There’s always that one guy.
You know what I mean.
He’s loud, drinks too much, and gets in your face if you so much as breathe in his direction.
And, he’s always there.
At Rich’s bar, that guy was Mitch.
And thanks to some ridiculous house rules, it was my job to put up with him.
As long as no one was getting ‘out of hand,’ I wasn’t supposed to intervene.
Which meant I, as the bouncer, wasn’t allowed to just toss guys out.
Talk them down, keep them drinking, and never, ever kick out the regulars. That was the rule.
It was a stupid rule.
And, it eventually got me fired.
But, I left a lasting ‘repeat’ revenge they never expected.
The Fight That Got Me Fired
It all came to a head one Saturday night.
The bar was packed, shoulder to shoulder with guys blowing off steam after a long week. Among them was Mitch, one of our regulars. Big guy, loud mouth, drank like a fish.
Mitch was one of those guys who thought the bar was his personal playground.
The worst part?
Rich loved him—Mitch drank top-shelf whiskey and tipped generously. That made him untouchable.
Everything was going fine until Mitch started jawing with another regular—some trucker I didn’t recognize.
You could tell it was going to get ugly. It started with insults, then shoving.
I tried following Rich’s rules, stepping between them and saying, “Hey, hey, we’re all friends here. Let’s keep it cool, guys.”
Neither of them listened. Next thing I know, Mitch throws a punch.
I grabbed Mitch by the collar, hauled him outside, and pinned him against the wall until he cooled down.
“Take a walk, Mitch,” I told him. “You’ve had enough for tonight.”
Big mistake.
Mitch wasn’t used to being told “no.” His face went red with rage.
“You’re gonna regret this!” he shouted before storming off into the night.
I knew that wasn’t the last I’d hear of it.
The Fallout
Sure enough, the next morning, I got a call from Rich.
He didn’t sound happy. “We need to talk, Jake,” he said.
That’s never a good start.
I walked into the bar that afternoon, where Rich was waiting behind the counter, arms crossed.
“Mitch called,” he said flatly. “Said you humiliated him. Now he’s talking about taking his business elsewhere.”
I shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? He threw the first punch. If I didn’t step in, we’d have a brawl on our hands.”
Rich shook his head. “Look, Jake. You know how it is. Mitch spends a lot of money here. You should’ve handled it better. We don’t throw out guys like him.”
“You mean I should’ve let him keep swinging?” I shot back. “That’s what you wanted?”
Rich waved me off, like I was being unreasonable. “You’re too aggressive, Jake. I’ve got to let you go.”
And just like that, I was out of a job.
The Petty Plan
I wasn’t exactly heartbroken about getting fired. The job wasn’t great, and dealing with guys like Mitch wasn’t my dream gig.
But the way Rich handled it—tossing me out for doing my job—left a bad taste in my mouth.
Still, I wasn’t bitter. Just… annoyed. And as I sat at home thinking about it, a dumb little idea popped into my head.
See, Rich’s bar had one of those internet-connected jukeboxes. You know the kind—download the app, buy credits, queue songs remotely.
The best part? Once a song starts, it can’t be skipped.
If the staff tries turning off the jukebox, the music picks up right where it left off when they power it back on.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stop smiling.
What if… just for fun… I used the app?
The First Strike
Thursday night was karaoke night, one of the bar’s busiest events. The place would be packed with regulars, including Mitch, doing what he did best—being loud and obnoxious.
Perfect.
I downloaded the jukebox app, loaded up some credits, and scrolled through the music catalog.
After a bit of searching, I found the perfect song: “The Chicken Dance.”
10 minutes long. Loud. Obnoxious. Unbearable.
I waited until the first karaoke singer finished their set. Just as the crowd was cheering and the next singer was about to go on, I queued up “The Chicken Dance”—twice.
It started blaring over the speakers.
For a moment, the crowd was stunned. You could see them looking around, confused.
“Who put this on?” someone shouted.
Chaos Begins
The bar staff scrambled, trying to skip the song. But, of course, that wasn’t an option.
Every button they pressed just made things worse. When they shut off the jukebox, the place fell silent… for about five seconds.
Then they turned it back on—and “The Chicken Dance” picked up exactly where it left off.
The customers started grumbling. Mitch, already a few drinks in, was the first to blow up.
“What on earth is this?” he shouted, pounding his fist on the counter.
“I have no idea,” the bartender said, frantically pressing buttons.
The song kept going.
And going.
And going.
After that first night, I was hooked.
I started queuing songs every week, always during the bar’s biggest events.
Trivia night? I made sure to interrupt the final question with an awful bagpipe cover of “Sweet Caroline.”
Friday night? I queued up “The Chicken Dance” again, just for old times’ sake.
It wasn’t long before the regulars started catching on. Every time a song hijacked the night, people groaned and complained.
Mitch, in particular, was livid.
“This place used to be fun,” he grumbled one night, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Now it’s a joke.”
Mitch’s Breaking Point
The final blow came on a busy Friday night, when the bar was packed with regulars.
Mitch was there, along with half the town, looking to unwind after a long week.
Just as Mitch ordered his second round, I queued “The Chicken Dance”—again.
The moment it blasted through the speakers, you could see Mitch snap.
“Not this garbage again!” he yelled, slamming his beer on the counter. “I’m sick of this!”
The bartender tried to calm him down. “We’re working on it, Mitch, just relax—”
But Mitch wasn’t having it. He stood up, knocked over his chair, and started yelling at the staff.
Other customers joined in, shouting at each other, and before anyone knew what was happening, a full-on brawl erupted.
Chairs went flying. Drinks spilled. Fists flew.
The bartender ducked behind the bar and called the cops.
The Fallout
By the time the police arrived, the bar was in shambles.
Mitch was dragged out in handcuffs, kicking and screaming the whole way.
And just like that, Mitch was banned from the bar for good—the very thing I’d been fired for trying to do.
With Mitch gone, the bar lost one of its biggest-spending regulars. Word also spread about the jukebox pranks, and soon, people started avoiding the bar altogether.
Rich had no choice but to shut down karaoke and trivia nights, and without those events, the bar’s profits plummeted.
The bar definitely went downhill after that… seems like putting profit ahead of everything didn’t pay off.
Then I opened the jukebox app on my phone, took one last look at my song queue, and deleted the app for good.