Back by Popular Demand #2 CRABCAKE BROAD (here Jil)

TRAINWRECKED




Attention Readers:

This next story is 100% factual.

Yes, factual, this is REAL life, and I am more than happy that I could be a part of it.

Let me set the scene for you.

This past Sunday evening, at a casual dining establishment where I bartend. 

Management holds a bartender's meeting, I leave my post, and take part in the brief conference.

A server takes my spot. A man walks in alone and takes a seat at the bar. He orders a crab cake dinner and a non-alcoholic beverage.

Enters a woman. A "slamhog"-looking woman if you will.

*Side note: for those who are unfamiliar with the term slamhog, or my mother who I KNOW is unfamiliar with this term probably reading this saying "wow Nik, how did you know I don't know what a slamhog is, I have an idea, but well I bet you're gonna tell me now."

Slamhog: (according to the Urban Dictionary) A Slamhog is an extremly ugly and overwheight female that is picked up in a club or Bar. 

Usually an easy target, Slamhogs are used as a last resort to having sex that night. 

Slamhoggen - the act of looking for a slamhog. 

 Anywho... the trainwreck sits down at the bar. The server who took over for me comes over to our meeting to explain that this Penny-piece (yes, penny-piece, as in NOT a dime-piece) has NO money, that she has announced that her checkbook she brought with her is empty, that she cannot pay for her bloody mary, and puts the server on the phone with a deep-voiced man to help out. This nutty man proceeds to beg the server to not only stop serving this broad, but to keep her there while he drives almost 50 mins to come get her!

*side note...BLOODY MARY!?...clearly she felt bad that her diet only consisted of vodka and that a little lycopene in her system would totally benefit her sad excuse for a life*

Naturally, we cannot hold her hostage at our restaurant, but we can call the police if we thought she was gonna go monster truckin down I-4 shitfacedwastedhammered-drunk. The meeting is over and now I get to return to my bar to witness this abomination take place.

The intoxicated princess has now scooted over to the crab cake eating stranger, a Bill Nye-The Sciene Guy meets Charles Manson kinda guy. This, is where the fun begins.

"Hey, can I get some of that crabcake?" - she asks.

*If you KNOW me, you know that I love this. That I have a way with words that to normal human beings with strong IQs I sound almost rude when speaking to these village idiots...yet, it is just too darn funny to pass up.*

The man begins smiling pedophiliac-ly (google it, could be a word) and pushes the plate towards her, offering an untouched fork. Pffft. She's a classy broad, she goes straight for the used fork in his hand. 

She begins caressing his back whilst munching on his dinner. Her phone rings. It is the man that is on his way for her. 

"Hello!? WHAT? No! I'm not at the mall. No. Not the mall. I'm here. Yeah. At the place. Not at the mall. Hello? No the place!" -she wallows.

..."fucking Ruby Tuesdays..." I softly announced. 

She hands her new amigo her cellular device and says to tell her man how to get to the restaurant. He begins giving the phone-man directions when Miss Slopfest snatches the phone, screams "fuck you I have my own ride" ...hangs up...and before that cell even hits the table she looks at Bill Nye and says with hearts in her blood-shot meth-head eyes "you can take me home right?"...adding an almost nauseatingly fake smile. (at this point her hand is rubbing his upper thigh)

I have never in my life seen a man whip out a credit card to pay a tab so quick. She slurped down her bloody mary, finished the last morsel of his crab cake, got up and hugged him!

"Ooohhhh I'm sooo excited! Where are we going!?"

...Now in my head, I am thinking...Ok. She is clearly a filthy whore. Clearly intoxicated. Broke. And just got a free seafood dinner and cocktail out of this stranger. I know where her mouth was going. That's for damn sure. 

The two strangers scamper out the door. Co-workers and myself have a mild giggle...realize she left her sweet checkbook, run it out to her, and begin our closing side work. About 45 seconds after delivering her checkbook, a disgruntled man resembling Indiana Jones, Christopher Walken, and a child predator walks in. 

"where is she!? where is my girl!?"....

Me: Goo....She left.

Predator: WHAT? You guys let her leave!? She was drunk she cant drive!

Me:...oooh. She's not driving.

Predator: Yes she is! She has my car.

Co-worker: She was a passenger sir.

Predator: What do you mean!?

Me: (ever so gracefully, with a head tilt to the side and a meer squint) You know, a PASSENGER.

Predator: What the hell!? how could you all let a drunk girl get picked up at a bar!? Where did she go. Who is he!?

Me: He's the man you spoke to on the phone. He said he'd take good care of her

Yup I'm a prick. I know. 

He leaves.

Meanwhile, Bill Nye emerges from a vehicle in the dark parking lot with a smile on his face, and the two proceed to leave. 

Me: Did she just give him a fucking Ruby Relaxer in the parking lot !?

...She sure did. 

The next day the Indiana Jones-er called to see if we found his vehicle in our parking lot that she originally drove there. We sure did. He car was left with both windows down, and the keys in the car. Cool. Smooth moves you hoe.

He was gracious that we held on to the keys for him til he arrived. He apologized for her. And we all had a nice awkward fake giggle about how accidents happen all the time like this....

The end.

Now. 

NOW.

All I have to say about this woman, is good for her.

Good for you, you Dirt McGirt whore. It must be invigorating to go from bar to bar in Orange City and end up at a family restaurant, eat a strangers food, order a drink you can't pay for, break the heart of the poor bastard who clearly cares about you, throw a beej in a parking lot, irresponsibly leave a vehicle wide open for grand theft auto, and go home with a stranger who has the potential to skin you and wear your fucking body as a suit and leave your remains at the local dump. Congrats on still carrying a check book, and especially to a bar. You managed to pull a free meal, drink, and ride home only for the simple trade of your dignity, self respect, and your vagina. Fucking pig.

Again I go back to, shit, if this bitch can find love...I'm almost positive I can do.

P.S. the definition of slam hog was copied and pasted from Urbandictionary.com hence why overweight was spelled overwheight. Idiots.