Easter Battle of New Orleans
Early one Easter morning about four of us regulars arrived with the next shift bartender. The bartender was a Detroit tough that learned too cool his attitude in the Big Easy. The Crescent City has a way of bringing out the best in people, and sometimes the worst.
A drunken bodybuilder kept strolling in and out without a shirt on. City health codes demand that you have on shirt and shoes if you enter a joint serving food. Detroit warned him to put his shirt on if he wanted to stay.
Then came the attitude. “Shut up, faggot!” was the pencil dick’s answer.
This got all of our attention. We calmly sipped our drinks and just watched the drama unfold through the mirror.
Detroit was a good bartender. Having a high tolerance of people drinking and having a good time is essential to survive behind the oak. Most of the time it is a hard work and a fun kind of job. Not this morning.
Detroit politely warned Muscle Head the second time he tried coming back in. “Sir, we can’t have you in here unless you put your shirt back on.”
“Hey, you little faggot, you think you’re tough. Come show me how tough you are!” This really got our attention. He was giving attitude to the guy that was feeding us booze!
A few minutes later Muscle Head reenters the bar a third time still with no shirt. Detroit was starting to get a little pissed. “Dude, put your shirt on or leave!”
By this time a young black woman spoke up, “Boy, just put your shirt on!”
“Don’t tell me what to do you n*gger bitch!” This really got our hackles up. Be we silently watched and waited.
Detroit firmly spoke again, “Man, if you don’t leave I’m calling the cops!”
“Go ahead you faggot!”
When Detroit started dialing, Muscle Head slipped out again.
Sure enough not even a minute later, in comes Muscle Head. “Get out of my bar!” Detroit yelled.
“Or what?” was the defiant answer. By this time we had pushed out bar stools out just enough and were resting on our feet.
“That’s it!” Detroit grabbed the candy cane (a nice piece of rebar steel wrapped in strips of black and white leather), and came around from the bar. That was our cue!
Five of us rushed Muscle Head. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights! An ex-Marine, an ex-Army Ranger, a gnarled shipyard worker, and some crazy Outback Australian, joined Detroit in kicking his ass out the door.
We easily held Muscle Head while Detroit held the candy cane to his neck. “I told you to get out of my bar!”
Somewhere in that thick skull Muscle Head remembered he could bench press a Buick and started to fight back He grabbed the candy cane and started to pull it away from Detroit. That would have been a really bad thing!
With one last surge one of us stepped on his foot while the rest pushed him over the patio tables. There is no such thing as a ‘fair fight’! That was enough for him and he just turtled in the middle of the sidewalk.
We all stood in the doorway as he silently got up and moved down the street a bit. That’s when the cops showed up. Detroit quickly pointed out Muscle Head already moving away from the scene of his ass whipping.
The cops yelled out, “Yo big man. Come back here!” Muscle Head didn’t even turn around. With an almost impish smile one of the cops said, “Hey look, he’s resisting arrest.”
What did Muscle Head get? 72 hours in the Orleans Parrish Prison for simple assault and disturbing the peace.
What did we get? We all got a round on the house and the satisfaction we protect our own!
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