Million Dollar Cowboy Bar book

 

I hope everyone's day is off to a fantastic start today and every day for that matter.  I think we all deserve that and should strive for that.  That isn't why I am writing.  I've made mention before that a lot of friends, former co-workers and former owners have urged me to write a book about my time at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.  I'd still like to, but what I want to avoid is any litigation.

I am not in a position where I can be sued.  I am also not so sure of my story telling skills and how some people may pick up what I am putting down.  Being sued is one of my hold ups.  The other hold up is, I would like for all of these stories that I remember to come about organically.  If I have to sit and think about them, the writing is much harder to do.  I don't know if that makes any sense to you or not.  I'd love to be able to drag you into all of the scenarios and make you feel as if you were there to witness the whole thing.  That's what I strive for, and if the story just comes to me from out of nowhere, I can do it more justice.

Okay, so... I told you that in order to tell you this.  One of my clients recently heard that I was a "bouncer'' at the Cowboy Bar for years.  I clarified that by saying that I liked to refer to myself as the "resident diplomat."  That was about the funniest thing he had ever heard.  

I further informed him that my official title there was "Manager" but I felt like it was my position to be able to do it all.  In fact, I have done it all at the Cowboy.  Many managers in joints all across the country come to realize that they will be required to wear many hats as a "manager", and I explained that I felt more comfortable leading by example rather than coaching from the side lines.  I wanted to set precedent with the doormen that we would strive to have a gentleman's conversation with individuals that would soon be leaving the place rather than just gorilla their ass out of the joint.  (However, we would keep the gorilla shit on the table.)

So, this client asked me to tell him one story in about 10 minutes.  I stumbled.  Whenever asked that question, I often have a hard time thinking about just one.  They come through in a soup of memories, if you will.  I can have one story in mind but it morphs into many stories.  Maybe that is just how my broken brain works.

This is that story:

2 big bastards were having an animated discussion.  I wasn't familiar with either of these characters but this was an opportunity for me to go introduce myself and explain the rules of the game.  Turns out, this was a family beef.  Both of these fellers were 6'4" to 6'5" and around 265 pounds, I'd guess.  

As I approached, I looked for my guys just so they knew I was wading in all by my lonesome.  I kind of had a rule that we would run interventions like this with 2 people, but the joint was packed so I ventured in solo.  I smiled when I made eye contact with one of the boys.  I nodded and waded in.  "Hey gentlemen, is everything okay?"  That seemed like a reasonable and friendly way into the conversation.

The old boy I made eye contact with was the first to respond.  "What in the fuck do you want?"  This wasn't the reply that I was looking for.  Now, both of these guys is looking down at me being 5'11" tall.  I said, "My name is Brice and I am the manager."  I held out my hand and said, "I didn't catch your names."  The other brother said, "Why don't you get out of here before you get hurt?"  

I figured that my evening was going to get entertaining, real quick.  I motioned for a waitress to go get me some help.  It looked as if I was going to need it.  She came back with one of my guys but before they arrived, I started to lay down the law.  "Ain't nobody going to get hurt in this son of a bitch tonight!  I run a real nice Christian joint here.  You can come in and have a little sin with your gin, but you have to do it like absolute gentlemen.  Shit starters and tough guys always end up outside or in jail so, do me a favor and listen up.  I don't give a shit what you guys are arguing over, but your too fucking big to be squaring up with one another, screaming and yelling at one another and interrupting everyone else's good time.  So, grab your shit boys.  You're done here."

Both of them looked at me.  They looked at each other.  This thing could have gone any direction at this point.  I look to see if my doorman was prepared.  He looked a bit concerned, but if we were going to do this, the first couple of minutes were going to be us versus them.  

The guy I first made contact with put his drink down.  (I thought he was going to smack one of us with the glass.)  He looked at his brother and said, "Every fucking time we go drinking, you start shit and get me thrown out of a bar."  He grabbed his coat and walked to the front door, escorted by the door man.  His brother stood there looking at me.

