I used to work at a university doing IT work and hung out with most of the IT guys on campus whether we just went to lunch, walked campus, or went out after work. As most of you can imagine IT work takes a special kind of person and they usually are nerds. Nerdy looking people with anachronistic haircuts and t-shirts emblazoned with esoteric references. It's a gross generalization that is usually correct.
IT guys are smart and funny, but a different kind of funny, like a joke you have to read twice before you get it and laugh.
I'm not your usual IT guy, in look or behavior. That's important to the story, not just me being vain (which I can be).
I hung out with a particular IT guy quite a bit while I worked at the university because he was similar to me in that he was quite different from the computer geek norm. Oh sure he had the look but it was his attitude and personality that set him apart. Even from me. This guy had charm like a silver screen character. When he turned it on there was no avoiding how attractive and disarming its effect was. I'd marvel at him every time he became the charmer and never even tried to take notes because it was just magic and there was no imitating it. We'll call him Gable.
So, as per usual I would bug Gable during the day with whatever (IT stuff, jokes, stories, really...whatever) and he stopped me with a request. He had received an offer from an exchange student to go have drinks with him later that night and he wanted to offset the "date" with me and maybe another person so everything go more along the lines of hanging out instead of dating. I didn't really ask whether it was for her sake or his but it was an unsuspecting way of getting an escape hatch. I agreed to accompany them out to Ann Arbor and hang after work around 6:30.
I didn't bother to change clothes or anything and just hung around the office until it was time to drive out to the bar he had chosen, The Heidelberg. About the only fancy thing about this place was the name. It was a local hangout/dive bar for college students in our neighboring town Ann Arbor located on the main strip of eateries in the downtown. I wasn't excited about the choice mainly because parking in that town, especially in that part of town is near impossible and costly. I was going to make Gable buy me a drink to offset the cost of parking...which kind of got me excited. I was going to get an expensive drink after I convinced him to buy me something.
Anyway, 6:30 arrived and so did I. On time. At the Heidelberg. I even got to park on the street just a block away!
Gable and his lady friend were standing outside enjoying some small talk when I walked up and he introduced me in his very suave way, even I blushed.
Dispensing with the formalities we entered the nearly dead bar and walked towards the back discussing where we should position ourselves. Consensus was we get to the dart board before the crowds showed up and start drinking and playing a little lite game of darts.
I hatched my plan for a free drink and Gable bit. I got a double shot of bourbon.
We played darts, talked, drank, and had a good time. I tried to stay out of the way of their conversations but being the extrovert that I am it wasn't long before I was talking as much as Gable if not more. I could tell it wasn't sitting well with him and he wanted to change the scenery to minimize my presence. An hour and a half had passed since we first arrived and starting hanging out and by that time the bar had increased in occupancy by at least 50 so the noise level had risen. Especially from upstairs.
I asked the waiter what was happening upstairs and he said karaoke. I was a little surprised that it was already so raucous just a little after 8 pm on a Tuesday night but it did intrigue me so I entreated Gable and the exchange student to visit the scene above.
As we walked up the dirty stairs to the second floor of the bar the noise level magnified exponentially. A blend of laughter, cackling, singing, music, yelling, and loud conversations made it seem more like a brothel than a bar. As we crested the stairs and surveyed the room shock hit us all. We had been transported to a completely different place, in mood, in space, in time.
There was a youngish woman with short hair singing Nine Inch Nails "Closer" like it was a chant. Her mouth was engulfing the mic and most of her words were muddled by the effect. Leaning on to the mic and almost toppling over with it several times like it was a lover that she was trying to grind against on the dance floor. People caterwauled along with her seemingly driving her deeper in to the sexy song and losing all sense of what she was doing. By the end of the song the short haired woman was rubbing the mic and swaying like it was a drunken and desperate kiss. The crowd was going wild with it all!
We stood there blinking and stunned. I was smiling like a Jack-o-lantern and looking back and forth to Gable and the exchange student. They weren't pleased but they weren't leaving either.
