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Have you ever had a dream that was over the top bizarre and strange, and when you woke up, you tried to make sense of it, but couldn't? And if you wrote it down, it would seem completely nonsensical? I presume we've all been there. Well, I was there last night. Problem is, I wasn't sleeping, and this wasn't a dream. This was an encounter with another person that was so bizarre as to be surreal.
Now, due to the sheer insanity of the shit that came out of this guy's mouth, I can only attempt a reconstruction of the conversation I had with him, but I believe it more or less represents what happened. At least, I think so. Still utterly confused by the whole thing.
So, there I am, sitting at World of Beer (shocking, I know), and I had briefly been talking to a very nice Duck Dynasty-looking guy (big beard) and his equally nice father, and they had paid their tab and left. Right as they did so, a big, muscley, tattooed, shaved head guy bearing a decent resemblance to Stone Cold Steve Austin sat down next to me. At first "Steve" seemed lucid. He wasn't visibly drunk, and his speech was in no way slurred. And at no time during our interaction did he actually have a drink, something I only realized near the end. I did understand the words coming out of his mouth, but the problem was, the longer he talked, the less sense those words were making when put together as a whole.
Steve: "How ya doing?"
Me: "Fantastic. You?" (I was, too....was into my third or fourth beer by then.)
Steve: "Great. You know why those guys left?"
Me: "I assume they were done."
Steve: "No. They didn't want to deal with me."
Me: "Why wouldn't they want that?"
Steve: "Because I was on to them. I know they were bad guys."
Me: "Seemed nice enough to me."
Steve: "Nope. I can tell things about people."
Me: "Okay..."
Steve: "For example, I know you owe a bunch of money to people."
Me: "Nope. Not me."
Steve: "Oh, I know it. That's why these barmaids are avoiding you. You owe them a bunch of money."
Me: "Actually, I don't. I mean, I owe them for my bar tab, of course. But I always pay it, and they know that. I'm a regular here, and they love me."
Steve: "No, they really don't like you. That's why they give you shitty service. That and all the money you owe them."
Me: "They actually give me great service. And as I said, I don't owe them any money."
Steve: "Look, when you and I get back to Key West--"
Me: "We ARE in Key West."
Steve: "Excuse me?"
Me: "We are in Key West. Where did you think we were?"
Steve: "Cape Coral."
Me: "Nope. Definitely Key West."
Steve: "Right. But you live in Cape Coral."
Me: "Nope. Live right here in Key West."
Steve: "But you're from Cape Coral."
Me: "Never been there."
Steve: "You don't have to lie to me."
Me: "I'm not."
Steve: "In any case, you need to watch out for that guy." (indicates the guy sitting on my other side, who was not involved in the conversation at all, and was simply drinking his beer and texting on his phone)
Me: "Him?"
Steve: "Yeah."
Me: "Why?"
Steve: "He's CIA."
Me: "Say what?"
Steve: "He's CIA."
Me: "Even if he is--and I tend to doubt it--why should that matter to me?"
Steve: "Because of your job."
Me: "I'm a bartender."
Steve: "Your other job."
Me: "I don't have another job. I'm just a bartender here in Key West. You must have me confused with someone in Cape Coral."
Steve: "No, I know who you are. But stick with me, and you'll be fine."
Me: "I'd rather not."
Steve: "If you don't, you'll be dead. Tomorrow morning at 7 am, that guy (again indicating the guy to my left, who was still texting and drinking his beer) will be up in a tower aiming at you. Which is why you can't go to work in the morning."
Me: "7 am, huh? Well, I don't know what he'll be shooting at, but I don't get to work until 10 am."
Steve: "In that case, he'll be aiming in through your window. You'll be dead in bed."
Me: "I highly doubt it."
Steve: "No, it will happen."
Me: "No, it won't."
Steve: "It will. Unless you come back to Key West with me."
Me: "We're in Key West."
Steve: "I know. That's why you have to come back to Cape Coral with me."
Me: "Um, no. Gonna have some beers, go home, sleep, watch some tv, and in the morning, go to work."
Steve: "That's a bad idea. You really should stick with me."
Me: "I'd rather not."
Steve: "You don't want my help?"
Me: "Not at all."
Steve: "If I leave, you're on your own."
Me: "I'd prefer that you do."
Steve: "I tried to help you."
Me: "Yes. Yes you did."
And with that, Mr. Nuttier Than a Snickers Bar got up and left. Leaving me and the nice gentleman to my left to scratch our heads and wonder what the fuck just happened. Because he had overheard snippets of the convo, and knew that at one point we had been talking about him. When I told him the gist of it, he was just as befuddled--and amused--as I was. The bartenders were equally weirded out.
By the way, there is no tower anywhere near my residence. Just other apartments. There is also no tower near my place of employment, though I suppose someone could use the balcony on the resort across the street as a very poor sniper's nest.
And as crazy as the above conversation reads, the actual conversation was weirder, more fractured, crazier, and more drawn out. Above, I am just trying to capture the basic spirit of what happened, but it was far loonier and more confusing than even that. Had "Steve" been a smaller guy, I might well have told him to go fuck himself, but as it was, between his size and his clear psychosis, I did not want to piss this guy off. I'm not one to back down or anything just to size, but you just don't fuck with crazy.
