Sep 22, 2008

Dodging Fist Fights at the Townie Bar

Here's the scene:

The moment we walk through the spring-hinged screen door... the conversations, the pool and dart games, the people watching rodeo on the television... everything stops. The only thing that could have made this entrance better is if somebody had bumped the needle on a record player. I say to Tony and Natascha (my posse for the night) - "The first time someone calls me fagot, I'm getting in a fight." In near unison they respond "Do it."

1. It's not a good idea to where (nearly) skin-tight jeans and a small purple t-shirt to the most hillbilly bar in the middle of butt-fucking Illinois.
I was seriously breaking necks in every direction with my apparel (and not in a good way).
It was a situation when you can physically feel stranger's eyes all over your body. Like what it must feel like for a girl to be the only female at a party.
If stares we're punches then I was getting fucking gang stomped!

2. When Natascha said, "It's NOT going to be the most glamorous night of your life" she really meant to say "we're going to a bar where camouflage trucker hats and sleeveless t-shirts may as well be the dress code."
I wanted to try this approach on somebody "oh hey guy's, anybody into NASCAR? Okay, okay... how about John Deer? Anybody into John Deer?"

3. It's karaoke night.. I think to myself "how perfect. I fucking hate karaoke!"

Now here's the reality: (all of the above remains true)

We are all apprehensive and slightly self-conscious about walking into a bar that's the size of a two car garage and fully lit by florescent ceiling light's in a town we've never treaded foot before. We look like Metro-sexual city kid's and I remember my first thought being "None of these people would ever believe that I actually work at a grain elevator."

We drink Budweiser from aluminum cans and shoot warm rail whiskey out of clear plastic cups. [And for the longest time I thought no bar could possibly beat PK's when it came to ordering liquor... sadly defeated, PK's... sadly defeated...] Oh, and one more small detail, everybody is smoking in the bar. "Smoke it but don't promote it" says the bartender as he pours each of us another three fingers worth of old granddad. For the rest of the night we chain smoke like the Polish but use the concealing farmers grip method(so not to promote it.)

The next thing I realize is "I'm fucking drunk" and somebody is calling Natascha's name from over by the Karaoke stage. She raises her hand in the air and does some kind of a drunken gallop over to the "stage" (which is more just like a dark corner). And then there is the opening riff of "Sweet Child of Mine"

By the end of the second verse, people are gathering around the stage, and just in time for the breakdown - "Where do we go now?" "where do we go?" that whole two minute vocal sequence of Axel Rose asking nothing else but "where do we go?" It's actually kind of hilarious. And she totally nails it, spot on. When the song ends the crowd goes fucking nuts!! There are applauds and these loud bellowing "Whoooo!" yells.
Then she goes straight to the bathroom and barfs.

I'm not sure I could prove it, but Gun's N' Roses might have turned a potentially bad night into a really awesome one.

After the bartender shouts "last call!" somebody mentions to us that we can purchase package. "Package?" This actually means that you can buy 12 packs of beer from the bar. So without hesitation we buy some "package" of PBR for $7 Dollars. $7 Dollars!! From a bar. Talk about "takin er' easy." No wonder people say that.

On our way out the door, (open beers in hand) the bartender shout's "Hey. Hey guy's!" we all turn around. he waves and says "see you guy's!"

Stereotypes can cause bad evenings. Don't do it.

2 comments:

Tif said...

i had an interesting night as well.
we will talk.

ElecTRadicaL said...

Your night reminds me of a similar experience that occurred to me at my 5th grade summer camp. I was wandering around the Sinclair Boat Dock one sunny afternoon in July, alone; when out of nowhere I stumbled upon a gang of extreme wake boarders laughing and carrying on in their Master Craft 900 HP ski boat. They spotted me and took notice that I was just a measly little kid, and they were much bigger and stronger full grown adult male human beings. The gang of wake boarders knew that I was outnumbered on their turf, completely out of my element, and they aimed to take advantage of this situation. It was at that point that the leader of the gang began tossing full unopened cans of baked beans at my face and shins, while the other members attempted to lasso me with a 50 foot ski rope that was attached to the back of the boat. I attempted to flee the scene by jumping off the dock onto the neighboring boat launch for a quick escape, but in doing so I slipped on the slimy green moss that had fashioned itself to the base of the ramp and quickly slid down into the water. I struggled to gain my footing, but soon became helpless as the current sucked me towards the gang of extreme wake boarders. Soon I caught the scent of cigarette smoke, and I noticed they were lighting up and flicking them at the back of my head. I winced at the hissing sound of cigarettes being extinguished by the water, yet still continued to fight. Unfortunately the current was too much, and it caused me to drift to within reach of the gang, where they proceeded to hog-tie me to a nearby log, burn all my clothes, and pour Doritos and Busch Light into my eyes. This was a big learning experience for me; I learned that one should never wander into unchartered territory when alone. I think that by having a couple others with you, it helped to put the local bar patrons at ease. Sure, at first glance they appeared to pass judgment like the gas from their Schlitz soaked stomachs, but eventually they opened up and realized that you guys are human too, and not everyone wears cut-off flannel shirts and watches Nascar. In the end, it created a rare and unexpected look into the kind hearts of those local blue collars…