I moved in to the room and took a seat at one of the many long tables (think picnic tables) hoping that would be the momentum needed to get the other two to join this crowd. It worked.
We sat down and grabbed a big tome sitting further down the table and looked it over. The Karaoke song listing. Now the conversation got excited as we started talking about songs we could sing, ones the other person should sing, and daring each other to sing this that or the other thing.
I picked the first song from our little group. You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate.
While they talked over their choices I went to the bar (upstairs, there were two at the Heidelberg) and ordered a Long Island Ice Tea. The crowd up here was thick and drinking heavily and I didn't want to be without something if the lines got long so this drink should cover me for a while. The bartender looked more like a butcher from New York with a dirty white apron and maybe was the cook working double shifts. When I ordered he nodded turned around grabbed a red plastic cup like you would see at a picnic (yes, I think it was a theme for the upstairs) and set it down on the bar and proceeded to dump liquor in to it. There as no measuring. There was nothing but abandon.
He filled a 16 ounce cup with booze, almost to the brim. Then dropped a scrapping of ice from the bottom of an almost empty cooler and sprinkled it on the top like a garnish.
The drink was $6 and I gave him a $10 and walked away smiling.
I was going to be toast!
I practically danced back to the table and sat down to display my drink to the two who were still in hot debate about what to sing and who should sing it.
They didn't care about the booze and I was ready to get to work on it so I turned away from the two chatty Kathies and watched the show up on stage while sipping away.
Each "artist" that took to stage bent the meaning of performing and singing further and further from center. Three songs later it was my turn and over half of my drink was gone. The warmth inside me was strong enough that it felt like a force field.
I was powerful. Driven. Meant to sing my song to the masses.
Once I was up on stage and looking down in to the smokey room it struck me how much everything looked like an old Dutch painting of commoners at a festival replete with love making, urination, and debauchery.
I was among my people. The bass line kicked off and the drum beat brought me up to "I believe in miracles. Where you from? You sexy thang. You Sexy thing you."
I swayed my hips.
I pointed to people in the crowd.
I sang off key.
I stumbled and laughed along with the carnival.
Who knows if it ended well as I don't even remember singing the whole song, but when I sat down Gable was laughing at me and you couldn't slide a piece of paper between him and the exchange student.
They were drinking now and the noise in the room pretty much eliminated conversation. Now it was a yelling match.
A few minutes later a young man, with drink in hand, sat on the other side of the exchange student and began trying to muscle in on his date-not date. She wasn't happy about it. He wasn't happy about it. Only the dude, oblivious to the situation, seemed to think it was a going well. I thought to myself "This guy has to go and I'm just the guy to take care of it."
I got up and moved to their side of the table, sitting down next to the interloper.
I leaned over, tapping him on the shoulder, and waited for him to acknowledge me.
When he looked over at me I leaned in real close and talked in a normal voice, almost in to his ear "That girl you are talking to...yeah, she is with me and my buddy."
"Oh yeah?", he answered.
"Yup. We came here just to get warmed up. Then we are going back to his place and having a threesome. There are already three of us."
...
He stared at me. Trying to read me. Maybe trying to process what I said.
Then he got up. So did I.
He walked away and I went back to my side of the table and sat down smiling.
She leaned over and said "Thank you! What did you say to him to make him leave?"
Without thinking I told the truth.
Gable's face was one of displeasure and confusion, her's was one of horror.
Gratitude for my act was only have granted as they huddled closer to gather and shutting me out, understandably.
I finished my drink and went and got another. I don't remember why I did that or where I went with the drink but it wasn't back to the table with Gable and the student. After some time and more of my second Long Island down the gullet I ran in to some guys wearing letter jackets and took offense to it. I made some disparaging remarks about sports, jocks, and jerseys and they took offense that I wasn't a bigger dude trying to start a fight. I assured them that I was fighting material and pushed one on to a table and that began a nice fight. It was only one or two swings later and I was missing a part of my shirt, had my bell rang, my drink was long gone, and a bouncer was pulling me down the stairs towards the main entrance. My head cleared up a little once I was outside in the cold.
