The bartender
Part 2
Part 1
October 22, 2004
iranian.com
I needed to close the shop for a minute and get the
frat boys some weed. I got my roommate Javad on the cell.
"Yo, Jivi," I said.
"What?"
"Remember you bought a bag of weed from the neighbor and it turned
out to be manure?"
"Yeah, how can I forget that? That bastard is gonna pay for it when
he's released from the county jail," Javad said.
"Hey, you still got the manure?"
"Yeah, it's sitting somewhere in the
apartment."
"Do you think you can drop it off
at this address in Malabo?"
"Why? Do you need to fertilize some plants?"
"No, I just might be able to recover your losses."
"No shit?" Javad said.
"Yeah, I got these guys here that
can't tell the difference between piss and tequila and
they sure as hell can't tell
the difference between weed and a pile of shit."
"You Da man. I'm there," Javad said.
I walked back to my station. A lady in her thirties
approached and asked for milk!
"Sorry, did you say milk!?"
"Yes, milk," she said.
"Would you like something in it?"
"No!"
"Are you sure? You mean just plain milk?"
"Yes, my faith doesn't allow alcohol," she
said.
"And what faith is that?"
"I'm Bahai."
"Well, good for you and bad for me," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"You know, if everyone was a Bahai, I would go out of business."
"That was a racist remark. I don't appreciate that," she
said.
"Racist!?"
"Yes, you need to stop makin' fun
of people's faith."
"I wasn't makin' fun of your faith."
"Yes you were. I can spot sarcasm from a mile away," she said.
"Are you for real?" I asked.
"Yes I am. You think just because someone doesn't consume
your poison, that person is subhuman? You think you're so
cool because you suck on that disgusting bottle, don't you?"
"Was that a question or a comment?"
"It's because of men like you that we have wars and crimes
against humanity," she said.
"Wait a second. I think you're taking this a little too far."
"And there is nothing more unattractive
than a man with a bottle of beer in his hand. And nothing
is more sickening than a man who
pushes alcohol
on others."
I opened my big
mouth again.
"Listen lady, I'm sorry if I insulted
your thing... "
"My
thing?"
"You know, your faith. I meant no
disrespect."
"Yes you did. You belittle people to feel good about yourself."
Okay maybe she had a point.
"Listen, I'm sorry. Okay. Enjoy your milk."
"Fuck you," she said, slamming
the glass on the counter and walking away.
I noticed that
the host lady
was glancing
at
me from the
distance. This
was not good.
She slowly
walked
toward me,
came behind
the bar, and
stood next
to me. I'm
done
for the
night,
I thought.
"Listen, I'm sorry about that," I said. "I really
didn't mean to upset your guest."
"Oh, don't worry about her; she's
a bitch. Got anything juicy so far?"
"Well, let's see, some of your guests
hate Jews, some are cocaine addicts, your little son
is alcoholic, and I pissed in some guys' drinks;
other than
that, nothing unusual."
"Okay, keep your ears open and let me know if you hear anything
worthwhile," she said.
"Will do."
A sharply dressed gentleman
in his early fifties walked over to my
station.
"Grand marnier, please."
"Good choice."
"Do you believe these people? The amount of arrogance; it's
sickening. I swear I'm ready to move out of this town," the
man said.
"I hear you."
"After all I have done for them.
I mean, I have invested my life and money to save them."
"Save them? From what?" I asked.
The
man looked at me like I was mad.
"You obviously don't know who I am!" the man said.
"Should I?"
"Well, since my face is beamed into millions of Iranian homes everyday,
just about everyone knows me."
"Are you a movie star?" I asked.
"No, my damn agent can't get me a
part. With all these movies they make in LA about terrorists,
you would think my agent could land me a small part," the
man said.
"Then, how are you famous?"
"I'm the owner of one of the most popular Persian satellite
TV stations in LA. You must be the only Persian who doesn't
recognize me!"
"Oh, yeah. You look kind of familiar.
I think I recognize you. I love your shows."
I
had no
idea who
the chump
was but
I would
say anything
for a
good tip.
"Thank you! I prepare intensely. I
feel like Jay Leno; I have given my life to my art," the
man said.
"Yeah. Must be nice being well-known," I said.
"It's hard work. It gets annoying after a while. You feel
like you can't go anywhere. Now I know what Jack Nicholson
goes through."
"So, like, how do you feel when so many eyes are on you? Do you
get nervous?"
"No. My job is to bring freedom and
democracy to Iran. I'm a motivator. I love it."
