girl.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“It’s Dana,” she replied.

“Hey, my name is Nate and I think you’re awwwww-some!” Then he spit in the bottle.

“Nice to meet you, Nate.” Then she inched away.

“So what are you gonna’ sing, Dana? I can’t wait.”

“I’m not sure yet, I want to see what he knows.”

“Hah, you’re awwwww-some!” Spit in the bottle again.

The piano man finished his song at that point, and none too soon for Dana, for it gave her a chance to quickly end this encounter. So she leaned in and whispered some words to the man, they both went over his song book, finally arriving at Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time”. Which she proceeded to sing. But while she was warbling her heartfelt words, not greatly but sure as hell sweetly, our man who was holding two bottles almost lost his mind.

“You’re awwwww-some,” he screamed, over her singing, “I love you, I fucking l-a-h-h-h-h-h-h-v-e you, Dana, I love you!!!”

Not exactly, “Did my heart love til now? Foreswear it, sight. For I ne’er saw true beauty til this night!” But then Nate’s not Shakespeare.

Then came the big one. “I want to marry you,” he shouted over Time after Time. “Do you hear me? I want to fucking marry you, Dana, I love you!” Then he walked over to the table where her two girlfriends were sitting, sitting in shock and awe by the way, and asked the following question with a straight face. “Is she married?”

“Huh? No,” said the one, clearly flabbergasted.

“Is she lookin’?” asked our boy, spitting in his bottle.

Now they’re trying not to laugh.”Gee, not to our knowledge,” managed the other one.

“Damn!” he said, forlornly. (As fucking if!!!)

Now stop for a second and think about what’s going on here. If that’s possible! This guy went from, “Hey, my name is Nate,” to professing his love and a marriage proposal, all within the span of four spits, I mean minutes, and now not content to leave it at that, even though Dana wasn’t lookin’, he continued his courtship with more fervor after her song.

“Let-her-sing-a-nother-song, let-her-sing-a-nother-song,” he chanted over the crowd. “I fucking love this girl, let her s-i-i-i-n-g!!!” And with that the real alpha of his pack, this time referring to size… the guy was six foot five and at least two eighty… corralled our suitor and dragged him back to the pack. It was like grabbing a child and threatening to send him to bed. For our boy fell silent.

Dana never did sing that second song, despite the crowd’s encouragement, she was probably afraid it would stoke Nate’s fires anew. And he’d show up at her goddam table with a ring and a pre-nup. But she definitely did have a night to remember, or maybe just one to forget, for as Cyndi says, “Girls just wanna have fun.” Not get married!

So what about Nate when the dust finally settled at his table? Well the hangdog expression on his face clearly told the tale. Which is, his mouth was not only snuffed but so were his dreams. So he took a final swig from his bottle, but being so out of sorts, one can only hope that that bottle was the one with Bud in it.

And what’s the lesson to be learned if indeed there is one? It’s… don’t spit where you court, and don’t court while you spit, and give it at least an hour before you propose. In other words don’t rush things.

See ya’ next week-end, dear reader, have yourself a good one.

15 Responses to “Spitting Images!”


  1. 1 Donna B. September 25, 2011 at 6:19 am

    Oh my… oh my.

    Isn’t there a level below beta male to which you ‘yankees’ can consign Nate? From your description he’s not even going to get a “bless his heart” from the most kindest of Southern women willing to overlook a little snuff or chewin’ tobacky.

    Nobody, not even the lowest of the lowest down here would ever spit in a bottle. It’s just not done, ya know? The lowest of the lowest class know they at least have got to have a cup with a napkin or some other absorbent material in the bottom if they’re going to let anybody at all know they’re partaking.

    Most who partake of that form of tobacco down here in the South hardly ever let anybody know they are doing it. The exceptions being those who are trying to be what they think is a “good ole boy” and deliberately exhibit a ‘pooching’ jaw or who take delight from obstinate and ostentatious spitting. Nate might fit in with those jerks. What they all have in common is that none of them has ever won the attention of a female. Unless you call disdain and disgust attention.

    These people are shunned by both polite and impolite society where I live. They are beyond the pale. Unless they are 89 or older and know how to use that properly absorbent cup appropriately.

