Sober Enemies; Drunken Buddies
I really don't have any enemies that I am aware of. I could go back and tell a war story or two here, but I never really tried to get along with those enemies. (Die, commie, die!) Ahh, I know where I'll start.
Slightly less than six years ago, I sold my share of a lucrative computer business in Tulsa to my business partner (who still owes me $85K [No. He's not the enemy in this story]) and began working from home. I had spent so much time building this company that it left me little time for my family and almost no time for friends and fun. After selling the business, I started to visit my favorite watering hole, Marty's on a regular basis, again.
One night while sitting on my usual perch and speaking with the bartender, Sheila; a guy pulls up a stool next to me and sits down. Sheila leaves and I introduce myself to Joe. We talk for a bit and I realize that he is Sheila's ex-husband when he asks:
"What are you doing flirting with my wife?"
I explained that we were just talking and besides; she had said she was divorced.
"Well, that's not final, yet" he said.
At this time, my goatee was better than a foot long. The longer Joe and I talked, the more irritated he became with me. (Imagine that?)
"How about I grab you by that beard and drag you out into the parking lot?" he screamed.
I just grinned, stood up, put one hand on his shoulder and calmly told him to try whatever he liked, but he might not enjoy the end result.
He sat back down, thought for a moment (I'm six inches taller and 50 pounds heavier than this guy), and bought me a beer. By the end of the night we both were drunk and laughing at everyone else in the bar. He still was not my friend.
The next time our paths crossed, Sheila and I had become great friends. To make matters worse she was dating one of my best friends, Mark. Joe sat across the bar and stared at Mark and I; daring me to come over and try something.
I normally take the short cut to the restroom between a cooler and the open end of the bar. This night, I took the long way around so that I would have to pass by Joe.
"Hey, Joe! How's it going tonight" I said as I slapped him on the back.
He sat there, motionless.
"Sheila!" I called to the bartender. "Get this man a beer! Hell, get everyone a beer! We all need to loosen up a bit!"
A chorus of "thanks for the beer," echoed around the bar. Joe looked up at me and mumbled; "Thanks, Mother fucka." under his breath.
After he had a few more beers, he came to the other side of the bar and joined us in a few games of darts (won by me, of course).
As time went on, Joe found himself a girlfriend and had a child with her. Sheila quit the bar. She and Mark moved in together and later were married. Joe and I threw darts against one another several times but never became friends.
Occasionally, Joe would make a threat to me. These were always met with a stone cold gaze; or a subtle word of warning back to him. Eventually, beer would be bought and we would be drunk and making fun of the other dumb SOBs in the place.
A year or so ago, before a Sooners football game, Joe and I (both very much sober at the time) sat down and had a talk.
"You know Gary," he began, "I throw better darts against you than anyone here because you're the best here and it makes me want to beat you more."
I laughed and told him that I was aware of that (him throwing better against me than others) and that I kicked my game up a notch against him, as well.
"And you're such an ass about it." he continued.
"You're an asshole, at times, yourself, Joe" I shot back. "But that's why we try so hard against each other; neither of us wants our face rubbed in the others shit."
Joe smiled and ordered us both a beer.
"You know, Gary, if we teamed up in here no one would ever have a chance." he said, after a couple more beers. " Against a couple of two-fisted, dart-slingin', beer-drinkin' Irishmen like ourselves: no one could beat us."
"You're probably right, Joe; you friggin' asshole! Here. Let me buy you another beer."
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