The funny part is he comes into Bottom Lounge on Thursdays, and he never tips me. He's like six feet tall, and maybe 33 years old. Really oaffy looking guy. You know, real oaffy. He just sounded really dumb. He just looks like he's gonna do nothing but work in the mailroom for the rest of his life. He goes up to girls at the bar, real fucking smooth, and goes, “Uh, hey. Can I buy you a dollar beer?” A fucking dollar. What a jackass. Yeah, so he never tips me. He'd always be like, you know, “Oh dude, you know,” ... uh, you know. Uh, what did he say? Oh, you know, he'd always say, “Oh dude, you know I always take care of you.” He'd always say stupid shit like that. And I'd always roll my eyes and be like “Yeah, dude. Whatever.” And he'd always chitchat with me, like that made it okay. Well, chitchat doesn't pay the goddamn rent. Ya know? And then one day he comes in on a non-Thursday, and he's like “Oh, ya know, what's the cheapest thing in the bar?” And I go, “You.” He just looks at me really weird and says, “Uh, I'll have a Rolling Rock.” He thought I was kidding, but I wasn't. I swear to God, I want to punch him in the throat.