The letter jacket wearing guys came out next and the fight began anew this time with the bouncer included. I was not doing well against the strength and coordination of these sportsmen. Thankfully, the fight ended just as abruptly as it began and there I was sitting on my butt from the last punch I collected. On the sidewalk. In Ann Arbor. Tuesday night. Winter. Some time after 10 pm.
I sat there for a while wondering what to do since my coat was still inside with all my stuff in it as well as my two friends.
I was stuck.
I sat there for an undetermined amount of time pondering how I did singing "You Sexy Thing" when all of a sudden a very angry voice was demanding to know what the hell I was doing. I stared off down the street ignoring the person who was not treating me nice as I had just about enough of bad things when the person jerked me to my feet. I spun around and was either going to block them from hitting me or punch them but I can't be sure as I realized it was Gable. He was holding my coat and demanding to know what the hell I was doing. Why fight in a bar? Why drink so much? Why....why...w...
I stopped paying attention as he was holding my coat and I was thinking "Get your keys and drive home." and grabbed my coat from his hands. I slipped the keys out of the pocket as he grabbed the coat back and continued to ask me questions that I had no answers to. The exchange student asked me if I was cold without my coat on and I declared that I was hot, as a matter of fact!
With that I ripped off my shirt and stood there in my pants and shoes.
Gable tried to put my coat on over me now that he saw that I was becoming unreasonable and I was having none of it so I took a step back and then spun around pulling my pants off simultaneously. Now I was buck naked. On the street. In downtown Ann Arbor. In Winter.
I started to run away from Gable and co.
They stood there shocked and didn't attempt pursuit for a few seconds which allowed me time to run towards my car.
By the time I got to my car Gable was right behind me and trying to push me away from the car door. It was a real good scuffle. He was determined to keep me from getting inside and I was determined to drive away.
In the end I was able to get inside my car, with keys, and lock it. He was holding my clothes against the window and yelling. Now the exchange student was pounding on the windows too. With them standing next to my car I started it up and took off down the road with a posted 25 mile per hour limit going about 60. I ran two red lights.
Darkness over took me.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Knocking on glass.
I wake up as I am laying down on my belly. I look over and there is a man standing on the passenger side of my car knocking on the window. When he sees me look over at him he asks with supreme incredulity "Are you ok?".
I am confused as to why there is a man talking to me in my room.
Then I realize that I am not in my room. I am laying down in the grass on the side of the freeway. I'm coated in morning dew. I jump up and back in to my car and slam the driver's side door. I look over at the man as he backs away from the passenger door like I pulled a gun on him. My car is still running and its pointed the wrong way down the highway. I am off the shoulder and in the grass on the side. I step on the gas and shut off and do a quick U turn over the two lanes and pass the man walking back to his Courtesy Patrol Van shaking his head.
Just a few hundred feet down the highway, going the right direction, was the exit for my neighborhood. I sped off the highway thanking all the lucky stars that a cop didn't come by before the courtesy van. That I didn't wreck and hurt someone. That this wasn't a DUI story.
It was a terrible ending to a crazy night.
I've never done anything like that again.
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Mighty sweet tomatoes
Living in Vegas was a hard thing to do, with all the constant action and strangeness to
be had at any moment. Finding good places to hang out with friends, low key, and healthy
places to eat far from the strip can be even harder to come by.
Be that as it may I was lucky in that I bought a condo right on the edge of the good part of town. That meant I didn't have to pay the terribly high taxes but still roll in the heavenly trough of the rich and famous.
