Apparently, you can’t trust those mouth-breathers on the west side of Madison as far as they can throw their wives. Good, good tale describing one of the ultra-drunk, most likely late 20s/early 30s high school dropouts that inhabit Madison’s suburbs:
So I find the place, and then sit there for like, oh, five more minutes while dude sifts through his one pocket for money. And then again. And when for like the fifth time the dude dug through his pocket and picked out the same keys, the same fifty-five cents, the same receipts, the same unidentified thing–possibly hardened chewed chewing gum, and the same lint . . . after all that I say:
“Dude, you have to pay me now. Do you have the money?”
Blank look. Directly into my eyes. But blank.
“Man, you have to pay me now. $7.25. Pay me,” and lo, the dude produces a credit card. I run it, he signs it with a straight fucking line. So then we argue about that for a while and then he scribbles some kind of hen scratching. Like a drunken chicken walked across some ink and then some paper. I am satisfied, or exasperated, or just done with this guy so I decide to accept the signature and let the dude go.
And then he just sits there. Staring blankly at me.
“Dude it’s time to go.” I am annoyed.
More sitting and staring
“Man you have to go now.” Suddenly I am creeped out. He’s not moving. I can tell his lizard brain may be contemplating his next move, and I fear violence.
“Why?” And now he is hostile.
Click through the link for the complete story. It does end with a lunge…