Last Sunday there was some kerfluffle in the bar (imagine that) involving some bikers. Apparently, some of the men wanted to “mess up” one of the women and the next thing I knew she was in the kitchen (WHY?!) sitting on the floor by the dishwasher, snotting and bawling.
What is it about the kitchen? Why does it turn into the bullshit overflow from the bar? The problems are created over there, why can’t they stay over there?
Since I’m full of sympathy for dumbass biker chicks, I knelt beside her, gave her a hug, let her cry on my shoulder and offered to buy her a shot.
Yeah, not really.
I glared at her and said, “You can’t be here. Your problems are self created. Get out.”
But Bagheera, alway a kind soul (and always someone who gets conned) wanted to give her a safe place to stay until the rest of the gang left. My advice was to throw the bikers out of the bar and throw the chick out of the kitchen before we all got tangled up in some sort of biker gang bang.
After about 20 minutes of listening to her sob, I felt bad and chastised myself for being so mean. I looked at the woman and realized she’s not much older than my daughter. What if it was my own daughter sitting on some random kitchen floor, crying and afraid of being beat up by a bunch of bikers (for being a whore). Screw that. My daughter would never put herself in that sort of position.
Eventually the biker people left and the chick left the kitchen for the bar, where everyone felt sorry for her and started buying her drinks. Before long she was feeling good enough to let her boobs hang out, and by the end of the night she felt good enough to go home with some guy.
Since then she’s been hustling pool and turning tricks for money. She’s none too particular about her johns either. She offered it to the former deputy sheriff the other night. He hasn’t bathed since 1987, and some nights it takes everything I have not to puke on the floor when I walk by him. He bought her a cheeseburger instead, proving that when you don’t care enough to wash up, you really don’t care about anything.
All the other Flying Ass Monkeys are in overdrive thinking they might get laid. I find it amusing in a disgusted sort of way. I do love a good train wreck and this one is going to be grand.