Enter Sweet Tomatoes, an all-you-can-eat salad bar in the "good part of town". This place was so fantastic that we (me, ex, friends, etc) went there all the time. I would use this spot especially when guests would come to visit from out of town. Going there would be my version of patronizing a four star restaurant. Obviously, I held this eatery in high regard, but I digress.
This story really starts when my friend from Japan moved back to the states and stayed with me on her way to Arizona.
It was another sunny day in fabulous Las Vegas and we went out to ST for an early dinner. There was much planned for the evening so we had to get eating out of the way. Having already picked our selections of salads, soups, baked goods, pasta, and desserts we seated ourselves and got to work eating. Laughing, sharing stories and munching away the time passed rather quickly. We had been eating and enjoying ourselves for an hour or so when the urge to hit the boy's room came upon me. Casually, I excused myself and meandered through the establishment to the cubby nestled in the back where restrooms are normally hidden.
Pushing open the door I immediately encountered a middle-aged man dressed casually standing by the sink almost blocking the entrance. The bathroom wasn't a tight fit but the entrance and egress was a close shave if anyone was washing their hands or standing by the door, like this gentlemen. I excused myself squeezing by him trying not to make eye contact on my way to the urinal, as is the male custom. The sink was close enough for me to kick my leg backwards and touch it while standing at the sole urinal. The walled-in toilet stall was in arm's reach from where I stood as well, and this guy was quietly standing not two and a half feet behind me. Standing at the sink, looking in to the mirror. Not fixing his shirt or messing with his hair. Just standing there with hands down at his sides.
As I got my feet positioned for the proper peeing distance and distanced from the porcelain to avoid splash I started to unzip my pants when, from behind me I heard the man speak up.
"You need any help?"
I froze.
I was already looking straightforward in the traditional manly position with my one hand holding the side of my jean opening and the other forming a claw clinched on the zipper itself. As he uttered those words.
My mind started racing through the aisles and aisles of responses: No thank you, Shut the Fuck Up!, I will kill you!, Ahh, it's not that heavy..., etc.
Nothing seemed to match my situation. He didn't seem like the laughing sort of guy. This didn't seem like the confrontation kind of place.
A battle didn't seem appropriate in this holy place (to me) and my reactions seemed far to crazy for what was asked of me.
I'm not attracted to men...wait, I do find a lot of men attractive but I don't want to have intercourse with them is what I should say...so why am I starting to freak out right now?!
Just stay silent should be what I do. It wasn't a pushy question. Just a question. I can't be rude and not answer. What should I say? (all of this took place in the silence after he uttered those words...about two-three seconds)
My mouth started to open to utter a response that I wasn't even sure of, and for a second the thought of just whipping around and doing some Kung-fu kicking shit might be the solution to the problem that I was facing...when...
A tiny, little voice came from the toilet
"no dad, i got it."
I shut my eyes in shame and relief.
I hadn't see anyone in the stall when I first walked in because the boy was so short his legs didn't touch the floor.
This was his dad, standing there waiting for him.
I was just an intruder in this small moment. Their dinner out and his requirement to use the bathroom and have help.
I was able to actually finish what I went in there to do and then got the hell out of there. I wanted to wash my hands but I couldn't look at the guy in the face after all I put him through, in my mind. I was embarrassed to have accused him silently.
I just walked out.
Thank goodness my friends were already standing by the door and ready to leave.
I walked out of that place a battle weary solider having fought a war against fear...in a bathroom stall.
Be that as it may I was lucky in that I bought a condo right on the edge of the good part of town. That meant I didn't have to pay the terribly high taxes but still roll in the heavenly trough of the rich and famous.
Enter Sweet Tomatoes, an all-you-can-eat salad bar in the "good part of town". This place was so fantastic that we (me, ex, friends, etc) went there all the time. I would use this spot especially when guests would come to visit from out of town. Going there would be my version of patronizing a four star restaurant. Obviously, I held this eatery in high regard, but I digress.
This story really starts when my friend from Japan moved back to the states and stayed with me on her way to Arizona.
