It was during Anarchy in the UK...arms flailing, hair pushed back, sweat dripping down my brow... that's when the random man in the bar handed me a glass half filled with beer. Now logically most people would assume that this man was kindly offering me a sip of his pint but I, in my punk rock addled mind, adrenaline pumping through every nerve in my body decided that this man, this random bar man really wanted me to use this half a glass of beer as part of my dance. So I did what Sid Vicious would've done, what Johnny Rotten would've done, what Steve Jones would've done. I took the glass of beer, swished the entire half a pint around in my mouth and spit a fine mist of brown ale all over the man's face.
And back to dancing.
Alright so I did already have a few glasses of Jack Daniels of my own prior to this very uncharacteristic event. I thought everything was going great. That is until the random bar man walked right over to me on the dancefloor and hawked a giant wad of spit on my pants. Then he turned around and walked outside. For some reason, it didn't register to me why he had done this? He wasn't dancing. He wasn't imbibed with the spirit of punk rock. So I followed the man out onto the street and quite sloppily shouted:
"Hey man don't you ever fucking spit on me again!"
(As this could've been a regular occurrence. Like one day I might see this guy again at the supermarket or something and on that day he'll come up and spit on my pants again.)
The man turned around and stared at me, a puzzled look spreading across his face. I decided to tone it down a bit.
"Man it's just that I only have like 3 pairs of pants and now I have to wash these Fuck!"
the man smiled and said:
"I only have one pair of eyes and I can't wash the beer out of mine!"
Then uncontrollable laughter. I said I was sorry about spitting the beer in his eyes and he said he was sorry about my pants and also that he was afraid I was going to beat him up or something. He said that when he used to box in the marines there was a guy who looked like me who used to beat him up all the time and that's why he went outside in hopes that I wouldn't go out to fight. (At his mention of boxing in the marines I also realize I am glad I didn't go outside to fight)
And for the rest of the night we are buddies. Hanging out and singing along to Joy Division's 'Love Will Tear Us Apart'