It all started so innocently. My boss asking me if I would hit up the city with him this past Saturday to attend a few events that he didn't want to do solo. Never being one to shy away from fun, I happily obliged. I figured with my girlfriend in Florida for a week (Attending Phillies spring training, tanning, and having irrational fears about being eaten by alligators) it only made sense to go out and make the best of it. I can already hear my friends reactions after reading that sentence - "What a hetero...", and "You're such a straight, Keenan." Well forgive me for preferring the company of a beautiful girl to that of 2,000 lonely Philadelphia dudes.
Anyway, I met my boss at our establishment at 4pm and headed into the city with him. Along the way he filled me in on what we'd be doing with our night. Here's a brief outline, which I will break down more significantly in the next few paragraphs. First we'll go to a screening of a pilot episode of a television program shot by old grade school friends of his at the Ritz, hit Del Frisco's steak house for some apps and drinks and then eventually make our way over to the Electric Factory to see a band called Thievery Corporation. Sounds pretty simple, sounds sort of fun. I'm usually down for whatever, but the fact that I had spent the night before battling bouts of unannounced vomiting, I was pretty sure I might be coming down with some sort of bug. But the pro's play hurt, so I couldn't let a few stomach grumbles get in my way.
We got dropped off in the city by his father in law, who should not only be mentioned for his niceness, but probably awarded for it. Hell of a guy. We walked a few blocks from where we got dropped off over to the Ritz on Front street, only to be told that the screening was "at the other one." So we trekked a few blocks over to the other Ritz where the screening was in fact not being held, but the guy behind the glass did try to sell us on Slumdog Millionaire. He almost had me, but mainly because it was cold out and I was starting to feel like I might pass out. Eventually we found the location of the screening which was at a place that I think was called 125 Lounge or something like that. I think I've been there at 3 am before and gotten bottle service but that's beside the point. The real point is that upon crossing the threshold of this "club" I realized that it's 5pm on a Saturday and I'm hanging out at some hipster bar in olde city. I'll take things that make me want to kill myself for $500, please. The one good thing about this situation was that there was in fact a bar so worst case scenario, I'm drinking too much and drowning my sorrows with some bum on the street later. We walk up to the bar, and the bartender says "what can i get you guys? Grey Goose is free." SOLD. I'll have a Goose and Ginger, because ginger ale calms the stomach, and Vodka makes me light on my feet and quick tongued. And don't get me wrong here, I'm not a vodka snob, I just like when someone wants to give me drinks for free. I don't care if your special is half priced Kerosine. Lets drink some gas and see what happens.
The important thing to remember about free drinks though is that the pour is light, and the special ends at some point. Not knowing the exact time that this club would end its UNICEF like policies I thought it important to get two at a time and leave one of the table marinating. After my second or third drink, the place got so crowded that I had limited room to move around, which meant I had to start conversing with some of these people even though I had no idea who they were and more importantly they didn't know me. Everyone in the room knew each other, except for one guy. Yes, this guy. Who took it upon himself to become "That Guy".
I started to talk to one guy, who for the sake of the story we'll call "Scott". Why did I start talking to him? Well quite simply he looked like the Old Spice Centaur.(Thankfully, Scott was wearing a shirt.)
Turns out he didn't want to talk about anything Centaur related, which is amazing to me because if you're talking to someone whom you will most likely never see again, why wouldn't you want to talk about centaurs? Some people... Anyway once I got tired of hearing him ask me how I knew the guys in the band, I had to walk away. Perhaps this is an appropriate time to tell you that the pilot episode was filmed by 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. Guess what the pilot was about - You guessed it, it's about 4 guys who are in their mid thirties and along with their day jobs they are still in a band. I'm not sure what the legality is of giving out the name of the show so i won't but I will tell you that it was pretty funny, and shows promise. Plus the screening of it was 25 minutes out of my night where I didn't have to talk to anyone and I could drink freely from my arsenal of Goose and gingers while other quietly griped about how they should have gotten a drink before the screening.