It was another sunny day in fabulous Las Vegas and we went out to ST for an early dinner. There was much planned for the evening so we had to get eating out of the way. Having already picked our selections of salads, soups, baked goods, pasta, and desserts we seated ourselves and got to work eating. Laughing, sharing stories and munching away the time passed rather quickly. We had been eating and enjoying ourselves for an hour or so when the urge to hit the boy's room came upon me. Casually, I excused myself and meandered through the establishment to the cubby nestled in the back where restrooms are normally hidden.
Pushing open the door I immediately encountered a middle-aged man dressed casually standing by the sink almost blocking the entrance. The bathroom wasn't a tight fit but the entrance and egress was a close shave if anyone was washing their hands or standing by the door, like this gentlemen. I excused myself squeezing by him trying not to make eye contact on my way to the urinal, as is the male custom. The sink was close enough for me to kick my leg backwards and touch it while standing at the sole urinal. The walled-in toilet stall was in arm's reach from where I stood as well, and this guy was quietly standing not two and a half feet behind me. Standing at the sink, looking in to the mirror. Not fixing his shirt or messing with his hair. Just standing there with hands down at his sides.
As I got my feet positioned for the proper peeing distance and distanced from the porcelain to avoid splash I started to unzip my pants when, from behind me I heard the man speak up.
"You need any help?"
I froze.
I was already looking straightforward in the traditional manly position with my one hand holding the side of my jean opening and the other forming a claw clinched on the zipper itself. As he uttered those words.
My mind started racing through the aisles and aisles of responses: No thank you, Shut the Fuck Up!, I will kill you!, Ahh, it's not that heavy..., etc.
Nothing seemed to match my situation. He didn't seem like the laughing sort of guy. This didn't seem like the confrontation kind of place.
A battle didn't seem appropriate in this holy place (to me) and my reactions seemed far to crazy for what was asked of me.
I'm not attracted to men...wait, I do find a lot of men attractive but I don't want to have intercourse with them is what I should say...so why am I starting to freak out right now?!
Just stay silent should be what I do. It wasn't a pushy question. Just a question. I can't be rude and not answer. What should I say? (all of this took place in the silence after he uttered those words...about two-three seconds)
My mouth started to open to utter a response that I wasn't even sure of, and for a second the thought of just whipping around and doing some Kung-fu kicking shit might be the solution to the problem that I was facing...when...
A tiny, little voice came from the toilet
"no dad, i got it."
I shut my eyes in shame and relief.
I hadn't see anyone in the stall when I first walked in because the boy was so short his legs didn't touch the floor.
This was his dad, standing there waiting for him.
I was just an intruder in this small moment. Their dinner out and his requirement to use the bathroom and have help.
I was able to actually finish what I went in there to do and then got the hell out of there. I wanted to wash my hands but I couldn't look at the guy in the face after all I put him through, in my mind. I was embarrassed to have accused him silently.
I just walked out.
Thank goodness my friends were already standing by the door and ready to leave.
I walked out of that place a battle weary solider having fought a war against fear...in a bathroom stall.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
The magic in my yard
Have any of you been drawn in to the fantasy of living vicariously? Drawn in to a world rendered by your imagination and populated by a few facts, some conjecture, and a smattering of memory?
Maybe it was because of a friend or coworker who regaled you with stories of trips, scenes from an Italian restaurant, lovers, or daring do.
Perhaps it's a neighbor who has amazing toys on display. Nice cars. Fancy lawn chairs. Rare garden gnomes.
Far be it from me to presume to know any of you, my darling neighbors, enough to proclaim that you do get lost in dreams such as I've described. I merely pose the question as...
I, on the other hand, do.
As a matter of fact I've been imagining what kind of life the person lives who walks passed my house twice a week.
This cad, I take liberties here, seems to live a life free of the restraints that bind many of us. He comes on different days, which tells me there are no corporations bossing him around. This outlaw passes my house at different times of the day, the sea may bring the tide in and out predictively but a pirate's ship sails whenever!
