He leaned against the door of the bar until it gave way, and then spilled inside all the while glancing back over his shoulder.
"Well look what the damn cat drug in." Said a large, almost man-like female bartender. She was despairingly ugly, with clownlike dyed red hair. The other patrons at the bar also looked at him hostiley.
"Hi, you're open right?" He asked, sheepishly. A moment went by before she answered.
"Well what does it look like?" She asked ferociously, looking around at the other customers. "Are you gonna have a drink or not?"
"Uh, yes. I'm going to have, umh…" His mind went blank, as he tried to imagine what he would order. The last thing he wanted was a drink at that moment, especially a drink he couldn't pay for.
"Can I have a club soda?" He blurts out finally. Everyone in the place is watching the confrontation. The barmaid gives him a hard look and says nothing for a moment, and then suddenly turns away.
"Alright, that's it. Three strikes your out. Get out of my bar Mister." She says gruffly. Don stands open-mouthed and silent
"Come on, clear on out." she adds, louder.
Don stands there, frozen for a moment, not believing that he's being so poorly treated,
"Could I just use your telephone?" He asks, earnestly leaning forward, trying to appeal to the barmaid's sense of "human connection". She slams her hand down on the counter.
"Get the fuck out of my bar!" She suddenly yells, but Don has already turned and is halfway outside like a dog helped out the door with a kick in the ass.
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