The Drunken Makeover

He burst into the bar like a cowboy from a John Wayne movie. The man was furious and he had every reason to be. Unfortunately, his fury was directed at me. He came looking for the woman that he was talking to before he lost consciousness. Luckily, I was not there when he arrived. My brother snuck to the back of the bar and called me saying that it is best that I not ever return because the man was there looking for me. My brother was afraid that the man wanted to do me harm and Randall didn't want to fight him. 

I’m not a bar fly, actually, I am more like a church mouse because of all of the time I have spent at church.  I’ve taught Sunday school, sang in the choir, and worked on a church bus to name a few of the things that was of interest to me.  Yes, you can call me Miss Goody Two Shoes if you like, I’ll not deny it. So, why was I in a tavern you may ask?

My brother was a drummer in a country music band back then.  Often he would ask me to come to the place where the band was playing music so that I could witness his talent in action.  Oh, I “witnessed” it to a great extent when he lived at home. The house would vibrate from the drumming in the attic. As a sibling of a musician, one adjusts their noise tolerance in order to live peaceably.  Besides, Randall was the first to put his talent out in the public view so that others can enjoy it and I was very proud of him.  But I think my parents grew to regret buying him that first drum set when he would play the drums every weekend either in the house or in the garage.

I had no idea what to wear to a bar and I debated over donning a suit.  When I told my brother what I was thinking of wearing, he insisted that I put on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt.  “People don’t dress up to go to a bar,” he said. So, I decided to wear a low cut purple blouse along with my jeans, which was presentable enough. 

When I arrived, I looked around the dimly lit room for a familiar face. My brother was watching for me to arrive and then when I came through the door he showed me to the table where his girlfriend was sitting. We ordered drinks and chatted until the band began playing. I was too shy to dance and stayed firmly planted in my chair the entire evening.  The crowd was a bit rough acting for me and I felt safer sitting where my brother could keep me under his watchful eye. 

My brother, sorry for the poor quality photograph

About midway through the evening a man took notice of me. The man was tall, slender, with short brown hair and was nice looking.  He dragged a chair alongside of mine and sat down.  When the man started talking to me it was obvious that he was extremely drunk.  His speech was slurred and his arms and legs moved about in a sloppy like manner, as if he didn’t have much control of his extremities.  As he leaned over to speak to me his drink spilled over and ran down my leg and into my shoe. I jumped up and pushed my chair away from the drunkard and tried to wipe the beer off of my pants. I detest the smell of beer and bemoaned the fact that I will have to wash my clothes.  He apologized and began chatting again, although his chair stayed where he sat it in the beginning.  About 10 minutes later he passed out and his head fell backwards resting on the back of the chair.  My face was last one he saw that evening. 

A couple of women sitting behind me watched the whole ordeal. One of the women pulled out her makeup bag and began applying lipstick, blush and eye shadow to the man’s face. As I watched the women, I thought to myself that I would have never considered using my own personal products on someone who has been God knows where.  But that is the risk they wanted to take, not me. It grossed me out thinking about it. She told me that the man was a regular at the bar and was often inebriated before 9 o’clock. It was their intent to teach him a lesson.  The drunkard sat like a dead man as the women gave him a makeover.  I left shortly after because I didn't want him to wake up and I still be there. 

The drunkard sat in the chair until one of his friends threw him into the back of their pick-up truck and took him home.  When the man woke up the next morning and saw the makeup all over his face he was furious. Then he thought about me. He went back to the bar the next week looking for me.  My brother said that the man made a big commotion at the bar that night.  It was then that my brother decided that my bar hopping days were over, well, at least for that bar. I laughed. I really didn't like going there anyway.