So I was trying to think of what to write, lately my life has been composed mostly of work and university. I am a host at a late night diner/bar in Charlotte, so needless to say we attract a lot of drunks and they often say some really hilarious things to me since I’m the first person they get to talk to. And as someone who does not drink much, I’m often the only sober one at a party to remember the funny things people say; so I decided to start writing about all the funny drunk conversations that happen to me.
So the other night, the neighborhood I live and work in was having a Holiday block party with a tattooed Santa Claus and guys on banjo singing Jingle Bells. This is where I encountered a man who I will forever know as “The Flamer”, which you will understand later.
My relationship with him began when I was standing at the host stand minding my own business rolling silverware sets as a woman comes in frantically and asks that I tell her husband that their daughter’s teeth are bleeding, “he’s the guy at the bar with the flame toboggan on”. So as requested, I run up to the man to tell him the news, to see him double fisting two PBR tall boys after finishing a shot of whiskey. He mumbled something about his daughter and eventually went outside to tend to the matter, although I’m not really sure that he did anything to help the poor girl.
I thought I was done with him, until a little later he stumbled in the door to stop at my host stand. He “pounded it” and introduced himself, then proceeded to ramble on about how rare it is in life that we meet people that are “cool” and that it was his pleasure meeting me because I’m awesome and pretty, or something along those lines, then suggested that he himself was not cool. Being the most awkward human being and a fan of lame wordplay, I said “well, I mean, your hat has flames on it, that’s definitely like, the opposite of cool.” As the words were coming out I realized that not only was what I was saying not funny at all, there was also no way of explaining it without hitting on him or offending him. I decided to hope that he just wouldn’t catch on to my sideways jab at his fashion sense and would instead laugh at my lame attempt at a joke, but in anger he stormed off to the bar grumbling, “I can’t help it, I’m just a flamer, okay!”