While visiting Toronto for Christmas, my son and daughter-in-law, as well as my wife and I, went to a local bar for a late evening drink. Kramer’s, on Yonge at Davisville, is a Karaoke Bar. Long and skinny with tables on the left in a row, and the bar extending along the right side. Not a dive bar, as Jennifer reassured us. More of a neighborhood place.
We ordered our drinks and chatted. Actually, I was mostly interested in the hockey game which was showing on TV both behind us, and also across the bar. The usual crowd walked in and out. The usual types sat at the bar. We weren’t particularly loud, even though my son and I are famous for loud. The Karaoke Music made up for it.
We ordered some fries for munching. Just after that, Brady said, “The drunk over there is saying something to you”. I hadn’t noticed the drunk at the bar. Who had clearly been over-served. Until he came at me out of nowhere as I turned to see what my son was talking about. He grabbed me by my shirt and started to curse at me. Even worse he called me “fucking Grandpa”. That hurt. I pushed his hands away and told him to calm down; that I hadn’t been saying anything about him. I was starting to get really mad; that old Williamson red rage was rearing its ugly head. He was still trying to grab me, and i was expecting him to hit me. My mind was rocketing through possible moves…a menu I hadn’t entertained for about 45 years. Knee in the balls followed by uppercut. Or straight to the gut. Or just jump on him and use my considerable weight and momentum to push him to the floor, followed by whatever. He was pretty drunk. But I was righteously pissed off.
Luckily for all, the bartender came on the scene, chewed him out, and kicked him out. She said he would never be served there again. I felt somewhat deprived. Somewhat like I hadn’t had MY chance to finish things. I wasn’t shaken or upset. I wasn’t even really mad. I just felt that the whole thing was….incomplete.
I did get mad later, when they didn’t even comp the French Fries.