What's the difference between a rude person and an oblivious person ... and how can you spot them?

Bartending last night left me a little tense in the teeth, so to speak. I am not one to pass judgements on people, but these two shined-up cats wearing Madras shirts come in and start swigging Bud Lights. It was only a given that rounds of Red Bulls and (rail) vodka would follow, followed by the obilgatory Jagerbomb and an ill-fated attempt to pick up a girl wearing a one-shoulder shirt. Everything around them was sparkling. One of the shorter guys had already left me a whole 50 cents for a tip on his beer, so he probably figured I was taken care of for the evening. Why tip the next round when he was so generous in the first place, right? His taller friend--who looked less smarmy and slightly more aware--decided to throw down a credit card for the big round of double vodka and Bulls. Still, at $42, I would expect an $8 tip to make it an even $50.

The verdict: $2.00

"You have GOT to be kidding me," I laughed. My bar was four-people deep.

So I take the slip over to the two shined up friends and tell them this is horseshit. Complete horseshit. They look at me like I'm crazy, like someone just slapped them across the sides of their tanned, apple-cheeked faces after telling them , "Oh, by the way, the Cubs SUCK!" The smaller, 50-cent tipper kind of snarls at me and is ready to call me a bitch, it seems (later, I would find out that someone went to the downstairs bar and told another bartender that that "Buddha Bitch up top doesn't know what the hell she's doing." It happened that I was wearing a shirt that said "Shake your Buddha" on it, so I knew it was me.) I wouldn't put it past them to say it. In the end, the taller shmo gave me another two dollars and I told him he had earned my admiration while I batted my eyelashes him with exaggerated vigor. Fucker. What else to say? What else to do?

That was--in its truest essence--horseshit.

I have to wonder if people who go out to bars on weekend nights--who play the part of shined-up man, a sophisticated, successful I-make-the-money-and-have-shiny-business-cards-to-prove-it--I have to wonder if these people really feel comfortable in their own skin. Do they know their own skin? For as much product, as much lotion, as much they pamper their outer facades, these people are masking their reality of unknowing with (false) knowing assurance. Can the girl in the one-shoulder shirt shirt see through this? Does she care--as long as her drinks are paid for?

I should have waved the credit in their faces and told them, "I'd be careful if I were you--a man who cheats the bartender is sure to cheat (on) you too."