"Say, do you have a job for me. I always wanted to be on TV," I
said.
"Sure. What can you do? Can you juggle?"
"Juggle?"
"Yeah, I need entertainment--something that attracts younger crowd.
Can you sing and juggle at the same time?"
"No."
"What's your talent?" the man
asked.
"I can make fart noises with my armpit."
The
man stared at me for a while as if he were picturing
me making fart noises with my armpit.
"I'm not sure if Persian audiences are ready for that yet.
What else can you do?"
"I can break-dance."
"Perfect. Give me your card. I'll
have Khordadian call you tomorrow. You guys can get together
and come up with couple of
dance numbers. You'll have your own show--one hour a
week. Just get in there and dance 'till you drop'.
The
man said
hello to
some friends
and walked
away. The
cheap bastard
didn't even
leave a
dollar.
An
older man
dressed like
a teenage
rock star
came up to the bar.. He had a
flashy silver
shirt and
black leather
pants tucked
in cowboy
boots.
"Bud Light."
"Coming right up. And how're you doing tonight?"
"Don't ask," the man said.
"What's the matter?"
"Girl trouble," he said.
"Well, that sucks."
"Yeah; have you been in love?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, have you been so in love that you couldn't eat
or sleep? So in love that you couldn't think anymore?"
"Not really," I replied.
"Let me tell you: it's not pretty--especially if she turns
out to be a bitch."
"Oh, one of those," I said.
"Yeah, she ruined me. I was one of the hottest Persian singers in
LA. I opened for Black Dogs in Vegas. There was a talk of me opening
for Googosh. But she ruined me. My CD sales went from thousands
to zero in six months. The Black Dogs don't even talk to
me anymore."
"Man, sorry to hear that. Where did you meet her?"
"In a club. I was performing one night and there she was, gazing
at me. Beautiful face, gorgeous little nineteen-year-old body,
so full of life," the man said.
"What the hell! Did you say nineteen?
"Yes, nineteen. She messed up my life. I left my wife of thirty
years for her; my children don't talk to me anymore; I lost
my house, car, everything," the man said.
"Man, how old are you? You must be in your fifties."
"So what?" the man said. "Just because you are
in your fifties, that doesn't mean you're dead."
"She must have been your daughter's age," I said.
"Actually my daughter is twenty-six."
"Let me get this straight," I said. "You met a
nineteen-year-old in a club and left your wife for her?"
"Yes; love knows no age. It happens, but now I know. She used me
to get to the Black Dogs. The whole thing was a scam and I fell
for it," the man said, crying.
"Here, have another beer--on me."
"Thanks. Now if you excuse me, I'm
gonna go talk to that sixteen-year-old over there. I
think she is checking me out," the man said,
walking back into the house.
One
of
the
frat
boys
approached
the
bar.
"Amigo, what happened to the weed? Have you got it?"
"Yeah, let me go check."
I ran
back to my truck and found the dried out cow
shit in a plastic bag, sitting in the back of my truck.
Javad
jumped
out from
behind a tree.
"Yo, dude. You really gonna sell this shit?" Javad said.
"Oh, man. You scared the crap out of me. Yeah, it's sold."
"You rule. I'm outta here," Javad said.
"Okay. See you."
I ran back to
my station. The nervous frat boy was
tiptoeing by the bar and chewing on his fingernails.
"Here it is. The best in town."
"Jose, my main man. This is gonna be so good. So, like, we're
new at this. So, how do you do this?"
"It's like in a Cheech and Chong movie, roll it and light
it," I said.
"Cool, man. Here's the cash. Love
you, Carlos."
"Yeah, peace out."
The frat boy
ran back inside. An older gentleman with
an entourage of younger Americans in black suits walked
to
the
bar.
"Martini please."
"Yes,
sir."
"Are you an Iranian-American?" the man asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Have you registered to vote?"
"No, sir."
"Why not?" the man asked.
"Not sure. Should I?"
"Absolutely. I'm running for the US
senate on a Republican platform. I'll be the first Iranian-American
in the US senate, and
I need your support. I need every Iranian-American to
register and vote for me. I'll bring real changes to
this country,
which will benefit the Iranian-American community."
"Great."
"Would you like to hear about my programs?" the man asked.
"Not really."
"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I will
push to rid Middle East from all Arabs -- I mean terrorists.
I will push for a regime
change in Iran. I have the endorsement of Iranian-American
Moslems, Jews, Bahais, evangelical Christian right, Israel,
and the Coalition
of the Willing. I'll do anything to free our homeland.