After the screening ended, the place got LOUD. Like as in, DJ playing his own bongo's while geeking out to trance music...at 6pm loud. Along with the music getting loud, so did the conversations. I decided to test the decibel level of my own voice in comparison and interrupt other people talking by asking them if they wanted to go do crystal meth with me in the mens room. I'm not sure why this happened, and I can safely say I've never and would never do meth, but the idea seemed brilliant at the time. Out of a possible 100 people, only one guy got it. A married man named Dan, who along with his wife were my two favorite people there. Dan thought the idea was great and followed me around for the next 20 minutes. I'd like to think it was because he thought I was funny, but it's also entirely possible he just loves meth. Either way, no meth was done. Soon there after I heard someone go to the bar and order a Grey Goose and Seltzer Water, which drives me nuts, because "club" is the preferred nomenclature. Bartenders get confused when you say seltzer water to us. We're programmed to do. Not think. I could tell the bartender at this place felt the same way so she took delight in telling this mo that Goose drinks are now 5 dollars a piece. Score one for the kid who's got one in each fist and another on the table. The scene then eventually broke up and we decided to cab it up to Del Frisco's.
Perhaps you don't know about Del Frisco's yet but it's a GIGANTIC building on the corners of 15th and Chestnut where all the important people in Philly go to see each other. Naturally I was wearing a sweat shirt and holed up jeans. Needless to say, I fit in perfectly. After we secured three seats at the middle of the bar and a few dirty looks, I excused myself to the mens room which is down a large flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairwell I looked around for a sign and was greeted by a young man who said, "right this way, sir". I guess I'm just used to the bathroom attendant sitting on a stool by the sink, not being out on the main floor, but sure enough he followed me in, asking me what I thought would happen in the Sixers - Magic game. Trying to brush off awkward dick holding conversations, I mumbled something about the Sixers having no inside presence and no way to defend against Dwight Howard. Not to paint this kid as an idiot, but he was hispanic and had his hair styled like Sean from Tool Academy except with a little more mid 80's Lionel Richie curl to it. I thought that talking about "Inside Presence" would throw him off and he might shut up. Instead he continued to talk away about how every second in basketball counts. It's not like football, because you can hit a 3 at the end of a game when the clock runs out and its over. Apparently this kid was not familiar with football running on a game clock system as well. As I zipped up and made my way to the sink, he was right there to not only turn the water on for me, but also squirt soap in my hands. Having someone do this for me makes me uncomfortable because I am well aware of how to do them myself, and at the same time he is forcing me into a hand washing situation. And it's not like I'm saying I don't wash, I ALWAYS wash, but because he was staring me down, I had to sing happy birthday in my head while washing my hands just to ensure that I looked like King Hand Wash. Thinking that this experience was over, i grabbed a towel but before I could leave I had this brief exchange with the attendant:
Him: "You know what I do? I got to a lot of Sixers games. I go with my boyfriend. Well not like that, he's my boy who is my friend."
Me: "Yikes..."
I'm am not a homophobic person. To be quite honest, I don't care what anyone's preference is but never in the history of manhood have those words ever been confused. Girls have girlfriends, guy's have friends. It's just a fact. Anyway I went back up to the bar feeling a little uncomfortable, but it was nothing that a few $15 glasses of Pinot Noir couldn't take care of. We shared some apps and bullshitted before the inevitable happened again. Yes, I had to pee and it had only been about 15 minutes. If you read this blog you probably already know that I don't have great bladder control. I'm not proud of it, but it's a part of me. So I went to the men's room again, only this time the attendant wasn't there. So I tried to hurry through the process before he returned to his post. Standing at the urinal I began to wonder if I should take this show over to a stall. Not to be graphic, but I had just eaten some Gnocci's and I would shortly be going to the electric factory, where my options would be limited if a bad situation were to arise. I surveyed the stalls starting from closest to the door to the back. The first two had urine all over the seats and the final one was the handicapped stall. I always, and I mean always feel guilty using that one so I decided to just ignore everything and convince myself that the night would be fine and stomach issue free. As i turned around, there he was. I swear to you he was like Emilio from Mr. Deeds.
