Bar and Stool

by S. Johnny 19 days ago in bars

“Another ass sitting on me, spinning me around like a wheel,” the stool says.

Bar and Stool

Bar and Stool

“Another ass sitting on me, spinning me around like a wheel,” the stool says. A fat ass flops itself on him. “The smell in here is horrendous. Why can’t they make it more refreshing?” he complains as one butt after another comes and sits on him. The music is loud and the people are obnoxious. They laugh and drink and joking around, caring only about the moment. “Ugh, he just farted! Disgusting!”

The bar couldn’t do anything about it either. Beer bottles, wine glasses, ashtrays, peanut trays and drunks passing out on every night. Sometimes he gets drawn on by some jerk. It is the same routine every day. Monday isn’t that bad. It’s the beginning of the week and they all go home instead of to the bars. Only the hardcore alcoholics show up. They’re usually quiet, drinking to them self.

“Hey, hey,” the bar says to Stool, “you want to play some tricks on these drunks? I mean let's have a little fun with them. They’re drunk anyway; they won’t know what’s going on.”

The stool laughs at the idea. He thought about it for a moment. There isn’t much that he could do. He spins up and down thinking of a trick he could play on them. He keeps spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning. It’s right in front of him. Then he sees a regular drunk walking and sitting down on him. “Not another one,” he whines. “It’s Monday night, give me a break.” At the same time the regular drunk spins him from side to side. He grunts at each turn, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. “Can’t they just sit still?” Then he remembers the bus boy replacing him with a new seat cushion when he breaks by spinning him up and pulling him out. “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll spin myself near the tip, and when someone sits on me, he’ll fall on his ass.” He laughs at himself. “Serve them right. They sit their fat asses here long enough, every night.” His is disgruntled. “All right, lets do it,” he tells the bar.

“Cool. Here’s what I’ll do,” Bar tells him. “I’ll make my top wet so when they fall off of you and tries to grab on to me he’ll slip and fall right off.”

They both smile brightly.

Thursday comes. It’s usually a busy night. The local college students always come out to drink in groups and with friends. Sometimes they get into fights for stupid reasons. And they get bump against, spilt on and pushed around.

As the evening sets in, they start showing up in groups. Some of them are there alone. The music is loud as usual. It is still early to put their plan in motion. They’d have to wait, at least until halfway through the night. By that time, there’s bound to be someone who’s drunk off their ass by then.

One ass after the next comes to sit on him. And the bar is no different. There’s usually someone different leaning on him, waiting for the bartender to get the drinks or the cocktail waitress taking orders.

One guy comes over to the bar and sits down next to a pretty girl. He has his drink in hand. The girl is with her friend, drinking a Long Island Ice Tea. “Hi,” he greets her.

“Hi,” she replies. She turns back and continues talking to her friend.

The guy looks pretty drunk. The slight numbness in his tongue prevents him from speaking clearly. He spins the stool from side to side. The bar sees this and the irritation in the stool is apparent. He gets up and leaves after not getting much response from the girl.

“Hey, it’s about that time now,” Bar tells Stool.

“Okay, I’m ready,” reply Stool. He turns himself up to the tip; just enough where more asses could sit on him.

Some guy spills his drink on the bar. “What a dumb-ass,” says Bar, irritated.

Their first victim comes over to sit on the stool. It is usually a man. They get drunk more than the women do. Stool gets anxious and excited. He sits down and immediately slips off. He tries to grab the bar but from the wetness, he couldn’t hold on. He falls flat on his ass. They both laugh. “Ha ha ha ha.” He gets up again and looks at the stool. Nothing is wrong with it. He checks it and then sits back down. The bar sees it and is ready for another laugh. He sits down and slips off again. Again he tries to grab the bar and couldn’t hold on. The guy yells at the bartender, cursing at the stool. “Hey someone needs to fix this stool,” says the drunk in his frustration. It almost becomes an argument. The guy goes back to wherever he was before. Bar and Stool laughs so hard it almost makes them cry.

“Oh, oh, I can’t stop laughing,” says Stool.

“I know. I know,” says Bar. “That is funny as hell. When’s the next person coming?”

“I don’t know. Soon, I hope,” laughs Stool.

They couldn’t wait for the next person to come. They couldn’t stop laughing. “Why didn’t we think of this sooner,” asks Bar.

“I don’t know. I’m glad you did though,” reply Stool, laughing really hard.

Throughout the night they would sit on him and fall off or slip on the bar. Everyone around thought they’re too drunk. Even they laugh along.

“Serves you right,” says Stool. “Asses sitting on me. How do you like that!”

Bar agrees. Justice at last. They laugh so much that they couldn’t keep them self up. It has become an entertaining night. Poetic Justice.

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