This rebel is unfettered by social mores, he drinks whenever he wants and whatever he wants. Tradition does not chain him, he eats when he walks since there is no table big or warm enough to greet him.
How do I know these things about a stranger I have not met and talked to you ask?
Sherlock Holmes taught me well.
Over the past year I have picked up the clues left by this stranger in a strange land:
Pint of Crown Royal (Tues, 3pm)
Taco Bell bean burrito (Mon, 7:50am)
Two airplane mini bottles of 1800 and Beefeaters (Sat 1pm)
One bag from McD's containing fries and fish fillet, one drink (Tues, 5pm)
Baby Ruth (Thu, 7pm)
Cigar wrapper, can of ice tea, and Funyuns (Sun, 10am)
The list goes on and on...
All of these clues were left on the sidewalk in front of my house. I was once sure the person was trying to leave me a trail, breadcrumb style, to follow them to whatever promised land awaits people who enjoy fast food, snacks, caffeinated drinks, tobacco, and booze but I was wrong.
There was no trail, just the wind blowing his clues for me down to a neighbor.
One day we will meet, this outlaw and I.
We shall break bread with a Taco Bell Party Pack, and I'll watch him smoke a celebratory Swisher Sweet.
We'll throw the garbage in my yard or near the sidewalk together, maybe even wink knowingly.
I think on that day many things will be won, but one thing will be lost, his freedom. He'll have to move on to another yard as I will know him and the glory of a pirate is in the unknown and unpredictable.
Go on, littering bird, fly away. I've lost you before I could even catch you.
Maybe it was because of a friend or coworker who regaled you with stories of trips, scenes from an Italian restaurant, lovers, or daring do.
Perhaps it's a neighbor who has amazing toys on display. Nice cars. Fancy lawn chairs. Rare garden gnomes.
Far be it from me to presume to know any of you, my darling neighbors, enough to proclaim that you do get lost in dreams such as I've described. I merely pose the question as...
I, on the other hand, do.
As a matter of fact I've been imagining what kind of life the person lives who walks passed my house twice a week.
This cad, I take liberties here, seems to live a life free of the restraints that bind many of us. He comes on different days, which tells me there are no corporations bossing him around. This outlaw passes my house at different times of the day, the sea may bring the tide in and out predictively but a pirate's ship sails whenever!
This rebel is unfettered by social mores, he drinks whenever he wants and whatever he wants. Tradition does not chain him, he eats when he walks since there is no table big or warm enough to greet him.
How do I know these things about a stranger I have not met and talked to you ask?
Sherlock Holmes taught me well.
Over the past year I have picked up the clues left by this stranger in a strange land:
Pint of Crown Royal (Tues, 3pm)
Taco Bell bean burrito (Mon, 7:50am)
Two airplane mini bottles of 1800 and Beefeaters (Sat 1pm)
One bag from McD's containing fries and fish fillet, one drink (Tues, 5pm)
Baby Ruth (Thu, 7pm)
Cigar wrapper, can of ice tea, and Funyuns (Sun, 10am)
The list goes on and on...
All of these clues were left on the sidewalk in front of my house. I was once sure the person was trying to leave me a trail, breadcrumb style, to follow them to whatever promised land awaits people who enjoy fast food, snacks, caffeinated drinks, tobacco, and booze but I was wrong.
There was no trail, just the wind blowing his clues for me down to a neighbor.
One day we will meet, this outlaw and I.
We shall break bread with a Taco Bell Party Pack, and I'll watch him smoke a celebratory Swisher Sweet.
We'll throw the garbage in my yard or near the sidewalk together, maybe even wink knowingly.
I think on that day many things will be won, but one thing will be lost, his freedom. He'll have to move on to another yard as I will know him and the glory of a pirate is in the unknown and unpredictable.
Go on, littering bird, fly away. I've lost you before I could even catch you.
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