Doobie’s Owner Chases Down, Punches Drunk St. Patrick’s Day Idiot

Here's what happens when you drunkenly steal David Bowie memorabilia from David Bowie's number one fan.

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Thou shall not steal. But thou really shall not steal David Bowie memorabilia from Philly dive bar Doobie’s, which is owned by David Bowie’s number one fan (in Philly, at least), Patti Brett. We heard that Brett had quite a run-in with a St. Patrick’s Day reveler on Saturday night, so we got her on the phone to learn more.

Is it just me, or were the amateur drinkers out in full force this St. Patrick’s Day?

It’s always a shit-show thanks to the greenholes. That’s what I call the St. Pee’s Day participants. The green assholes… and it’s St. Pee’s Day because everybody pees everywhere. It’s such a special day. Last year, I had to throw somebody out on St. Pee’s Day and he wouldn’t get out of my face, so I spit on him.

But what happened this year?

Well, I was coming into work around 8 p.m. on Saturday and I saw this guy and his friends at the bar. The guy looked like he had something under his big coat, the way he was holding his hand on his coat as if to keep something from falling out of it. We hadn’t served him. He had already been over-served somewhere else, and his friend was actually passed out at a table.

Then I went upstairs to the apartment above Doobie’s and I heard yelling out front. It was him and his friends trying to get into an Uber that wasn’t theirs. The driver was screaming at them and they weren’t listening.

They sound like real winners.

Totally. But while this was happening, I was able to catch that he had a large piece of artwork under that coat. I caught a glimpse of it. I ran down the steps to the street, and he was at that point getting into a different Uber across the street next to the 7-Eleven.

I ran up to the driver’s window and said, “You don’t go anywhere! You don’t move this car!” And he just sat there.

Yeah, I would listen to you, too.

I went to the other side of the car. The guy was now in the front passenger seat, and his friends were in the back seat. I banged on his window. He actually rolled down the window.

“What did you steal from my bar?” I asked him. The little baby said he’d give it back to me. I said, “You better!” And he handed it out the window.

It was a David Bowie mirror that was a gift from one of my coworkers for my 50th birthday, and it’s been hanging on the wall of Doobie’s for 12 years. Once I saw what it was, I went berserk.

What did you do?

Well, my arm went into the car and I just started punching him over and over again in the head. The driver is screaming at me to stop it. The girls in the back seat are yelling, “You’re assaulting him!” Yeah, you think? I called him a son-of-a-bitch and just kept hitting him. Finally, the driver starts pulling away so I had to stop.

Wow. How did he even get it out of the bar to begin with?

That’s the thing. I had it zip-tied down! It was up above the jukebox. He had to be working on it for a while. It’s kind of amazing.

And then later that night, I sat down and looked up at the wall and realized that a David Bowie tile was missing. Somebody had made me a set of tiles shortly after David left us. It was my favorite photo of David’s Aladdin Sane that was gone. It just vanished.

You’re not saying the same guy took it though.

No. I don’t know who took it. But I sure would like it back.

Do parents just not teach their kids that stealing is bad anymore?

[Laughs] You don’t mess with my cats or my Bowie stuff. Somebody once stole a cat painting, a real big one, that was hanging at Doobie’s. I wasn’t working. My bartender calls me and says, “I was just in the basement getting ice, and I came up and the cat painting was gone.” I told him to call the police.

I show up, and this guy brought the painting back — his girlfriend loved it — and the police ask me what I want to do. “Arrest him!” I told them. “I don’t care if he brought it back. He took it!”

And did the police get involved this time?

Yes. I decided before that any time there is an incident at Doobie’s, whenever somebody is thrown out or something bad happens, I am filling out a police report.

When the police came, I explained what happened. I told them that I punched him over and over again in the head. “It’s ridiculous,” I told them. “A 62-year-old woman with arthritis in her hand has to punch somebody who stole something from her.” They were just laughing.

I didn’t hurt him, but I did hit him. And I wanted it all on record. Now if I were younger and didn’t have arthritis in my hand, I coulda put a hurting on him.

I’m sure you would have. So any closing thoughts on St. Patrick’s Day?

I’m half Irish myself. I mean, c’mon, my name is Patti. But I have bad feelings to the people who don’t know how to behave, who think they can do whatever they want to do. It turns into this horror show. I’m a saint just for putting up with these people, these greenholes, who have to ruin things for everybody else.

But I really blame the bar owners. I am very anti-over-serving. I find it really offensive that people go out places and get over-served and then I have to deal with the aftermath.