Unsurprising to everybody, at the end of a bartending shift it is late at night.  Actually it's early in the morning.  And we (we being the people who serve food and drink until late at night or early in the morning) are tired.  Usually it's 'good' tired, but sometimes it's a salty frustrated how-did-those-college-kids-not-tip-on-a-$120-tab tired.  Either way, a small group of us, usually 3-6 people, have a little post-work mini-session together after work.  We relax, people smoke, and just talk about whatever we want to chat or complain about, after an evening of customer driven conversation.

Last friday, after a particularly busy night, three of us huddled up for our late night chat together.
Now, i really look forward to this moment of the evening.  Seeing genuine people for some genuine interaction before going home to a quiet house and a warm bed.  it is an emotional decompression.

But last friday, we had a visitor.  At first i thought it was "stranger danger" -- the worst kind of which is a random undergraduate, usually severely f'd up, staggering up to the group and just talking at us.  ANd not stopping.   And, though there was standing before us a staggeringly drunk young man, he seemed familiar.  One of my compatriots recognized him as a fellow ex-bar worker from one of the uber-college bars down the street.  He bummed a cigarette.  No prob.  He asked if we 'remembered' him.  My friend said he did.  (big mistake.)  Somehow the recognition of the continuity of his existence over time was mistaken as an invite to stay and chat.  He pulls out his iphone and makes a call.  Talks for a bit, presses End, and hands me the phone.

Me: That's your phone.
Drunky Monkey:  oh, really . . . oh.  Oh cool.  Yah.  Sorry.  I'm sorry.  I'm like, really fucked up.  I I I I'm sorry, I'm just really really drunk.  This isn't your phone?!?
Me: No, it's not.  Though it's getting closer and closer to being mine. 
DM: Oh, ok, cool, Can I bum a cigarette?  (the 2nd time this request is less well received, but egregious generosity wins out in the end, and he's given a second dose of tar)
DM:  I gotta take a piss!!!

Here is where it goes from "i hate this guy" to "this may be a drunken savant."  This totally harmless inebriated fellow goes swaying across the parking lot to the grove of shrubbery adjacent a bank building.   He stands for a second, his body's undulations reminding me of one of those inflatable boxing toys (bobo dolls?) where a heavy-duty person-sized balloon is weighed down at the bottom such that when you smack it, it flies to the floor, then rebounds back upright.  He is said upright toy, waiting in drunken anticipation for the next smack to put him down more permanently.

BUT, then, a moment of brilliance.  The drunky monkey takes a knee.  He balances himself on the one knee, body still tall, the other leg shooting straight out to his right,;forming a lean-to like stability.   3-point balance in place, he goes about his business of urination.   And to his credit, while his top half swayed in the non-existant breeze, his base remained firm (hopefully that was the only thing).  He also was quick to point out, when i told him how ingenious i thought his pee-style was, that it kept his head below the "tree-line" (shrub-line?), in case a patrol cruiser rolled through.

Unfortunately, he killed this brief respect by continuing insist that we all take the stroll to his place to do bong-rips.   Wrong audience.  Shortly after that, our meeting was adjourned.  The four of us crumbling apart into the static darkness, in search of the quiet stillness of our beds.

(turns out, it's ALREADY catching on!!!)