I used to work for Hooligans and I have to say I'll never forget the first time I saw Fat Rick Sean Thomlinson.
Don't get me wrong, Hooligans is a decent place and I don't want to shit on them. But the first day I was set to work for them, I got hit by a drunk driver. That by itself isn't too uncommon considering how you have to be half-drunk to live here in Milwaukee, but the fucker laid into my wheel well pretty good and snapped the axle. Combine that with the fact that we got hit by a freak snow storm and you have the Wisconsin equivalent of a black cat running across your path while you're walking under a ladder.
My boss shows me how to use the Point of Sale system and tells me to reach out to him if I need any help. So I get the bar top nice and clean in time for the lunch crowd when this slovenly lummox stumbles in. He squints at me like he's been seeing double all day and lisps his first words at me.
"Hey, who the fuck are you?"
Well maybe lisp isn't the best word to describe his speech. It was more of an effeminate slur but I dared not comment on it in the current year. He stumbled up to a stool at the far end of the bar and pointed his finger down at the bar top, indicating he wanted a drink.
I asked him "Sir, are you okay? Do you need me to call anyone for you?"
He looked at me perplexed and set an old laptop on the bar top. He asked "Are you new here or something?"
"Yes sir, it's my first day here" I replied.
"Ah, okay..." He trailed off as if he could've fallen off of his barstool at any second. "Pour me a drink so I can tell you how to run this bar."
Taken aback, I replied "Sir, I think you've already had way too much to drink. Is there anyone I can call to come pick you up?"
But before the Lummox could reply, my boss came running up to me and said in a hushed whisper "There's a mason jar under the bar. Just pour him shots of it and don't give him any shit, okay?"
"Sir" I replied. "He's clearly intoxicated and..."
"I know, I know. He's a long time customer and he won't bother anyone unless they deserve it. Just give him what he wants, okay?"
At that moment, the Lummox at the end of the bar shouted "Bartender! Drink! Now!"
My boss stepped away leaving me to find the jar underneath the bar. I poured the Lummox a shot and said "Here you go, sir."
"Sir this, sir that!" the Lummox slurred before gleefully gulping down his ounce and a half of poison. "You don't have to be so formal here. My name's Fat Rick."
He extended his hand and I reached out to shake it, replying "My name's Anon."
He didn't have too much to say to me after that, other than barking orders for drinks. He mainly typed away at his laptop covered in old "I Voted" stickers that he arranged like kills on an old WW2 fighter plane. As I worked to serve the other customers, my boss quietly grabbed the crash mat which I mixed my cocktails on and poured it into the mason jar I served Fat Rick's drinks from. I later found out that Fat Rick was thirty thousand dollars in debt from a frivolous lawsuit he filed against dozens of people to find out who threw a piece of bologna on his front doorstep and the boss let him drink the shit that collected in the crash mats for pennies on the dollar because it was more cost-effective than pouring the liquid down the drain.
But it turns out there was another reason why the boss let Fat Rick drink at the bar.
Later that evening, three teenagers walked into the bar. They came up to the bar but before they could order anything, I said "I'll need to see some IDs."
"Psht, we're not here to drink, faggot!" one of the teens replied. "We're here to meet our friend, Fat Rick."
"You have to be 21 to be in here. If you don't show me any IDs, I'll have to ask you to leave."
But they ignored me and made their way to Fat Rick. The leader of their group told him "Hey Fatty. We're here to collect the money you owe Quasi."
Fat Rick shut his laptop and replied "That's where you're wrong, child. I don't owe Quasi any money."
I wanted to tell the teens to get out of my bar, but instead I found myself asking "Did Fat Rick really just call him 'child?'"
The second of the teens replied "Yes you do, child! You also don't answer my texts. ERRRRRRRRRRRRR!" he rolled his tongue like Chewbacca. "What do you have to say to that?"
Fat Rick responded by saying "I've told you repeatedly, child, you have been instructed not to contact me multiple times because it constitutes felony harassment. Now you get to enjoy prison, stalker."
The third of the teens grabbed a drink from a nearby woman and threw it on Fat Rick. They all laughed but I had enough of them disrespecting my customers.
"Get the hell out of my bar before I call the police, you little shits!"
Fat Rick, meanwhile, pointed his finger and me and said "Oh you sweet, innocent bartender Anon. Let me take care of these guys for you."
Before I could say anything, Fat Rick picked up an empty beer bottle and smashed it in the face of the lead teenager. The kid went down like a sack of bricks and the other two started waling on him. I picked up my phone to call 911 but I felt someone grab it from my hand. It was my boss. He silently shook his head at me before turning his attention to the fight. Fat Rick, the slovenly lummox, picked up the second of the teens and threw him into the third with enough force to knock over a refrigerator. The three of them couldn't run to the door fast enough and they did so leaving to the cheers of every bar patron.
I later found out from my boss that Hooligans burned down several years ago and part of the reason why he was able to rebuild was because of the massive amount of money Fat Rick had spent drinking here. A group of Internet trolls, whom the teens were a part of, left one star reviews of the place in an attempt to sabotage the bar's reopening simply for allowing Fat Rick through the front door. The boss wasn't about to let the trolls have an easy win by chasing Fat Rick away.
So there I learned to work around Fat Rick, pouring him shot glasses full of whatever collected in the crash mats. I even learned to appreciate the fights he'd get into whenever he had to chase a troll or two away. But sadly that couldn't last forever. I had to quit when an even bigger, fatter, more slovenly lummox stumbled through the front door to challenge Fat Rick for his dominance over Hooligans.
But that's a different story for another time.