By the way, here it is, coming up on 8:30 the following morning, and I still don't have any bullets in me, from a sniper's rifle or any other firearm. And it's a beautiful morning here in Cape Coral....
Oh, shit.
Now, due to the sheer insanity of the shit that came out of this guy's mouth, I can only attempt a reconstruction of the conversation I had with him, but I believe it more or less represents what happened. At least, I think so. Still utterly confused by the whole thing.
So, there I am, sitting at World of Beer (shocking, I know), and I had briefly been talking to a very nice Duck Dynasty-looking guy (big beard) and his equally nice father, and they had paid their tab and left. Right as they did so, a big, muscley, tattooed, shaved head guy bearing a decent resemblance to Stone Cold Steve Austin sat down next to me. At first "Steve" seemed lucid. He wasn't visibly drunk, and his speech was in no way slurred. And at no time during our interaction did he actually have a drink, something I only realized near the end. I did understand the words coming out of his mouth, but the problem was, the longer he talked, the less sense those words were making when put together as a whole.
Steve: "How ya doing?"
Me: "Fantastic. You?" (I was, too....was into my third or fourth beer by then.)
Steve: "Great. You know why those guys left?"
Me: "I assume they were done."
Steve: "No. They didn't want to deal with me."
Me: "Why wouldn't they want that?"
Steve: "Because I was on to them. I know they were bad guys."
Me: "Seemed nice enough to me."
Steve: "Nope. I can tell things about people."
Me: "Okay..."
Steve: "For example, I know you owe a bunch of money to people."
Me: "Nope. Not me."
Steve: "Oh, I know it. That's why these barmaids are avoiding you. You owe them a bunch of money."
Me: "Actually, I don't. I mean, I owe them for my bar tab, of course. But I always pay it, and they know that. I'm a regular here, and they love me."
Steve: "No, they really don't like you. That's why they give you shitty service. That and all the money you owe them."
Me: "They actually give me great service. And as I said, I don't owe them any money."
Steve: "Look, when you and I get back to Key West--"
Me: "We ARE in Key West."
Steve: "Excuse me?"
Me: "We are in Key West. Where did you think we were?"
Steve: "Cape Coral."
Me: "Nope. Definitely Key West."
Steve: "Right. But you live in Cape Coral."
Me: "Nope. Live right here in Key West."
Steve: "But you're from Cape Coral."
Me: "Never been there."
Steve: "You don't have to lie to me."
Me: "I'm not."
Steve: "In any case, you need to watch out for that guy." (indicates the guy sitting on my other side, who was not involved in the conversation at all, and was simply drinking his beer and texting on his phone)
Me: "Him?"
Steve: "Yeah."
Me: "Why?"
Steve: "He's CIA."
Me: "Say what?"
Steve: "He's CIA."
Me: "Even if he is--and I tend to doubt it--why should that matter to me?"
Steve: "Because of your job."
Me: "I'm a bartender."
Steve: "Your other job."
Me: "I don't have another job. I'm just a bartender here in Key West. You must have me confused with someone in Cape Coral."
Steve: "No, I know who you are. But stick with me, and you'll be fine."
Me: "I'd rather not."
Steve: "If you don't, you'll be dead. Tomorrow morning at 7 am, that guy (again indicating the guy to my left, who was still texting and drinking his beer) will be up in a tower aiming at you. Which is why you can't go to work in the morning."
Me: "7 am, huh? Well, I don't know what he'll be shooting at, but I don't get to work until 10 am."
Steve: "In that case, he'll be aiming in through your window. You'll be dead in bed."
Me: "I highly doubt it."
Steve: "No, it will happen."
Me: "No, it won't."
Steve: "It will. Unless you come back to Key West with me."
Me: "We're in Key West."
Steve: "I know. That's why you have to come back to Cape Coral with me."
Me: "Um, no. Gonna have some beers, go home, sleep, watch some tv, and in the morning, go to work."
Steve: "That's a bad idea. You really should stick with me."
Me: "I'd rather not."
Steve: "You don't want my help?"
Me: "Not at all."
Steve: "If I leave, you're on your own."
Me: "I'd prefer that you do."
Steve: "I tried to help you."
Me: "Yes. Yes you did."
And with that, Mr. Nuttier Than a Snickers Bar got up and left. Leaving me and the nice gentleman to my left to scratch our heads and wonder what the fuck just happened. Because he had overheard snippets of the convo, and knew that at one point we had been talking about him. When I told him the gist of it, he was just as befuddled--and amused--as I was. The bartenders were equally weirded out.
By the way, there is no tower anywhere near my residence. Just other apartments. There is also no tower near my place of employment, though I suppose someone could use the balcony on the resort across the street as a very poor sniper's nest.
And as crazy as the above conversation reads, the actual conversation was weirder, more fractured, crazier, and more drawn out. Above, I am just trying to capture the basic spirit of what happened, but it was far loonier and more confusing than even that. Had "Steve" been a smaller guy, I might well have told him to go fuck himself, but as it was, between his size and his clear psychosis, I did not want to piss this guy off. I'm not one to back down or anything just to size, but you just don't fuck with crazy.
By the way, here it is, coming up on 8:30 the following morning, and I still don't have any bullets in me, from a sniper's rifle or any other firearm. And it's a beautiful morning here in Cape Coral....
Oh, shit.
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