Saturday night work ended high until the drunken soldier arrived. Big guy, big gut. Otherwise lanky. Loud. Slurring. He ordered food and had himself a beer while waiting for the food. He talked with my boss, called him by his first name Joe, and came across as an old friend of his.

Had himself another beer. "Joe," he slurred, "I'm gonna have me a Rolling Rock (read it slurred now!) and I want you to have a Rolling Rock too ... buy you a Rolling Rock ... come and sit down ... want you to come sit with me and a Rolling Rock."

He proceeded to have that beer and seat he was talking about, while my boss looked at me: "What did that guy say? You know, you can't even understand what he's saying."

I acted out the part about the Rolling Rocks (the guy sat way in the back of the empty dining room, which gave us the chance to talk about him) and was relieved to hear he was not a friend of my boss'.

My co-worker called him up to the counter when his food was ready. "May I use your phone?" he asked after having trouble figuring out how one goes about paying.
"Sure." He gave him the phone. The drunk started dialing but decided it be best if my co-worker dialed for him. He did and got a busy signal. The best idea, the drunk decided, was to sit back down to finish his beer before paying. I watched him slowly fumble through his wallet. I envisioned a massive pile of vomit for us to clean. I had never seen someone so drunk and still coherent. He got up.

To my boss: "Joe, I don't know you and you don't know me..." He went on some more, I wasn't around to hear everything, but the point was, would my boss write this guy's check for him. He would. I was sweeping the dining room and returned his dropped "international war veteran" card. To which he told me "Welcome to the NFL." My boss laughed at him. The guy sat back down once more before heading home. Then he talked with my boss a few minutes. This time, "What's your name?"
"Joe."
"Joe, I don't know you, you don't know me..." and slurring on and on.

I watched him get into his car. He parked away from our window ... empty parking lot. My co-workers (male) couldn't believe he was driving. Me neither. That's why I stood at the window, looking like a fish in a night fishbowl. Why did I stand there as he sat in his car? I hoped to see him crash, I prayed for him, that his pain would end sooner than later, I wanted to make sure our pizza shop was safe, get his license plate. I headed back in the dining room to finish sweeping when I saw him get back out of the car, either for more conversation or confusion, I thought.

To my co-worker up front: "Tell that girl to stop staring out the window at me, I'm fine. I'm not stupid." He at least left the premises in one piece.