i remember talking to a former tour guide/current friend, and she'd said, "i wish all the 9-5's knew what it's like to have an irregular weekend." and while i agreed that it would be helpful for more people to understand our torturous lives, i disagreed that having a regular weekend would be a whole lot easier.
every schedule has its ups and downs.
but, wow. going out on a saturday night made it clear to me why so many non-drinkers hate alcoholics. i'm used to myself: an alcoholic who quietly types stories, or loudly debates philosophy-- not the ragers and stumblers of the city weekends. it's been a long time since i've brushed shoulders with collared-douchebags, or heeled sloppies with their smeary makeup and red bulls. after such an ever-long break from the real calendar, it was a bit overwhelming and i found myself asking the bartender at the buccaneer how she handles it all.
makes sense.
the bucc is built like a skinny walk-in closet, and because of the neighborhood it's a closet of bros n' bitches with too many striped shirts. unfortunately, they have a $20 credit card minimum. and, unfortunately, i didn't realize the sign until i'd already opened a tab and declared myself staying for at least five beers' time.
i watched travis and tyler play a few games of pool with a team of irish sharks-- each time promising themselves the next game would be the one they won. of the two irish men, the older and more drunken was the most talented. and the entire time, the jukebox blasted songs-- all of which that man seemed to know very well. he spent more time dancing to the songs and smacking his cue into lamps and sometimes faces than he did actually playing. but when he played, it was sloppy and effortless, yet amazingly accurate and to the point.
he even offered to buy all of us beer after winning without trying.
"oh, an anchor steam," i answered, "but i'm fine. thanks."
"you're not fine," he laughed, "let me get you another!"
i was a little confused what i had done that merited a free beer. i hadn't even played. in fact, travis and tyler had played but lost-- none of us deserved free beers, but i certainly did not. furthermore, i had to reach my $20 credit minimum, which meant i couldn't be accepting any free beers if i wanted my card back.
"let me get you one," he insisted.
"no, no," i said, "it's really okay. i mean, i actually have to spend twenty dollars before i can leave. there's a minimum and i've only bought one beer. it's really okay. and, seriously, thank you."
it's very hard to convince a 60 year-old irish man that you would rather buy your own beer without looking rude.
outside, we were smoking when a clan of drunken 30 year-olds stumbled into the bucc. they were well-dressed and seemed on top of Life, but were having a difficult time handling their alcohol. it made me realize the reason so many people hate alcoholics is because they're not judging alcoholics-- they're judging drunks. true alcoholics don't go to bars because it's not financially efficient, and true alcoholics don't seem drunk when after even a bottle of liquor.
before we were even done with our smoke, the drunken team came stumbling back out of the bar. one of the girls toppled over and landed on the buccaneer's a-frame-- knocking it over and laying on it like an uncomfortable bed. it was particularly hilarious because she was so conservatively dressed.
he was trying to make her feel better.
no kidding.
the intoxicated women was helped by her friends and one of them tried to convince her that perhaps a piggy-back ride would be the best bet. she, while leaning against the bar window, disagreed. this is what she said:
nice. there were no cars. she meant she could walk. but it's amazing to know her brain, when in drunken rote-mode, finds itself forming sentences that might get her behind the wheel of a vehicle.
after they were gone, a homeless man began his panhandling scheme. i had no money. but travis gave him all the change he owned, and tyler gave him a penny.
"you can walk into any bar and get free water," tyler explained.
"i don't want water!" the man shouted, "i want a fucking beer!"
and then that man walked up to tyler and threw the changed at his chest before walking away.
i dare say i have never seen something so rude, but travis reassured me it was not the first time a homeless man had expressed his elegant taste and rejected coins, or sandwiches on account that they didn't prefer tuna.
tyler was offended, picked up the change, and threw it back at the man as he walked away.
"yeah," tyler said, "but because he threw it at us. we gave him change and he said it wasn't enough, threw it at us and left. so we threw it back because... come on."
"you know that's really just unacceptable," the stranger continued, "you can't throw change at homeless people. you need to help them-- what you're doing is just wrong."
"what?" i asked, "no. we gave him change and he rejected it, yelled at us, and threw it in our face."
"it's just not right," the man repeated.
i'm not sure why he was getting involved, and i'm pretty sure we were being judged. it was almost as if he failed to hear the part about the homeless man taking our free money and throwing at us in a fit of elitism, and chose to only notice that we were young punkish kids seen tossing change at a down-n-out.
it really just makes me wonder what horrible things he's done in his life that he feels he needs to create such a balance in the world without fully understanding a situation.
shortly after, i left the bar. i was done with drunks, and i was done with the scene.
travis and tyler stayed for a bit more pool.
when they did finally come back to the apartment, travis was carrying part of a mattress and two jack-o-lanterns. tyler had a three-foot ashtray and a worried look.
it was one of those nights.
and, after travis carved the plastic jack-o-lantern into a wearable mask, we made our way through the tenderloin and toward a party.
i don't really know how to phrase this, but while that saturday was enjoyable it was not for me. the bar was full of idiots, the streets full of vomit and condoms, and the party was a party. i'm thankful that i now have the opportunity to go out with friends during normal go-out hours, but there is nothing amazing about roaming the streets plastered and sending a cornucopia of drunken text messages to other drunken friends.
but i'm glad i saw it; i'm glad i was one of those saturday douches. because it helped me realize i'm just not that kind of drunk. there just isn't any fun remembering (or trying to remember) my weekend and realizing it was only fun and adventurous because we were hammered and retarded.
if i were to walk into a lion's den and urinate on its face, i would have a great story too. or i'd be dead. but it doesn't mean i need to do that.
...that sentence makes a lot more sense in my head than it does in font.
maybe i'm just feeling too old for being a weekend jackass.
*cheesy music and slow motion zoom-in here.*
No comments:
Post a Comment