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1 year ago
Serving the people who serve us
By Anonymous
“I had a longtime customer named ‘Cowboy’ Bob Dunigan. Everybody always called him ‘Buckaroo.’ He doesn’t come in anymore and it’s been years since the last time I saw him, but he used to bring his dog in a lot until he died—the dog, not Buckaroo. I think Buckaroo is probably too ornery to ever actually die.
Case in point: One time Buckaroo was sitting at the end of my bar drinking and talking to his friend who was seated next to him. At the other end of the bar was a kid minding his own business, drinking his drink.
The kid pushes his empty glass aside and stands to leave. Buckaroo, at his end of the bar, lifts himself halfway off his stool and looks down at the kid, giving him one of his mad-dog stares. The kid slowly sits back down and orders another drink. After he polishes that one off, he stands to leave once more. And once more Buckaroo lifts himself halfway up and mad dogs the kid into submission: the kid sits back down and orders another drink.
This behavior—on both their parts—repeats itself until I begin not to even notice anymore. I guess Buckaroo must have let his defenses down, too, after a while, because all of a sudden the kid is up and running along the bar towards Buckaroo, and before anyone can react he has smashed a glass ashtray he grabbed from the middle of the bar into the side of ol’ Buckaroo’s head and continues on running out the exit to glorious freedom.
I don’t think Buckaroo even knew this kid—or if he did, he never said—but I would bet my house the kid wouldn’t be interested in renewing his acquaintance.”