Looking for the Heart of Saturday Night

So, there's something on my mind and I want to talk about it.

Who, me?

So, let me give you the set-up.

It's Saturday night. Three of my friends--Justin, Sergio and his girlfriend Amy (love her to death!! Such a sweetheart!! Way better than his bitchy ex-wife!! Sorry Kristin!! You know it's true!! Tee-hee!!)--are downtown, having some drinks at this bar called The Underground ($2 Long Islands--can't beat that!!).

At one point, Justin, a extremely well-dressed black man (there is a reason that I'm mentioning that and you'll understand why in a bit) who is puffing away on a stogie, is told to put it out by one of the waiters because the smell is "irritating other customers." We don't think anything of it and we continue on with our night.

For about five more minutes.

We're all having a great time, enjoying the scene--I'm singin' and dancing like a giddy schoolgirl to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'...and really, can you blame me? Helluva song!--when two giant-sized bouncers approach Justin. The medium-sized one with all the tattoos says, "bro, you've gotta go. You touched one o' my girls. Ya gotta go!!" Justin tries to protest, but the douche bag continues talking over him saying, "Look, dude! I ain't gonna argue with you. You need to get out now!! The other, even bigger bouncer (however the fuck that's possible!) with the long goat-like beard and slightly less-friendly demeanor moves in a little closer to Justin and pretty much grabs him and--how should I say this politely?--escorts him up the stairs and out of the bar. Sergio and Amy hand me their drinks for quick consumption (they know me all too well, apparently! lol!!) and follow him up the stairs. I guess, when he tried to call me outside, the bouncers shooed him away from the bar even further. Because, of course, he touched their girl.

Fuck. That. Shit.

I am sorry. My boy Justin may be one of the horniest horn dogs on the planet (second only to myself, thank you very much!!) and sometimes his decisions aren't always sound and he can be a bit of a klutz and he overdresses for everything (are you getting all of this down?), but he is a gentleman. And he's a sweetheart and just a Good Person.

A lot nicer than me...that's for certain.

What follows now is Justin's side of the story and ya know what? Something tells me that his is a far more accurate description of the events that took place.

Justin, who (he'd be the first to admit) was pretty drunk from the three drinks he'd had at the previous bar, saw a waitress drop her little back folder (the one that you put a customer's check in--sorry...can't think of the word for it, at this particular moment) on the ground and he picked it up, made a harmless little joke ("free drinks for everyone, I guess!"), looked for her and handed it to her. Instead of being a lady and saying fuckin' "thank you," she gave him a sour look, snapped it out of his hand and sauntered off.

Five minutes later, Thor and Mr. Clean approach him.

Okay, yeah. It makes me sick to my stomach that my best friend had to go through that kind of humiliation. It does. I was mortified for him. And I know it's probably not that big of a deal to him at this point, but it's been on my mind. I honestly think that this was a Race Thing. Or maybe they thought he was gay, which would be pretty fuckin' funny because, while he may sometimes wear clothes that the Joker might envy and has a voice as high as Betty fuckin' Boop (we play the shitty hands we're dealt, right? We've all had our fair share!), Justin is straight!! Period.

Even the cigar thing!! What the FUCK?! I've been there a million times and I always see people smoking their Black and Milds, their stogies and no one has ever said a goddamn thing!!! And what about cigarettes, eh?! "Oh, the sickening stench of cigarette smoke is okay...but heaven help us if someone actually lights up a classy, expensive, well-made cigar!!!"

I'm sorry I'm going on such a rant. But it just pisses me off the more I think about it. These guys--fuckheads that they are--threw out one of the nicest, sweetest, most polite people that I know. And they don't even know him. I mean, he was wearing a suit, for Chrissakes!! He was the best-dressed man in the whole place. My guess? I think someone else probably bumped into that ho while Justin was handing her the bill thingy and Justin was just the easiest, closest person to point the finger at.

Sorry, Thor! Sorry, Mr. Clean! Y'all threw out the wrong dude!!

When we were outside, I tried to make light of the situation by making jokes ("Dude!! You popped your 'I-Got-Kicked-Out-Of-A-Bar' cherry!!! Welcome to the club!! High-five, bro!!" or "Man, you better not touch any waitresses at the next wine-tasting, because I ain't leavin, foo!!"). He wasn't particularly receptive to, um, humor at that moment, but it was really me trying to make him feel more comfortable. I've been thrown out of bars before (it was some basement peanut bar in downtown Minneapolis--I forget the name. I will say this, though. I tried to cleverly outwit the bouncer that time by getting back in, only to realize that I had sneaked into the bar next door instead!! Paid the cover as well. Hmmmm...)! It's really embarrassing. It's not fun. At all. Especially when you have no idea what you're getting kicked out for ("We have a stocky, curly-haired white mail coming up the steps and exiting the building. Possibly Jewish. Keep your eye out. Over!" Wow!! I think I was profiled!! Suh-WEET!! Mom and dad would be ever so proud!! Hmmmm...).

Needless to say, Justin--nor I--will never set foot in that establishment again.

Shame on them. That's all I can say. Shame on them.

Justin, you deserved better, sir. You deserved respect. For all your quirks, you're one of the best men I know. Period.

Don't let the bastards drive ya down, buddy.