I'm going to rent fifty airplanes and fly to the Caribbean,"
"You mean to Iran," I said.
"No, fuck that. I'm going to the Caribbean for vacation."
"Oh, I see."
"I need your vote. It's time for us Iranian-Americans to matter.
It's time for us Iranian-Americans to influence policies," the
man said.
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Good. Now, on a personal note, I
hear you got some good pot in the back. Be a good Iranian-American
and get me some. I smoke a
little for medical reasons, of course," the man
said.
"Yes, of course."
"Nice meeting you and don't forget to vote for me."
"You got it."
The man and his
entourage walked away.
Well, it was one o'clock in the
morning and the host
lady wanted me to punch out. That would give an hour
for
her
guests
to sober up and head back home. I
counted the money in the
tip jar: a whopping
4 dollars and three pennies. I started
to disassemble
my station
and take it
back to the truck. I placed the last box
of
drinks in
the truck and
headed back to use the restroom.
 I walked in the restroom and found
the four
frat boys
in there.
Two of
them were
out cold
and the
other two
were sitting
on the
floor, puffing
the cow
shit.
"Hey, Jose, this is some good shit, man. Where did you get it?"
"Only the best for you guys," I said.
"Man, you got to tell us where to get some more, dude."
"My neighbor. I'll have him contact you when he is out," I
said.
"Cool man. We love you, Carlos."
"Yeah, that's what your mama said."
"Did you just say, 'that's what your mama said?'" one
of the boys asked.
"No, sir. I said, have yourself a
nice day."
The restroom smelled bad. It was as if
a big cow had taken a dump the
size of a bowling ball in there. I washed my hands
and
walked
out
in
a hurry.
On
the
way
back
I
spotted
somebody
snooping
around
in
the
back
of
my truck.
I looked
closer
and
recognized
the
kid
who
was
earlier
hustling
me to
get
drinks,
pulling
two of
my
most
expensive
vodka
bottles
out of
a box.
I
ran
and
grabbed
him
by the
neck.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I said.
"Hey, man, let go," the kid said.
"First you lie to me to get drinks and now you're stealing
from me?"
"Man, let me go. You're hurting me."
"I should kick your ass. You think you can just walk in here and
steal?"
"Man, you better let go or I'll scream."
"Scream? I'm gonna turn you in. You're going to jail
tonight, you little fart," I said.
"Man, I ain't kidding. You better let go."
"Oh yeah, what are you gonna do? Huh?"
The
kid dropped the bottles and started screaming, "Rape
...! Help me ...! Rape...!"
"What the hell!"
"Help...! He's rapping me...! Help!"
All the people in the party ran outside and came to
the back. I found myself staring the partygoers in
the
eyes
while holding the
kid by the neck. A few of the guys jumped on me and
pinned
me
down
to
the
ground.
The
kid
ran
to
his
mother,
the host lady,
and started
crying, "He told me to
come back here with him. He
said
he
has
candies
back
hear.
Then
I
came
here
to
get
candies and he
grabbed
my neck. He wanted to rape
me."
"He is lying," I said.
"No I'm not. He's a child molester,
mom. He's an awful man," the
kid said.
"Don't believe him. The kid is making up the whole thing.
I caught him stealing drinks. I swear."
"He is lying, mom. He told me that he wanted to play priest and
alter boy games," the kid said.
"What?"
"Mom, I'm scared. Please take him away," the kid said.
"I show you scared, you little bitch..."
I was picked up by the host lady's servants and tossed
inside
a shed. The police arrived a few minutes later and before long, I found myself
inside
a
police
car,
heading
downtown.
"You know what they do to child molesters
in jail, right?" the
cop said.
"No!"
"Oh, man, you be a very popular fellow in there."
"Really."
"Yeah, you'll have frequent visitors at night. They'll
love you in there," the cop said.
"Is that right?"
"Yeah; just wanted you to know," the cop said.
"Well, thank you and blow me."
"Did you just say, 'thank you and blow me?'" the
cop asked.
"No sir; I said, thank you for the warning."
 My bartending career came to an abrupt halt that
night. No Iranians in their right mind hired me after
that
incident
even
though
the
kid
admitted later that
he had made up the whole
story, after his
long juvenile record was
uncovered.
I'm
thinking
about
moving
on to
a
new
career--something
prestigious that
will
make
my
fellow
Persians
proud.
I
might
open
a
taco
stand
on Hollywood
Boulevard.
We'll
see
how
it
goes. >>> Part
1
*
*
|