He started reading me the riot act, about how to not interfere with family business when I stopped him in his tracks.  I said, "Hey, unless you own this son of a bitch and I know you don't, all family business will be taken care of outside.  Grab your shit, its time to go."  I thought for sure I was going to be in the middle of an ass kicking contest here, real quick.

His eyes never left mine.  He squared up to me, nostrils flaring.  He bent over, grabbed his coat and walked with me to the door.  They left... just hit the road.  Obviously that was the preferred option.  Fighting cowboys can be a tall order.  Fighting big ass cowboys can be just what you don't want to happen, but it was over.  I wished them both a good night and headed back to my perch.

Now, you have to remember.  This was a night after the rodeo.  The joint was packed and every employee was firing on all cylinders.  Some noticed this altercation in the making but then got distracted by trying to sell more whiskey, which I appreciated.  

Someone had spilled a drink.  I walked into the employee room to get a bar mop so I could clean up the mess.  The door opened into the employee room inwards.  I tried to hold it open with my foot.  I grabbed a bar mop and turned around to get after the mess and walked right into the door edge.  Mashed my nose flat.  Didn't break it, but I had a gusher on my hands.  (The only bloody nose I ever got there.)  

I walked back into the employee room and put the bar mop on my bloody beak.  I started to laugh at myself.  I just talked 2 big bastards out of the bar without getting my nose broken, but damned if I didn't damn near break my own nose.  The barback said, "Shit boss!  Who hit ya?"  

I was laughing my ass off with that comment.  This bar back thought I had lost my mind.  "You good?" he asked me as I kept laughing.  I said, "Yep.  I'm good.  Nobody hit me.  I just walked into the door nose first."  He looked at me in disbelief. "You missed an opportunity for a hell of a story" and back to work he went.

So, a few more employees became aware of my bloody nose.  "Who hit BD?" they were asking.  AT the end of the night, with an after shift beer in my hand, I took everyone who had inquired about my pushed in snot locker over the employee room and demonstrated how I kicked my own ass in a no-punches-thrown fight.  

Not many men are capable of this act.  This guy right here, did it more than one time. 

So, my client laughed.  He said, I have questions but I have to go.  Kind of glad he did.  I'm sure the next time I see him, I'll either have to explain or tell another story that seems a little more "bouncer like".

Thanks for taking the time out for this.  I hope you enjoyed it.  I am a dumbass, completely capable of kicking my own ass and don't need help form anyone else.... 

Social Experiments:

 

Good morning, good night, good day, good week, good whatever.  Whatever it is, wherever you are, I just hope it's good.  Things here are going as well as a guy could hope for.  I'm just tickled to still be around to enjoy or endure this, whatever it is.

Let's get into this.  I am conducting some social experiments this month.  I'll tell you why.  Subtle changes.  There have been subtle changes in our every day verbiage, depending on the generation.  For instance, the words or phrase "thank you" has been replaced by the phrase, "no worries".  

I fucking hate that.  No worries?  None, whatsoever?  Come on, man.  There are some worries, aren't there?  At first, I took offense.  I was taught to say thank you when someone does something for you.  It seems appropriate.  "No worries" seems like the answer to another question that we haven't even gotten to yet!  "Do you have any worries?''  No worries.  "Thank you."  No worries.....  Did you even hear what I said?

Most likely, this is just a problem for me.  By no stretch of the imagination am I a wordsmith but I do like to try to figure out where words or phrases came from and well as why and when they are used.  This "no worries" shit just hits me wrong.

So, I took it upon myself to try a social experiment.  I am walking around with a loaf of French Bread.  When someone tells me "No worries", I bust them in the head with the loaf of bread.  It doesn't hurt them, but lets them know that there is indeed at least 1 worry. Some jack ass might whack me over the head with a loaf of bread.  There is a worry that you didn't even think about until just now.  

Imagine sitting down for dinner in a nice Italian joint.  The server greets you at the table, brings bread and mentions the specials.  You thank him.  He says "No worries."  You stand up and throw the bread at him.  This should be viewed as a learning experience.  A correction, if you will.