    Would it be appropriate (linguistically/fraternity name correct?) to call them zeta males – that’s like four down from beta. And Zeta being a girl’s name and all…

  2. 2 Donna B. September 25, 2011 at 6:24 am

    And just in case someone might misunderstand my previous comment, the only thing pouching out in my cheek is my tongue.

    🙂

  3. 3 scribbler50 September 25, 2011 at 10:12 am

    Donna: Brilliant, my friend! I guess I hit a nerve because that more than covers the subject (the how-to of tobacky chewin’) and yes, Zeta works fine.

    Thank you, Donna, you tongue-in-cheek devil you!

  4. 4 Comradde PhysioProffe September 25, 2011 at 5:19 pm

    Imagining this kind of nonsense going in your establishment makes me cringe. I mean, three blocks east, fine, that crap goes with the territory. But at your place???

  5. 5 scribbler50 September 25, 2011 at 7:05 pm

    Comradde: I’m with ya’, prof. That’s certainly not the norm at our place but sometimes stuff just happens. Like I said, the whole place was crazy that night, just loud, packed and insane, which usually happens with a full moon or St. Patrick’s Day. Good with the bad I guess, what can I say?

  6. 6 Anonymoustache September 26, 2011 at 6:24 am

    “Spit in a bottle/can/cup that one carries around” guy….reminding you that the lowest common denominator is always lower than you think or would like to believe…

  7. 7 physiobabe September 26, 2011 at 8:11 am

    Goodness! That left a bitter taste in my mouth ;-). How’s my dolcezza?

  8. 8 scribbler50 September 26, 2011 at 9:11 am

    Anonymoustache: As the old saying goes, “It just shows to go ya!”

    physiobabe: Swirl some peach nectar in your mouth and call me in the morning. (That’ll be twenty five dollars, please!) 🙂

  9. 9 Ken September 26, 2011 at 9:34 am

    Jeez, that’s just disgusting. Even baseball players have given up chewing tobacco. The thought that any guy would take a pinch of snuff and spit in a bottle is lower than low. The guy needs a trip to a reeducation camp.

    The sad thing is he was probably harmless. Just drunk, and socially inept, and playing, I would guess, more to his buddies than the girl.

  10. 10 scribbler50 September 26, 2011 at 11:02 am

    Ken: Good points all, Ken, except for one little point in your last sentence. Yeah he was drunk and perhaps he was showing off but I really think this guy was that smitten. Else how do you go to her friends and ask, “Is she married? Is she lookin’?” That’s not inept that’s blind moxie.
    Thanks, as always, for weighing in.

  11. 11 The Tideliar (@Tideliar) September 26, 2011 at 4:49 pm

    “Now before I go any further here and before I lose my mind, let me just make this point regarding this habit. And it goes like this. Doing snuff in a bar is about the vilest fucking habit in the history of decorum.”

    Sweet heavenly damn Scribbler, you’ve hit the nail on the head here. I live in Memphis and there is a lot of chew going on. in bars. Even nice bars – At The Bar. Some places the bartender even gives ’em a skiff with wet tissue in the bottom ready for the spit.

    That’s about the time I cash out and leave.

  12. 12 scribbler50 September 26, 2011 at 6:47 pm

    The Tideliar: I don’t see it much but I definitely do see it, most recently(besides last week) from a well dressed guy from down south who had the habit. And I say that because it’s not just the jeans wearin’ crowd that “pinch”, it’s sometimes a suit and tie guy which I find amazing.
    Thanks for stopping by.

  13. 13 Irishirritant September 29, 2011 at 10:45 am

    disclosure…I used to have the habit when I swung a hammer for a living.
    I find it no more vile than cigarettes, which, if you remember, effected not only your sensibilities but your sense of smell and cloths. Neither is good in a bar. The nicotine buzz was far superior with a little pinch. Thankfully that part of my life is over. Too bad the lad is daff, I think he has more than one problem.
    Thanks Scrib

  14. 14 scribbler50 September 29, 2011 at 7:43 pm

    Irish: No, thank YOU, and good on you for dropping the vile habit.
    Cheers!


  1. 1 Budweiser Mug | An American Brewmaster Trackback on November 30, 2011 at 10:25 am

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