I don’t know about you, but it seems like something crazy happens every time I go to the bathroom. Wait, maybe I should rephrase that … or just tell my story.
On Saturday night, as is often the case, my buddy Tom and I were at a casino bar in Louisiana. It is generally the only interesting place to be where we live, and even then there’s no guarantee it will be exciting. The night had the look of fitting into the nondescript category when I needed to embark on what my friend Phil dubs “Operation Drain Lizard.”
But as I left the bathroom, I received a text from Tom reading “Dude, Lawrence Taylor just sat next to me at the bar. Seriously.”
My initial reaction was disbelief, which immediately gave way to concern. Based on our location at the bar, if Lawrence Taylor was sitting next to him, that could only mean that LT was in my seat. And I was pretty sure that tapping him on the shoulder and saying “Um, excuse me Mr. Taylor, this seat is taken,” would not be a wise move.
Fortunately, I returned to the bar to find that LT was actually located in the seat next to mine, thus eliminating the need for any awkward moments. Apparently the only thing I missed was the bartender or manager telling LT that if he signed a napkin for him, all drinks were on the house. Tom then said “You must get that all the time,” to which he just rolled his eyes.
As for my reaction upon hearing this story, I was just pissed that my autographed napkin was not accepted currency at the bar. I’m a regular, dammit. I demand respect.
Anyway, even though LT was literally sitting elbow-to-elbow with me, I decided to let him be. Dude just wanted to chill and play his video poker. And he’s way bigger than me and has had some recurring issues with coke in the past. I figured if he wanted to talk to me, I’d let him take the first step.
The same could not be said of other bar patrons, who were all “Ohhh, if it isn’t Lawrence Taylor in the flesh and blood!” though he clearly wasn’t in the mood to share. (Of course, the fact that I’m telling this whole story on the internet may make me a bigger douche than all of them combined. Funny how irony works).
Not surprisingly, many of the patrons heaping attention on LT were of the female persuasion. He really wasn’t having any of it with them though, so for some reason the light bulb in my head decided that at some point I would have to interject. And when this one chick told LT, “I know you don’t have to work tomorrow,” I saw my opening and decided to dart through the hole like I was Pepper Johnson.
“Yeah, neither do I,” I announced.
Fortunately, neither one paid any attention as Tom sat next to me completely mortified. But LT clearly wasn’t interested in that chick, and I figured I was just trying to lend a helping hand.
After enough trouble, LT finally decided to step outside. Little did he know that he wouldn’t be stepping back into the bar.
Maybe 15 minutes after he left, Tom and I decided to take a stroll around the casino floor because we had fallen back into our usual bored state. What we saw was truly shocking — some guy who was maybe 5-foot-9 wasn’t allowing Lawrence Taylor back onto the casino floor because he did not have proper ID!
LT seemed to become increasingly irate at the door guy, since he is clearly over 21 years old and is Lawrence F*cking Taylor. But his arguments were to no avail — he wasn’t allowed back in. It may have been the ballsiest move ever made in the history of doormen. If nothing else, I’m sure Joe Theismann is a fan of that guy’s work.