"Ahem," he said, clearing his throat, trying not to be too harsh about being ignored, but the entire evening had been a little disturbing for him, and the last thing he needed right now was to be ignored by this bartender who seemed to be less than busy. Particularly in light of the fact that the person down the street had done almost the same thing. He simply needed a nice drink to help clear his head, relax a bit, and remind him of why he was here at this time of night in the first place.
"Excuse me, could I please get a beer here?" "Excuse me, could I please get a beer here?" He shouted it a bit louder and with a little more conviction. His attempts to maintain his composure were being undermined by the plain act of being ignored, which was beginning to make him extremely furious. He thought to himself, "For crying out loud, I'm the only one down here."
“Hey!” "I'd like to grab a goddam drink here!" he said, this time smashing his fist down hard on the bar, putting an exclamation point on his unsuccessful effort to attract the attention of the bartenders.
When Mark slammed his fist against the bar counter, the bartender and the rest of the diners sprang to their feet. It wasn't Mark's intention to raise a commotion, but things were becoming absurd. The bartender straightened up from his hunched-over stance, his gaze now directed in his way, and smiled. Once again, Mark waved his arms and said, "Yeah, over here," as if to say, "Bud, I'd like to place an order."
"Did you hear that?" the bartender inquired of the client with whom he'd been conversing before. "I heard something," the guy said, looking Mark in the eyes as he said it himself.
Even though it felt like an hour had passed, it was only a few lengthy seconds until the bartender began slowly making his way to the end of the bar where Mark was seated.
"All right, come on down, take my order, please, because I'm about to pass out in this place." Mark had reached the end of his patience and didn't care how nasty he sounded. Despite his best efforts, his patience had long before reached the point of being courteous.
When the bartender drew closer to Mark, he began to get a strange sensation in his stomach. He was still chatting to the bartender, even going so far as to insult him and his ancestors, but he pretended he couldn't hear him since he was wearing headphones. The fact that he continued flailing his arms, even flicking the person off with both hands, and received no response further added to the strangeness of the scenario. It was as if he wasn't there at all.
"What the hell is going on here?" says the narrator. Mark yelled and smashed his hand down on the bar for the second time in quick succession. The bartender clearly heard what he was saying because he leaped off the ground and almost as high as the foot railing on the side of the bar. Upon regaining his footing on the floor, the bartender made a hurried retreat back down to his prior client, all the while staring back over his shoulder. The client and the bartender both became white as a sheet, and the two of them seemed to be rather alarmed at the time.
In an attempt to make sense of everything, he smashed his hand down hard for the third time, causing the two to jump again more, as if he had taken them by surprise. He was perplexed as to how this could happen. Why are they so astonished that I am getting ready to hit the bar? They can see me getting ready to hit the bar.
As the client got up from his seat and began to collect his stuff, he made his way back around to join the bartender, seeming apprehensive that he would no longer be standing alone behind the bar. The bartender went behind the counter and pulled out a sawed-off shotgun that he had hidden there in case of an emergency, aiming it directly at Mark. He didn't point it directly towards the befuddled consumer, but rather in the general direction of the store. That was more than enough for the befuddled clientele member.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Mark said in surprise. "There's no need for it! I'm going to take it easy getting down from this stool and making my way out the front door. There isn't an issue here. "I'll simply go ahead and get on with it." He proceeded very carefully, sliding himself down from the seat as he had said he would do before. It was then that he began sliding his feet over the floor, moving slowly and methodically toward the door, being very careful not to surprise the armed guy. This is unusual, he thought as he shuddered backwards through the open corridor. It's almost as if he doesn't even realise I'm here, he reasoned.
Comments (0)
See all