("I fear you are underestimating the sneakiness, sir..."
The situation honestly made me jump. He came out of no where. "Hey man, are ju from Florida?" I swear I thought I was being punked by my girlfriend who was in fact in Florida. "Ju look like you're from Florida, mayne." If you know anything about me, then you know that this is in fact not true. My mother is from Finland, and my father was of Irish decent. I am very pale, and I wasn't wearing a Budweiser hat of driving a T-top Camaro in that bathroom so I don't know where he was getting his intel from. Needless to say it started to feel more like he was hitting on me. Which I get, I mean lets be honest, but I thought I was making it clear that I wasn't into dudes by saying things like " My girlfriend is in Florida" or "I just love the smell of a nice vagina." I quickly scurried back up to the bar and finished my wine. I wasn't into the taste of it anymore, I was just hoping I might black out right then and there. Eventually my boss and his buddy were ready to leave so we packed it up and walked toward the front entrance. Bam, I had to go again. But at least this time, so did they so we rolled together in a pack. They didn't believe what I was saying about this guy until they saw him. He left them alone in the men's room and talked to me the entire time the 3 of us were in there. What he talked about, I couldn't tell you. I was actively repressing memories even as they were forming. I can tell you that he ignored them at the sink but still made the attempt to squirt my soap for me. I beat him to it, and I think offended him. And I don't think he was offended because he loves to attend to bathrooms, but rather he wanted to dote on me. It was creepy to say the least. Then we exited the bathroom, all in succession. They in front of me, and me the last to leave. As they passed him, there was nothing but silence, but for me there was a "See you, pal." That in itself wasn't so strange, but I'm pretty sure there was a wink involved, too.
I guess it's important to say that Del Frisco's as a whole was nice, and has a very cool set up. I saw John Bolaris there and reminisced about the time an old Sea Isle City housemate of mine peed on him in a crowded bar. I would just suggest to all male readers to be wary of the bathroom. It's a scary place.
At this point it's about 9pm and I have had 7 Goose and gingers and two glasses of wine. Things are progressing nicely, being that I haven't yet peed my pants, or vomited. To be quite honest, I was feeling substantially more sober than I thought I would. So we cabbed it to the E factory and...got in line? Ugh, there was a line all the way to the chain link fence which is something I have never seen at that venue. I guess everyone was getting their tickets at will call. The only thing that really bothered me about the line was that it was freezing cold and the collection of people around me can only be described as "complete retards." Just saying that, I feel like I'm giving retarded people a bad rap. The couple in front of me had matching dread locks, and they were rockin' tee shirts. It was 25 degrees. The girl behind me had this conversation with the guy she was waiting with:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Right on..."
For the record here is how that conversation should have gone:
Girl - "Yeah, I know them like really well. I used to party really hard with them. Did you ever see the movie KIDS? That was like my house."
Guy - "Oh... You have AIDS. This date has reached it's conclusion."
Not only was I sandwiched in between these people for half an hour, but the entire time I was in line I had to fight off the leather pant wearing scalper who looked like the son from the movie THE BURBS.
