Hmm... Nice tavern!
It's not bad here, it's warm, the bartender smiles friendly, and the two girls at the table on the right are quietly minding their own business.
I'm on my second drink and eavesdropping. I understand that one of them went hot air ballooning in the Czech Republic. She's still enthusiastic about it.
I have good peripheral vision, so I "photograph" them from head to toe and quickly realize that they're exceptional girls.
For me, any woman who slaps makeup on her face is... exceptional. If she dyes her hair purple or pink, if she cakes on tons of flour, if she puts on garish lipstick, if she applies false eyelashes and has long painted nails, then it's clear: I'm dealing with an exceptional woman. Exceptional compared to normal women.
The two girls also have nose rings, so they're even more exceptional.
All my life I've run away like hell from exceptional women, so I'll just mind my own business and find something harmless to look at.
For example, the poster behind the bartender. It's cute. It's a large, beautiful poster of a wonderful beach, white and clean. Blue waves all around the island and a few coconut trees in the middle of it. Or maybe they're palm trees. No, they're definitely coconut trees. Or... maybe palm trees. Actually, what's the difference between a coconut tree and a palm tree?
But what does it matter? It must be so warm and nice on a beach like that. It's Paradise!
With my eyes on the island - Paradise, I order the third glass of vodka, and suddenly my stomach punches me hard. I'm afraid it's time to eat, so I ask the bartender to put some tomato juice in the fourth glass and point with a finger to the poster:
"Blessed are the people who live there. I envy them. A beach like that is... stronger than a hot air balloon ride."
The bartender, in his twenties, smiles, shrugs, and goes about his business. The exceptional girls on my right ordered coffees. The smell of fresh coffee conquers the entire room. I like it.
It's very warm and nice in this bar. Almost as warm and nice as on the island in the poster. I'm getting sleepy. I want to laze around like those people, in loungers, on the island with fine sand.
Maybe I should order a coffee while waiting for a travel idea. Today, I'm leaving, whatever happens! I'm not delaying a second longer.
I wonder what it's like in Dubai now? I wonder, like, imagine, to be warm all the time, to bask in the sun all day. Isn't it true that the winters here kill any desire to live?
I really don't know much about Dubai," he calmly replies, "but I was in Thailand a year ago, and I assure you it was a very... hot experience."
He smiles with all his teeth and winks at me.
"Are you gay?" I ask him directly.
"No," he looks surprised. "Not at all."
"You made eyes at me."
"Oh," he laughs, "was that it? I made eyes because I had the chance to meet a lot of cute girls on the beach in Phuket. That's why."
I realize I'm getting drunk because I'm now sitting next to this stranger and blabbering nonsense. When I start babbling, that's the first warning sign: babbling.
The second sign is that my knees get weak. Finally, the grand finale, dizziness and, of course, headaches. All in one package.
I must give up today in the end. I'm a serious man and I have work to do: I have to leave.
On the other hand, I admit it's nice to be drunk. There are advantages. You can strike up conversations more easily.
In general, I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone. If I were sober, I wouldn't even think about engaging with a faggot who denies he's a faggot.
The bartender explains again how much he liked the cute girls in Thailand, but I've already crossed him off the list. Insisting that he likes girls, he only convinces me even more that he's gay.
"What about Dubai, what about Thailand," he wipes a glass carefully. "Probably the climate is the same. Still, in Thailand, there are no restrictions on alcohol consumption. Alcohol is banned in most Arab countries."
I look at the empty glass and realize that the gay guy is right. The idea of being chased through the streets of Dubai by an angry mob of Arabs doesn't appeal to me.
On the other hand, Dubai is much closer than Thailand. It's just a stone's throw away. I think. I'm not sure. I'll check the map.
So, if I stop drinking, I could still go to Dubai. I'll save time and money. I wonder what Arab chicks look like?
"Give me another one," I say thoughtfully.
Glass number five lands neatly in front of me, and the guy continues:
"Yes, if I were to choose again today, I would still choose Thailand."
Wow! What's this? Is it a sign from God? The poster with that beautiful beach in the Pacific, the bartender's swagger, everything... What's happening here? Is this the hand of God?
I look him straight in the eyes and ask calmly:
"And how did you get there? Not that I'm particularly interested, but just as an idea."
"I got there like everyone else. By plane. The flight lasted about seventeen hours, then we made a quick stop in Shanghai, just enough to refuel, then flew again to Chiang Mai, their main airport. Ah, Thailand! What a country, what places! I stayed there for only about ten days. Unfortunately. But I would repeat the experience anytime."
"So why don't you repeat it?"
"I don't have a sponsor anymore," he laughs. "I didn't pay for that trip. You didn't think I paid for it, did you? Just the round-trip ticket alone is about three thousand dollars."
"That's right," I say slowly. "What a fool I am! Just the ticket is three thousand bucks. Any sucker knows that. What a thing, man! 'I like you. Come on, pour me another glass."
The bartender hesitates. It seems like he's trying to act crazy now! Right now? Just when I've warmed up? If he insists, I'm really not going to like it.
"I can't serve you anymore," he decides, shrugging. "I'm sorry!"
Damn you! You seemed like a smarter guy, but you're just rude, and you've just lost your tip with that two-bit attitude.
"I've had a lot to drink, right?" I ask, weighing each word carefully. "Can't you see I'm sober? Look at me: I can speak normally if I pronounce each word slowly and carefully. I've had a few drinks too, there..."
"You haven't had too much to drink, but you've had enough. I'm sorry, it's company policy."
I piss on your company policy and on you and your mother and... does he have a cat?
Anyway. You're not sorry, you weirdo! It's obvious you're not. I bet you're laughing at me inside.
Do you know who I am? You have no idea who you're messing with. I'm dangerous. Today, because of me, a guy almost flew off the eleventh floor. How about I stand up, grab a chair, and smash that damn showcase and all the shelves with bottles? I bet the alcohol would spread all the way out to the door.
"Come on, be a good guy. One more drink and I'll leave. For the sake of our friendship. What's your name?"
The guy carefully polishes the mirror, without haste, as if that were his only purpose in life.
Are you playing deaf, huh? Is that it? You're playing deaf with me?
Woe unto you! I think you skipped your chemistry classes. You have no idea how flammable alcohol is. After I smash all the whiskey bottles in this damn store, I'll light a cigarette right under that sign that says smoking is prohibited.
And then, I'll throw the match at your feet.
Exactly. I can already imagine tomorrow's headlines.
"SHOCKING!
A gay bartender and two girls with nose rings burned alive yesterday morning in a local bar.
It seems the perpetrator managed to escape to Dubai. Or Thailand. Or Dubai.
The police are powerless in this case.
We'll have more details in tomorrow's edition!"
Yes, that's exactly what's going to happen if I don't get my drink.
The bartender looks at me with a displeased face and - thank the Lord! - pours me another small vodka.
Blessed peacemakers! Peace is restored in the bar. The girls are saved. The bartender's ass is saved!
"I knew you were a good guy," I say. "Look, I'm peaceful. I'll drink and leave. You can't force love. Yes! I'll pay and that's it. I'm leaving! I'm leaving right now..."
At least I'll try.
"You shouldn't have drunk so much," the guy tells me as he helps me get up from the floor.
I look at him surprised. The tile is cold and it's not healthy to stay in this position for too long.
"Do you know of a currency exchange nearby?"
The man takes the hundred-dollar bill from my hand, exchanges it, and gives me the change. I hope he respected the exchange rate.
He leads me outside, slowly, step by step.
"Shall I hail a taxi for you?"
"Umm... yes, please. You're a smart guy. I hope you kept your own tip."