The scene: Jack's Bar. A Monday night about two months ago. Free peanuts, quarter hot dogs, and dollar cans (in descending order of appeal, to me at least). So I get my first beer and go to the jukebox, cash in hand and sipping increasingly merrily all the while. I'm picking out my songs, which is my usual hipster mix of crazy stuff that no other person who has entered through that big green damn door would ever think about playing in Jack's. White Stripes, Mooney Suzuki, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, new Neil Young, MGMT, The Black Keys (especially the songs that haven't yet gotten radio play, as far as I know), obscure 70's hard rock bands, you name it.
Jack's e-jukebox has a feature where you exchange money for credits, and if you want to hear a song ahead of the rest of the queue, you pay a couple extra credits and create your own uber-queue. So I jam ten bucks in, put a bunch of my favorite bands in and am JUST about to finish up when SUDDENLY!
Let me pause briefly here and admit that I have never been, or at least noticed being, of much interest to attractive women. Don't ask me why, I couldn't tell you. Mostly because in order to find out, I'd need attractive women to pay attention to me. Twenty-two caught. But anyway, I'm suddenly beset upon by this fairly cute blonde who's all panicked over me playing my stuff ahead of her and her friends' selections. I mean, she was pleading for me to
I swear, I could barely get a word in edgewise. I might have gotten in that I was almost done if I were more of an asshole,but I just couldn't get through to her. Better yet, she seemed to be pretty sober yet, or else a damn good actress. So I just said ok, that's cool, and went back to my barstool.
A couple minutes later, as the alcohol created its intended effect, I unexpectedly feel an arm slide across my shoulders. It even more unexpectedly turns out to be attached to another girl. Dang, I think to myself, forgetting what happened last time I was approached by a lady. (What do they put in that hard cider, anyway?) She mentions that I still had two songs' worth of credits on the box when I walked away.
Oh. Uh...yunz guys go ahead and use them, it's cool. (Not that they wanted to make out with me after that. Oh well. Two down, 3.5 billion to go.)
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The scene: Dee's Cafe. A Wednesday night, a couple weeks later. I saunter in and order up. Shot-and-a-beer, just for the hell of it. And then a beer, and then a beer, ad nauseum (not literally).
Sometime later, as the haze is at its peak, these chicks walk in. Yes, they really did come in. Shut up. Anyway, the tall one in lace leggings goes to the back to meet someone she knows. The other two come up to the bar and order. As they're waiting for their drinks, they're discussing something. I catch a bit that goes something like this:
"...don't like long sideburns on a guy."
I reach up and feel in front of my ears. My sideburns, while not Union-general awesome, nonetheless make a beeline for the line of my chin from the top of my ear. I would've (and should've) asked if they meant me, but I'm afraid the answer might have been 'yes'. (What, like THESE sideburns!?)
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The scene: Also Dee's Cafe. Another Wednesday night, another couple of weeks later still. Shot-and-a-beer, and halfway through the beer, I hit up the jukebox. One nice thing about Dee's jukebox is that it has a lot more music on it. Especially obscure stuff that Jack's just doesn't have, no matter how much I wish it were so. (Does that mean Dee's has more/better indie cred? Hmmmm....)
So I'm committing my usual jukebox terrorism, and these three girls traipse right on in and take a table. The tall one sits and waits for some dude, while the other two get in line for the jukebox behind me. This is starting to sound familiar...
I tell myself that that's just the shot and beer talking and proceed to slap some Guided By Voices, Pixies, more Black Keys, Ratatat, etc on the 'box. I then also proceed to sit my ass back down. The girls behind me do likewise.
I'm about four songs out from leaving, by my inebriated count, and, to put it gently, I really need to pee. On my way back to the restroom, I pass by the three girls' booth. One of them interrupts me. "Is your music going to be over anytime soon?"
Shit.
I tell them it should only be about three or four songs to go. Then I shoot for the bathroom and return. I'm chilling, and realize that it's been four songs and my stuff is still playing. Fortunately, after a few moments of worry at how off-count I am, I realize that indeed, this is the last song. Nevertheless, I feel certain that I'm no longer on these girls' Christmas card lists. The moment the last song is over, down goes the tip, a wave to their table that I'm not even sure they saw and out the door I go.
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And don't even get me started on the chick that started punching me in the ribs.
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