You tell me that's where you want to be on a Saturday. So this whole time we're standing in line, "Scott" doesn't have a ticket but instead of scalping one he decides he's just going to tell the person at will call that he is with the band. The ingenious ideas of a 38 year old single man wearing a leather jacket from Wilson's and a scarf that doesn't match it. Maybe the will call girl who has nothing to do with the band will believe you. Of course she didn't. She actually went above and beyond, by checking her list multiple times only to find that his name wasn't on it. After a good 5 minutes of this charade he demanded that something must be done for him, to which she replied, "Sir, you could always just buy a ticket." My face was red and I don't even know this cat. Once securely inside the building, we went to the bar and muscled into some prime real estate right by a tower and a cash register. The bartender has to come to those two spots pretty often, so it just makes sense. Thievery Corporation came on and I must say that they were cool. They had a great sound and I was getting high off of the second hand pot smoke so that helped, but there is nothing I hate more than being in a crowded setting like that and being elbowed and leg humped because there are too many people in the building and no one can move. Yes, I'm sure that all the emo kids will tell me that I'm not a real concert goer, but to you emo kids I say this - Go fuck yourselves. (Also, I wish my grass was emo... So it would cut itself.) Anyway, after an hour of standing at the bar and watching the concert that's going on right behind me, on a tv we decided that something must be done. I need to first and foremost get away from Scott because he is behind me dancing not like he has to take a poop but more so as if he has already pooped and he's seeing if he can dump it out through the legs of his pants like Andy Dufresne. The band just asked if the crowd wanted more and he threw up devil horns and then turned to me, saying "Not."
Meeesta, Meeesta! Get Me Outta Here!!!
Deciding that my options are to leave my boss who is a friend of mine without telling him, or make the most of it. I opt to look for the silver lining in this situation. I did this for two reasons. 1) He is married, and has a two year old with another one on the way in the spring. He doesn't get out terribly much. 2) I didn't have enough money to take a cab home by myself. So we stuck around and eventually tracked down a guy who was wearing an all access pass. I think my boss knew him because soon enough we were in the VIP area above the stage looking down on the band and the mob scene of a crowd where the drinks were once again free of charge. I'll take 4 captain and gingers, stat.
By right around midnight my boss and I left the concert, skipping out on Scott and hailing a cab that had no interest in taking us to Havertown. Being the master of interpersonal relations I eased him into it by stating that he has an obligation to take us there because he is a driver by trade and that we will assuredly "take care of him." $81 later, I was back in Havertown and the driver was on his merry way back to the city with a hot nine dollar tip. I believe in tipping, but i have also cabbed it from the city probably thirty times and it has never been more than $50. I know a snow job when i see one, but what we paid the cab driver isn't very crucial to this story so don't worry about it.
The point is that he dropped me off in Havertown, where I live so I could have gone home. Instead I chose to go back to the bar I work at to meet up with my friends because it was still early and my body had yet to show signs of extreme drunkenness. When drinking vodka, it is important for me to remember that the effects sometimes take hours to set it, so doing shots of Grape vodka at 1:30 am is probably stupid. But I like stupid and stupid likes me, so I did a few and then wandered home with my buddy AF. AF and I thought it would be a great idea to play Tiger Woods on the Wii, but first it would be an even better idea to share a "cigar." Bad idea. Immediately following the inhalation of said cigar, my world started to come to an abrupt, turbulent end. I couldn't tell you the last time I got the spins, but I don't remember them being nearly as bad as they were on Saturday. I felt like I was listening to 'Dead or Alive's greatest hit' on repeat. I can however tell you about the last time I fell over in the middle of a golf swing, because it was that night, and that's the only time I have ever done that. Luckily AF is one of my oldest friends and doesn't judge but sometimes I wish he would. I had become a puddle, one that was reduced to sleeping with my head on the toilet seat lid (which is cushioned btw). I locked myself in that bathroom for what felt like an eternity and prayed that AF would just grab the hint and jet because I didn't even want my closest friend seeing me the way i was. Instead he stayed just to make sure I was alive. I faked like I was, but wasn't sure if I would wake up the next morning. Eventually I did wake up, and microwaved a stoeffers French Bread Pizza that i left out at room temp all night. Pizza at 9am? Count me in.
Strangely I think the organisms that grew on that pizza over night saved me from a massive hangover because i felt pretty well when I woke up at 4 in the afternoon.
I guess the moral of this story is... Actually there is no moral to this. Better luck next time.
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