So at halftime I get up and go to the bar to order my second pitcher of Racer 5. But when I come back to my table three people are getting ready to sit down at my spot. Two middle-aged looking guys and a woman. “That’s my table!” I said rather firmly. I was slightly pissed because it’s like you turn your back for a second and somebody tries to steal your space. And they were slightly pissed because to them it looked like an empty table, my backpack was under the table and I hadn’t left anything on the table to mark it as mine. So from their point of view, they’re just about to sit down at this great spot when all of a sudden some asshole (me) cuts ahead of them and claims it for himself. So we’re all sort of jawing at each other a little.
“Is it OK if we sit here?” says one of the guys, gesturing to the two empty seats across from me.
“Sure. The more the merrier,” I said.
So we’re sharing the table. I don’t know what happened to the third person, she had to go sit somewhere else. Which I’m sure also annoyed them because their party had been broken up.
Then one of the guys — this sort of weasel-y looking guy with glasses — makes a jokey comment: “You better watch out that we don’t slip something in your drink.”
I bristled for a second. Because I don’t like anybody making threatening comments at me. Even if it’s supposedly a joke. And it was an odd thing to say. But then I figured, fuck it. We’re all buzzed and babbling at this point. And the last thing I wanted was to get into any kind of conflict with people sitting right across from me in a packed sports bar full of people in various states of intoxication. So I forgot all about it and concentrated on the second half of the Warriors game.
So after the game I’m pretty buzzed from the two pitchers of beer (8-point-something percent alcohol content). But nothing particularly unusual for me. I remember that the Warriors lost the game. But pretty much most of the end of the game was a blank in my mind (I didn’t find out it ended up going into overtime until I heard about it on the radio the next day).
So I go to People’s Park to hang out with some street people friends of mine. Debby O and Star Guy are there. And I’m sitting there chatting with them like usual. When all of a sudden I realize I’m face down on the ground. Apparently I had tried to stand up and I’d lost my balance and crashed face-first to the ground. The old face-plant. “Fighting against the laws of gravity,” as I sometimes put it. When I tried to stand up again I fell face-first a second time. My glasses went flying one way and my cellphone went flying another. Debby O and Star Guy were in a state of alarm. “Your face is bleeding!” she said. I don’t know how many times I thrashed and swooned around before they finally managed to steer me to a picnic table. They found my glasses and cellphone, and I sat there for awhile organizing myself while Debby O washed the blood off of my glasses in the women’s restroom.
So then I rather wobbly headed up towards my campsite in the hills. I had one further problem when I couldn’t find where I had stashed my supply of cat food in the bushes on the campus. At first I was convinced somebody had stolen my shit But then I realized I was looking in the wrong spot.
I made it up to my campsite. Woke up the next morning and my face was pretty bruised and battered and caked with dry blood in various spots (my big fat nose took the major brunt of the damage). And I thought; “Man, I drank too much last night!”
But then I remembered that odd comment that guy had made: “You better watch out we don’t slip something into your drink.” And I went, “Hmmm?” And it made me wonder. I’ve heard stories about people who go to bars and slip “date rape” drugs into people’s drinks. And you never know what kind of strange characters you might run into in a bar.
But I guess I’ll never know for sure. Because it could just be that I drank too much.