Sometimes things happen at work that sort of resemble a car crash in slow motion. It’s like, you’re standing there, watching, and you know what is going to happen but you are absolutely powerless to stop it. That is what my night was this past Thursday when a group of like 25 firemen (I say men because they were, in fact, all dudes and big ones at that) showed up for the retirement party of one of their firehouse compatriots who really didn’t look old enough to retire but what do I know from fire department rules.
So, everything started out more or less normal. BIG pile of cash that firedude after firedude threw a 20 on. It always seems super awesome when this happens until you realize that a lot of the time they keep drinking beer and stop throwing money on the pile and then you end up, three hours later, with a bar that smells like sweaty guys and a pile of like $15 singles. But they were nice enough and I held out hope that this time I would actually make some money (I did, for reasons that will soon become clear). Most of the guys were drinking bottled beers: Buds, Bud Lights, Amstels. But there is always that one dude who wants to do all the shots in the world. All of them. And he wants all his friends to do them with him even if they don’t want to and if they don’t want to, then he does them all himself.
So, fast forward like almost an entire bottle of Fire Ball and 2 rounds of Sapphire martinis, the second one which was chugged, later. It was one of those weird situations where you’re like, okay, well, these guys have had lots and lots of drinks. But they seem to be laughing and chatting and joking around. No one is falling over (well, except for this one guy but he was mostly concentrating on standing and not worried about what the other guys were talking about). So you think, wow, maybe these firedudes are going to hold it together! Maybe I won’t have to make the awkward move of cutting off like 25 beefy dudes who have not officially tipped me and also might become angry about being cut off. And then, the car crash. The super, duper, painfully slow car crash.
All of a sudden Fire Ball shot guy and his buddy who was humoring him and doing all the shots and drinking all the martinis got into it about seniority. Fire Ball shot guy is like, pushing the other guy who, as it turns out, was his superior at the fire house and also had driven his car to the bar which I knew because he had left his side mirror on one of the bar tables which was a source of amusement for me for the entire night. Seriously, who takes the side view mirror off their car and then just like, deposits it randomly on a table and expects NOT to forget it? I had to yell after his buddy to get it when they were all on their way out the door in a big, drunken, angry, fighting mob. Anyway, so this argument devolves quite quickly into one guy pushing and the other guy yelling “don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!” At this point, my coworker and two customers go over to try and break up the fight and there I am, all 64 inches of me (on a good day) staring at this mass of big dudes and my little coworker, afraid she is going to get punched in the face and what do I do? I grab a big glass of water and pour it on them. And then when that has no affect, I refill it and do it again. None of the fighting guys noticed but I did manage to get my coworker and one of my customer-friends pretty wet, sorry guys.
So eventually the whole lot of them left and, surprisingly, left their pile of cash on the bar which was actually quite sizable because Fire Ball guy had cut their revelry short. So I was happy. Until I noticed this idiot law student who had previously been in the bar drinking white wine for like, ever, chasing the whole big group of angry, drunk, wet firefighters down the street yelling at them about how they shouldn’t fight in the bar. So, in order to shut her up, one of them picked her up and then put her back down again. And then she devolved into a crying mess who kept calling me a bitch and then, about an hour later and on the other side of the avenue, repeatedly threw herself down on the sidewalk in a full-on tantrum fit for a 2 year old. Her boyfriend, who probably weighs all of 90 pounds, was trying to calm her down when these two passers-by stopped and, thinking he was hitting her, threatened to beat him up. Then my co-worker, still wet, had to go over and defuse that. Then the cops came, then the passers-by left, then my coworker came back inside and then, two hours later, the boyfriend popped his head in to see if we knew where his girlfriend was. Apparently he lost her. Go figure.
As I said, a slow motion car crash that I was powerless to stop. But I did learn one thing: I enjoy throwing water on people. I would like to try that again…when my friends are out of harm’s way.
franklyrebekah 
I think you should switch to water balloons!!!