One thing that pisses me off more than "No worries" is the person who says nothing.  You hold the door open for someone and they just walk right past you and say nothing.  Are you kidding me?  At a bare minimum, you do that stupid little mouth click thing and point at the guy who held the door.  You don't do or say nothing.

I tried to figure out a way to help folks with this social injustice.  I figured, the best way to handle this situation is to trip people as they walk by.  You hold the door, they say nothing, you kick their feet out from underneath them!  

I gave it a go this morning.  I held the door open for a guy who said nothing, so I tripped his ass.  After stumbling for about 4 steps and being all of the way in the store, he hit the floor like a lead fart!  I looked at him as he tried to get up.  He said, "What the fuck?"  I pointed at the floor and did that little mouth click thing and walked away.  Now, this jack ass doesn't know for sure if I tripped him or if karma arrived with a prompt bitch slap!  Did this guy learn anything?  That is yet to be determined.  Was it funny and just?  Yes on both accounts.  

By the way, I have to find a new place to buy bread and the manager at the convenience store told me that I can't come back.  And in true form, I thanked him.  It wasn't hard.

Everything is a Potential Burrito

 

 Hey, what's up everybody?  I hope everyone is doing well.  We are limping through a pretty dry winter here.  Hardly any snow which is both good and bad.  Hardly any brutal cold temperatures which is always good.  Seriously, I have no complaints about the weather or anything else for that matter.  Life is good.  I'm patiently waiting for spring so I can cut the grass and get out fishing or looking for rocks!  

Oh, before I go any further, I just wanted to say thanks for taking time out of your day to read the content I try to put out.  I really do appreciate it.  I know that I am not the best writer but I enjoy telling stories and I love when I get feedback on the stuff I write.  Seriously, thank you!

So here's the deal.  What I am writing about today is 100% factual.  None of this shit is made up or just my opinion.  All of this has been tried in courts across the country and everybody knows it's true.  You are welcome to disagree if you'd like.  That just makes you WRONG!

Where are all of my Mexican friends?  You guys, holy shit!  Where would I be without you?  I love everything about you guys!  If I didn't marry my wife, I would have married a Mexican girl.  I love your accents.  I love your culture.  I love tequila and that makes mariachi music just a little better.  Most importantly, I love your cuisine!  Mexican food is the best and that isn't open for discussion!  Like I said, nothing but the facts, Jack.  

Vegas people, do you remember Macayo's?  I didn't think anything could be as good as bacon, but then I strapped into one of Macayo's kids bean burrito!  Holy shit!  Life changing.  Yeah, I know where just talking about a bean burrito, but Macayo's did something to me.  Simply put, this was just house-made refried beans and a flour tortilla.  Nothing else was better!

Yeah, I ate some Mexican food at Mexican friends houses.  That is how I also got introduced to Tamales which is the 2nd best option when eating Mexican food.  All of the authentic Mexican food I have tried is top notch.  I've even liked some Tex-Mex food from down around Texas.  It isn't the same.  It's gests a 2nd place trophy which still makes it pretty good.

Here's the thing.  You walk into a good Mexican place.  Somebody's Abuela is in the corner making fresh, hot tortillas.  They've got a little mariachi music going on.  The tequila is flowing.  Everybody is happy!  (I've never seen anyone mad at a Mexican joint.  Never!)  They typically give you too much food, but you don't give a shit if you're like me.  Nope, you eat and drink until you are on the brink of making yourself sick, and you LOVE IT!  You don't care what it costs.  

You walk around and subconsciously start doing "gringo" shit.  You start saying "gracias" with your shitty accent.  You start high fiving everybody!  I don't know what in the hell is going on, but this happens!  100% truth.

Okay, now fast forward to this past summer.  The wife and I were talking about one of our local Mexican spots.  And yep, even for Wyoming, we've got a couple spots that throw down some serious Mexican cuisine!  My wife looks at me and says, "I was talking with the girls the other day and one of their husbands said, "Anything can be a burrito?".  

