Part II. Bowling for Budwieser.
After hearing of the surreal incident that day, I obviously had to ask the second question.
QUESTION TWO: Who the fuck is One Eye?
Seems One Eye was the neighborhoods most notorious crack whore/lot lizard who worked the truck stop a mile down. She was called One Eye for an obvious reason. She only had one eye. In place of the second eye was a nice shiny glass one. Now my manager chuckled at the thought of this and had to tell me an accompanying story.
Before One Eye had been flagged from the bar, she was a regular. She knew better than to try and turn tricks there, but she would hang on the old rummies and get them to buy her drinks. Seems the bartender I had replaced was a sporting man and had devised a game, putting One Eye to work. When there were no saps willing to buy her a drink, the bartender would ring the old brass bell hanging over the bar. All the customers would crowd at the end of the bar to play. He had an old wooden box that he kept by the register containing twelve small paper cones. He would neatly arrange them into a triangle at the end of the bar. One eye would then pop out her glass eye and hand it to the first person who bought her a mug of beer.
Do you know what happened next?
You guessed it. He would bowl with her glass eye. (In truth, a glass eye is concave and oval, so I guess technically one should say they shuffle boarded with her glass eye.)
Then the next guy, then the next. Apparently it was a great racket, and a real crowd pleaser. He said her socket got so infected that she looked like she had a grapefruit coming out of her head. But for months she would dig and pry under the swollen skin to get at that free beer.
Oddly, the infection didn't put an end to the game. My predecessors bookie found where he worked and he went on the lamb. Lucky me. I got his shifts.
My Company
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