The Airing of Grievances
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Happy New Year - Mine Almost Wasn't
Hope everybody had a safe and happy one. Mine was decent, but it almost got a bit ugly. So, here's how it went down. Me and my buddy Slick Willy hit up Sparks steak house to get things started. We're minding our business, enjoying some steak, seafood and booze when two fairly attractive women sit down about two tables away and, amazingly, they're alone. So, after the chiquitas have their first round, Slick Willy calls over one of the monkey suits and asks him to back up their drinks on us. Seems like a fair enough request, no? Well actually, turns out it wasn't. Monkey suit dude -- clearly a high blood pressure cat to begin with, think Sonny from the Godfather -- catches a real attitude and was like, "No. I can't do that. I know those girls. They're from my nay-bo-hood. You need anything else?"

Now honestly, I could really give a shit that he didn't want us sending them drinks. His prerogative. Whatever. (And it's really not my deal anyway. Never done it before. And probably never will. Was just being a willing wing-man for my boy.) But after a good bit of his hands behind the back, chest puffed out, staring directly at us as if to say, "What bitches? Try anything and you're gonna have trouble" routine, I was really like "You know what? Fuck this assclown already." So naturally, I started staring right back at him.

But then I got to thinking to myself, "Self, this might not be the wisest move. There's definitely some type of cats connected to this place that you have zero business messing with. The type of cats who just might lay you to rest with the fishes. So, just suck it up, let it go and enjoy the evening." (For those that don't know, John Gotti had Paul Castellano assasinated in front of Sparks paving the way for the erstwhile Teflon Don's reign as King of New York.)

So, eventually I did. Suck it up that is. Well, sort of. Regardless of the circumstances, there really is only so much of that bullshit I can take. So, on the way out, I walked directly up to dude, looked him dead in the eye, told him Happy New Year, and spat in his face.

Woulda been nice, huh? Obviously never happened. All I did was offer a couple of wise ass words and we went on our merry way. Hit up some more sips, caught a really tight impromptu fire works show on 72nd and Broadway, and watched some cat blow off a beggar and tell him that his New Year's resolution should be to "get a fucking job."
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