beer and loathing

i was half-blind and smiling when i slammed my last bill down onto the beer-soaked, chipped-varnish, forever-stained finish of the counter.
i don't remember what i tried to order, but the waitress insisted i drink something else; and i'd forgotten what she'd called it a second after she poured it.
i do remember the look she gave me as i tilted my head back and dumped the mystery drink into my throat.
it was a "this'll get yer dogs barkin'" kind of look.
what a sweet gal, i thought.
that's the last thing i remember.
i'm not even going to tell you where i woke up.
not because it's embarrassing; because it doesn't matter.
but when i did finally wake up, after brushing off the sawdust and shrimp tails, i realized what that look she gave me really meant.
it meant "you sir, are very drunk...and i'm about to steal your good mittens."