The Drunk Hobbit

So, yeah... I'm up at the bar Sunday night for karaoke (as usual), and I'm sitting alone. This tiny little drunk comes up to me and asks if he can sit with me and chat a while.

First of all, this little creature is repulsive. He totally looks like a hobbit, to the point where I am afraid to look down because I'm pretty sure he has those huge, hairy, bare hobbit feet. Second, he is so drunk he can hardly see straight. He's slurring and weaving, and he's making no frickin' sense at all.

So I tell him I'm waiting on some friends, so he can't sit with me. He goes, "Well, I'll just wait with you until they get here," and parks his tiny little ass on the bar stool next to me. Crap. See, I wasn't exactly sure if any of my friends would be there. I was terrified of being stuck sitting next to this annoying dude all night.

So he starts going into his life story (why does every stranger I meet feel like they need to tell me their life story???), and I'm not even looking at him, trying to give the hint that I really don't give a rat's ass. He's telling me about how he works in a bakery, and how he was supposed to get married last summer but the chick wouldn't sign a prenup, so he had to cut her loose. Um, yeah... if you're slaving away in a grocery store bakery and drinking your income away at the bar every night, I doubt you have enough dough to merit a prenup. (Get it? He works in a bakery and I said dough. I crack me up.)

So as he's telling me his sad, slurred, probably fabricated story, I'm giving pleading looks to the bartender, and other regulars are laughing their asses off because we've all seen the hobbit up there before, and we all know how annoying he is and avoid him like the plague.

Bless her heart, she clued in a couple of the other regulars, who called across the bar and asked me to come over and talk. So I picked up and moved, giving some lame excuse to the fairytale creature as I fled.

Eventually a couple of my friends did show up, which was awesome because then there were no empty seats for the hobbit. However, the hobbit stared at me for the rest of the evening, moving around the bar talking to anyone and everyone who was unable to avoid or deflect him. I wonder how many of me he was seeing... he was really trashed.

One funny thing from when he was sitting there talking my ear off: he asks what kind of cigarettes I'm smoking and what I'm drinking, and I tell him. He asks if they're expensive, and I tell him they are. He goes, "I can tell you're a woman with expensive tastes." I couldn't help myself... I go, "Yes I am. Far too expensive for you." The funny thing was, it was totally lost on him. I mean, I totally dissed him, yet he kept hanging around and talking to me. "Deeeeeeesperado.... why don't you come to your senses...." I mean, come on.

Later in the evening this other guy comes in. He totally looked like a malnourished, deranged Santa Claus. Long white beard, long white hair, plaid flannel shirt with a blaze orange baseball cap, and I'm pretty sure he was missing more than a few teeth. He looked like he'd spent the winter alone in a cabin in the woods, practicing taxidermy on squirrels and chipmunks. I was going, "Oh dear God, please let him sing. Oh please let him sing." Sure enough, he gets up there and demolishes a couple country tunes and a rock ballad. He was totally into it, in the way that someone who doesn't realize how much they suck gets into singing a song. I was laughing my frickin' ass off. Ho ho frickety ho.

It was a fun evening (once I got away from the drunk hobbit), and I'm glad I was able to pull myself out of my funk and go out. It was awesome to see my friends, sing a few songs, and just not think about all the crap going on at home for a little while.