This is an old story from the early 1980s that I summarized in my first book.
My roommate, Ronbone, 6’6” 350 pound stoner hippie, went out to smoke magic mushrooms in the ‘pine needle jungle’ with Tony O, a 5’ 10” 200 lb stoner hippie who wore ‘coke bottle’ glasses.
After Roonbone missed their exit, and the next one, and the next one… They ended up in West Baltimore. Wanting to have something to drink while they drove all the way back around the Baltimore Beltway, they stopped at an Edmonson Village bar. Tony O said, “I’ll be right back with a six pack.”
Sometime later Tony O had yet to return to the car. Getting worried, Ronbone entered the bar and saw Tony O’s mop of hair in the hand of a large black man who was pounding Tony O’s face into the bar top. Ronbone waited politely for the man’s arm to tire, and then motioned to the man indicating that he wanted to remove Tony O, who was now slumped over the bar bleeding. He grabbed his body and his glasses and took him back to the car.
It has been over 10 years since Ronbone died, and I can neither recall if he got a six pack or call to ask him about it.
I do recall what he told me about the conversation with Tony O in the car, as this entire story was built around telling me what an unreasonable asshole Tony O was.
As they drove off Ronbone asked, “What the hell did you do?”
Tony O responded, “Well I walked in there and the bar tender is ignoring me and all of these niցցers are giving me the evil eye. I was pissed. Finally I say, ‘Hey, what niցցer do I have to blow in here to get served?’”
Ronbone, forever impatient with stupidity, said, “You mean you couldn’t think of anything better to say than that?”
Tony O was indignant, “Oh, I see, so it’s my fault—blame the victim!”
They managed to stop in Highlandtown and get a six pack of Mickey’s Malt Liquor and made their way home, drinking and driving through the back streets of East Baltimore.