I looked at her and nodded.  The man wasn't wrong!  Everything is a potential burrito, but I suggest you leave this to the professionals!  Of course the wife disagreed.  "No, only burritos are burritos" she said.  I chimed in with, "Oh yeah, then why can I make a peanut butter and jelly burrito?''  Her face wrinkled up and her head tilted left.  "How come I can make a hotdog burrito?  How come I can make a cheese burger burrito?  It's not the same as real Mexican food, but it's close."

I went on for about an hour accepting challenges to my burrito theory.  She says, "You can't make a burrito out of cereal?"  I laughed and said, "Las Vegas, May 13th 1979 at my mom's house.  It was a Saturday.  Mom had something to do that morning so I was on my own for breakfast that morning.  We had cereal but no milk.  I started looking around.  I grabbed a tortilla, 2 handfuls of Count Chocula and wrapped that bastard up Macayo's style and BAM!  Cereal burrito!"

Naturally she discounted my claim.  "It didn't have any sauce" she said.  My retort, "Your spit is the sauce on this bad boy.  A little saliva mixed with chocolate dust from the cereal...  You can't go wrong!  Cereal burrito, Baby!"

She said, "Would you make a burrito out of, say, spaghetti?"  I replied, "Been there and done that, Baby.  Probably 10 times by now.  If you have left over spaghetti and there is no garlic bread... but you find a tortilla???  Bam, you're in business kid!"

"What about egg or tuna salad" she asked.  "Honey, you aren't even trying me with this one.  A couple scoops of that stuff, a couple jalapenos and a sprinkle of extra onion, egg salad burrito!"  She really started to think.  She then hits me with "What about pizza?"  I said, "Pizza is damn near an Italian burrito.  It's just flat.  Roll that bastard up and bingo!  Pizza burrito!"  

By now, she had just about enough of my shit.  I could still see the gears turning in her head.  She wasn't convinced.  I walked out to the garage to fix the weed eater.  As soon as I was knee deep into that endeavor she opened the door and said, "Pancakes."  I didn't even look at her.  I said, "Sweet Pea, a pancake is a white guy tortilla.  You can wrap anything up in a pancake and call it a burrito.  Bacon, sausage, eggs, whatever.  I don't want to bore you with details but, put some peanut butter on a pancake and roll that rascal up.  Yep, you guessed it.  Burrito!"

She shut the door lost in between dejection and frustration.  I wasn't wrong.  Technically, everything I said was true about the burrito.  It is the worlds most perfect food.  I don't think she disagrees with that premise.  Burritos are perfect.  She just can't get on board with just anything being inside a burrito despite the evidence I provided for her.

Anyhow, I got the weed eater fixed and started to get the lawn mowed.  I was out there about an hour.  She came out with a cold beer and handed it to me.  Her next words were, "How about smoked oysters?"  I laughed.  "Easy peasy, Baby.  Open your can of smoked oysters, drain that shitty oil out and pat the oysters dry.  Get your tortilla and a bit of your favorite squeeze cheese and chuck those oysters in the mix!  You guessed it, smoked oyster burrito."  She shook her head and walked away.

I finished mowing the lawn and was cleaning up my gear.  She heard me back in the garage.  She opened the door and said, "I am through with the burrito conversation."  I said, "The hell you are.  I once made a burrito wrapped in another tortilla.  I made what may have been the first burrito/burrito.  You can't win this argument.  Everything is a potential burrito!"  As she walked away I said, "I have used General Tso's chicken in a burrito.  I have used sushi in a burrito.  I have used Caesar salad in a burrito.  Everything is a potential burrito!"

Since that day, she and I have shared dozens of meals.  And each time we eat, I look her dead in the eye and say, "This would make a killer burrito."  If she didn't love me, she would hate me.  I doubled down on everything with this discussion!  

Now that I think about it, I don't know why she was even arguing!  She loves Mexican food and she loves a damned burrito every now and again.  Her favorite Mexican food is a Chile Relleno.  I haven't had the heart to tell her how good that god damned burrito would be.  Maybe I'll save that one for the next time we go out for Mexican food.