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Tonight I was playing my usual early Friday night music gig at the local restaurant/bar. About 8:00, I was taking a break and went to the bar to get a Diet Coke. Some very drunk guy comes up to me saying, "Hey, remember me? Huh?" He was close to my face so I just raised my hand up (the little open hand 'not now' gesture), and he came closer saying, "Whassa matter, old man? You don't like me?" I said, "You're in my space."
His eyes narrowed and I could see the punch coming a mile away. I just leaned to the side, stepped back a pace, the fist went by wild and halfway spun him around. I had stepped back another step by now and was hoping for a peaceful end. He roared, lunged/staggered toward me and swung again, I ducked and moved again to his off-side.
The bartender hollered, "I'm calling the police!"
The dude looked confused that I wasn't in front of him again, stopped, muttered "(expletive) I'm drunk," and staggered out the door.
I didn't have to do anything. Easy win -- no damage done, never even thought of the pistol in my pocket. Went back out and played another set.
 

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Tonight I was playing my usual early Friday night music gig at the local restaurant/bar. About 8:00, I was taking a break and went to the bar to get a Diet Coke. Some very drunk guy comes up to me saying, "Hey, remember me? Huh?" He was close to my face so I just raised my hand up (the little open hand 'not now' gesture), and he came closer saying, "Whassa matter, old man? You don't like me?" I said, "You're in my space."
His eyes narrowed and I could see the punch coming a mile away. I just leaned to the side, stepped back a pace, the fist went by wild and halfway spun him around. I had stepped back another step by now and was hoping for a peaceful end. He roared, lunged/staggered toward me and swung again, I ducked and moved again to his off-side.
The bartender hollered, "I'm calling the police!"
The dude looked confused that I wasn't in front of him again, stopped, muttered "(expletive) I'm drunk," and staggered out the door.
I didn't have to do anything. Easy win -- no damage done, never even thought of the pistol in my pocket. Went back out and played another set.
If you were covering Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up, I can see how a drunk might be enraged.
 

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Working in a bar ensures you will meet the most quaint and colorful people! At least he didn't involve your instrument.
 

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This is slightly off topic, but your experience called to mind one of the most entertaining boxers of all time, arguably the best defensive fighter of all time. Argentine fighter Nicolino Locche had an amazing career of 136-4-14 and was the World Light Welterweight champ from 1968 to 1972. He was known as "The Untouchable," because he was so good at ducking and slipping punches. He made a show of it and would sometimes put his arms at his sides and his opponent still couldn't hit him. A movie came out about him this year, but I haven't been able to see it yet. Here is the teaser, a joy to watch.

 

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Rick Astley was born in the part of Lancashire UK I am from. For some reason, he was on the radio a thousand times!
 

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This is slightly off topic, but your experience called to mind one of the most entertaining boxers of all time, arguably the best defensive fighter of all time. Argentine fighter Nicolino Locche had an amazing career of 136-4-14 and was the World Light Welterweight champ from 1968 to 1972. He was known as "The Untouchable," because he was so good at ducking and slipping punches. He made a show of it and would sometimes put his arms at his sides and his opponent still couldn't hit him. A movie came out about him this year, but I haven't been able to see it yet. Here is the teaser, a joy to watch.
Very reminiscent of a young Ali. He had that same ability to slip punches. That skill faded in his later years, and he paid the price.
 

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Tonight I was playing my usual early Friday night music gig at the local restaurant/bar. About 8:00, I was taking a break and went to the bar to get a Diet Coke. Some very drunk guy comes up to me saying, "Hey, remember me? Huh?" He was close to my face so I just raised my hand up (the little open hand 'not now' gesture), and he came closer saying, "Whassa matter, old man? You don't like me?" I said, "You're in my space."
His eyes narrowed and I could see the punch coming a mile away. I just leaned to the side, stepped back a pace, the fist went by wild and halfway spun him around. I had stepped back another step by now and was hoping for a peaceful end. He roared, lunged/staggered toward me and swung again, I ducked and moved again to his off-side.
The bartender hollered, "I'm calling the police!"
The dude looked confused that I wasn't in front of him again, stopped, muttered "(expletive) I'm drunk," and staggered out the door.
I didn't have to do anything. Easy win -- no damage done, never even thought of the pistol in my pocket. Went back out and played another set.
I would hope you never thought of your pistol for a drunk.
 

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My Dad kept Pubs in the UK, around Lancashire. He was the most gentle soul at 5'6" tall and around 160 lbs.
His 210 lbs Son at 5'10" yours truly, not so much.
Working on the Clubs in Liverpool, I was in dozens of fights, never lost one, and still, have got a un-broken nose.

In my late 20s, I loved to fight, my Dad disparaged on me coming out of that job alive (did it for 5 full years, 4 years at the Cavern Club 1960 till 64, and a year at the Blue Angel on Seal Street) I never got to face off against a Drunk in an actual fight. All my opponents were sober and ready! My last scuffle was in an elevator, just me, my wife and a well dressed young man, in an Ohio Hotel. I was 69 years of age.

Kept out of fisty cuffs since then. But I do carry a gun every day. My latest a Glock 43X.

A humourous fight, if you can call it that! After arriving in Sydney Australia, from a Big Ocean going liner, 5 weeks from Southampton. I had been in an Immigration Hostel, for a week, with my first wife and two small children.

Went out to apply for 5 jobs, got all 5! Dropped into a dodgy-looking Pub, tiled walls! Asked the young pretty young Lady behind the Bar for a Pint of Bitter? She said we don't sell Bitter? and a pint will get to warm.

What do you suggest? I said. "A Schooner of Tooheys Lager," She said. She poured a glass, I stepped up to the bar. A big young Guy got off his stool at the bar, three sitting together. And said, "If you Can't order your bloody Ale, get back to England you Pommie *******"

*******! Not acceptable. My right cross laid him out onto the Sawdust covered floor! His two buddies did not want to know, I drank a great beer, paid and left. My only fight in Australia loved Aussie.

Sorry about the B-word. The Aussies at that time threw that word about all over, North of England not so much.
 

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Last legit "fight" I got into was at tech school in '71. We had a Yellow Rope (you AF guys know what I'm talking about) who like to pick on the meekest airmen around when he drank. A real alcohol bully.

He tried to pull his act on me in the barracks one day. Why he chose me is unknown, maybe because I was there. Somehow he managed to fall down a flight of stairs, or that was his story when the Red Rope asked him what happened. The Red Rope suggested he should not mess with me when drinking--or any other time.

Never had another problem with the guy.

Then there was the guy who fell off the loading dock at Robins AFB one night...
 
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