Ava Adore

DSM of Dbags: Type D: “Drunken Monkey.”

Installment four of the catalogue of the douchebags I meet.

Last night’s Douchebag of the Night: Type D, the “Drunken Monkey.”

The psychology of the Drunken Monkey is almost self-explanatory. These gents are beyond the legal limit. Shitfaced. Sauced. Hammered. Smashed. Plastered. Take your pick, because they aren’t forming words, let alone opinions beyond ‘You gotta purdy mouth.’ Any and all sounds will be at a yell. They are unaware, obnoxious, groping buffoons. They may be tipping—but is it worth it?

So last night, after my first set, no one tipped me notably, meaning no one had taken a shine, but this one gent, with a lady, tipped me with a dollar like it was a piece of gold, and then told me to come over because ‘the lady likes me.’ I like ladies, and I had nowhere better to be, so I went over, despite his… loud enthusiasm for everything.

He was the most obnoxious, unaware version of the Drunken Monkey douchebag I’ve ever met. We get drunken yellers at the club on a semi-frequent basis, but he outshined them all, to the point where even his lady companion was getting really angry with him. Apparently he was a ‘friend of the family’ who was getting a bit too friendly.

Traci, the lady, was sweet, demure, with a hint of sass and a lot of patience. He kept trying to grope her (not me, thank god), but I didn’t want to leave her because I didn’t like how he was treating her. She got a dance from me, I think half because she chose me, and half to get away from him at the bar.

When we returned, he was worse than before. He bought me a drink—and then drank it. He told one of the girls to Fuck Off when she was collecting tips after her set. I made him apologize. Then he tried to pull Traci’s hair and bite her neck, and I told him to sit down, and that ‘Only I could do that.’

He pouted and said, ‘You’re good, but you’re not that good.’ I said, ‘I’m better.’ Traci agreed and wouldn’t let go of me; she licked my jaw to make her point. He got pissed off and went to go sleep in the car, waiting for Traci to finish her evening in peace. After that, she relaxed, and we just talked. Good riddance.