One of the most miserable jobs I have ever had was bartending. Besides the fact that it wasn't the ongoing party that you might think it was (it was really hard work), is the fact that I don't like drunks. To be more specific, I don't like drunks if I'm not getting drunk with them. The same was true when I drove a taxi in Chicago. Yes, once in a while some drunken fool would throw a pile of money over the seat without any idea that they just dropped four twenties wrapped in a couple of singles, but usually it was a backseat full of vomit and urine. No tip could cover that.
Twice a week I go over to Abandoned Pet Rescue, and walk the dogs. I truly enjoy taking them out. They don't care if I'm fat, or if I wear plaid shorts with a striped shirt, they are pee in your pants happy just to be taken for a walk, and they let me know it. Last Wednesday, while walking dogs, the guy who works in the bakery behind the shelter started shouting and waving at me. He was drunk. His eyes were glazed over, and he was staggering across the shit strewn field we walk the dogs in. "Hey man, I want a dog.", he slurred, as he grabbed the leash from one of the ladies walking dogs with me. "I'm gonna let him go, and if he comes back when I call him, I'll take him."
See what I mean about drunks? I'm sure in his mind he was being a nice guy who was only looking for a dog to adopt. I don't think the dog wanted to go with him though, he was peeing on the guys leg. I gently took the leash from his hand, and explained to him that we were responsible for the dogs and couldn't just give them away. Like most people who latch on to you when they are drunk, he was hard to shake. He followed us around for the rest of the walk, like a drunken puppy, and continued to follow us all the way into the shelter. So I pointed out the German Sheppard that had been abused and trained to kill anyone who entered his pen. "There's a nice dog that needs a home.", "His name is Ace."