Bar Stories: Adventures in Alcohol

This page is to let it all hang out. complain, moan, praise etc.

Poof!

Postby disgruntled » 24 Jan 2008, 08:50

Poof!
Last edited by disgruntled on 02 Jul 2009, 20:00, edited 4 times in total.
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Postby disgruntled » 24 Jan 2008, 09:03

Poof!
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Postby Tremors » 24 Jan 2008, 11:54

Two guys walk into a bar, why didn't the 2nd guy duck?

A horse walks into a bar.
Bartenders asks; "why the long face?"

"Bar Stories", get it? :lol:

Just kidding. Moving on.
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Postby Tremors » 24 Jan 2008, 11:57

We must be rather close in age Grunt. Perhaps our paths have crossed at some point in the past. :?

Biggie, I'm sure I'd have met that Mike & Pete. I used to get air for my bike tires there on an all too frequent basis.

PA...I got nothing-never mind. :)
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Postby Polaralum » 24 Jan 2008, 13:30

Tremors wrote:
PA...I got nothing-never mind. :)


Just to know you care--that's gold, man! 8)
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Postby Tremors » 24 Jan 2008, 13:41

Who's got more luv for you than I do PA?
:wink:
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Re: The beginning

Postby Bigtime » 28 Jan 2008, 00:33

disgruntled wrote:Never heard of that place. Wasn't the drinking age back then like 19?

Prior to 1973, the drinking age was the age of legal adulthood (age of majority), which was 21 (Minnesota Statutes 1971, section 645.45). In 1973, the age of majority was lowered from 21 to 18. This dropped the drinking age to 18 (Laws of Minnesota 1973, chapter 725, effective June 1, 1973). The legal drinking age was raised to 19 in 1976 (Laws of Minnesota 1976, chapter 66, effective September 1, 1976). The drinking age was raised to the current age of 21 in 1986 (Laws of Minnesota 1986, chapter 330). It included a grandfather clause: persons who were 19 years old by September 1, 1986 were treated as 21 year olds for liquor law purposes.
Why did it close?

The restaurant was sold to 2 Armanian brothers that did not know how to run a restaurant. They did things like set a (high) minimum purchase and time limit in the carhops lot. Soon all the business left for other places like Jerry's or Porkys. They also changed the food suppliers (cheaper food, less quality) and raised the prices etc etc etc.
Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before. (M West)
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Postby Polaralum » 28 Jan 2008, 00:40

And on that day, the people looked East, and saw that it was good. And all who were 18 in the land of lakes traveled great distances to the land of Smith & Kearns, the Holy Land of Wisconsin. And there they relished their reciprocity agreement and celebrated with the lyre and tambourines. (and a disco or two.)
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Postby Tremors » 04 Feb 2008, 17:49

The Red Carpet

On the day that I was born, my father gave me a bottle of brandy to age along with me as I got older, and to be consumed when I came of legal drinking age. It was the only thing he would ever give me. :|

I held onto that bottle for years. When I finally decided to crack it open I was 23. My friend Jay and I had been hanging around our apartment all day, watching TV and tossing back a few beverages; the brandy included. Around dinner time, we received a phone call from our friend Sam; he and his pal Loyal wanted to hit the bars and wanted us to go with. As we were in the middle of finishing off our Hamburger Helper Chili Macaroni, we told them to meet us at our place and when we were done, we would head out together.

About the time that the guys arrived, Jason and I finished our meals and got ready to head out. Sam and Loyal found us preemptively drunk, but ready to continue the fun at the bars that night. It was Sunday, and a couple of the downtown bars in St. Cloud had free pool on Sunday nights, so we decided to drive over to the Red Carpet to toss back some brews and "shoot stick". :)

Image

Despite the fact that it was free pool night and college was in session, the four of us had plenty of tables to choose from. Setting ourselves up at a good spot near the back, Jay and Sam set up for some 8 Ball under Loyal's supervision, as I staggered my way towards the bar for our first round of beer. With two pitchers in unsteady hands, I wavered in my step as I serpentined my way back to friendly territory. However, in order to get back to our spot, I had to pass a by table being played by two rather unsavory characters engaged in an intense game of pool.

I paused to let one of the guys shoot. Once his stick no longer blocked my path I crossed with a bit of a swagger in my stagger; I was feeling good. Real good. :wink: Amused and a bit confused, looking somewhat like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean -- absent the charm -- I waddled by with a smile until the man who had just taken his shot let out a frustrated yell.

"GODDAMN IT," he screamed. :x To emphasize his displeasure, the man reached up his hand; with the cue stick angrily clenched in his fingers, and defiantly slammed the cue onto the bar's sturdy pool table.

The cue shattered into a hundred shards and sprayed wood into his face, the face of his opponent, onto the table, onto the pool table behind me, up to the ceiling and shot all around me. Despite the ferocity of the hit and the resulting shower of wood from the decimated cue, not so much as a sliver touched me, despite being less than three feet directly behind the guy and the cue. I paused, turned, and stared blankly at the furious fella as he spewed forth more anger.

"What the fuck are you looking at," he barked me as I made eye contact with the red faced pool cue killer. :| :x

I was more intrigued by this person than I was worried about him. I probably should have been, but it was as though I was disembodied, watching a TV show from the comfort of my couch. :? Even though I was six foot tall, around 220 athletic pounds, and this guy was about my size; certainly in the state I was in, it wouldn't have taken much for him to level me. It's literally possible that I might not have even known what hit me; that is how drunk I was.

By this point, everyone in the bar was alerted, including my friends who initially thought that the cue was broken over my head. As Sam later told me, they thought I took the stick across the face and was just too drunk to notice. My friends grabbed their cues and headed over to aid in my defense. The bouncers who had made their way upstairs at the sound of the ruckus, saw the potential of imminent violence, and came running over to intervene. As they arrived, I simply turned, bored with this show, and walked back with my friends to our table. 8) Mr. Angry-Panties was escorted outside. :P

It wasn't the last time we saw the bouncers that night. Being that I was three sheets to the wind to begin the night--again, initially fueled by aged liquor--adding pitchers of beer to the mix was the last straw. One pitcher was readily sacrificed for the cause and about half of the second was consumed before I passed out in my seat with my head resting on the beaten up, old wood table.

Sam and Loyal were about 10 feet behind me at the pool table, while Jason had left for a moment to relieve himself. While Jay was gone I came to; albeit briefly, before dropping my forehead back to the dark oak.

Feeling refreshed, Jay walked back, and noticed Sam and Loyal looking quite amused. :lol: :lol: Without concern for what was making the boys smile, Jason made his way to the table I was laid up against and poured himself another refreshing glass from the pitcher next to me. With the Juice of Milwaukee intended to replenish that which he had just evacuated, Jay would return to the pool table to take his next shot. :)

As Jay raised his white, translucent plastic cup to his lips, from across the billiard table, with eyes wide in surprise, both Sam and Loyal frantically hollered "No!" :shock: Loyal moved his large frame quickly rounded the pool table, and bounded towards Jason; his hand dramatically outstretched as he issued his urgent warning. Before the malty nectar could be consumed, Loyal grabbed the foamy brew from a bewildered Jason's hand. :?

Someone in the bar heard the shouting and saw the big black guy running at the big white guy and must have assumed there was trouble, and that someone ran to get the bouncers. I was oblivious to all of this. As the bouncers made their way back upstairs, the guys informed Jason as to exactly why he shouldn't enjoy his beer. Apparently, in the brief moment that I had regained consciousness while Jason sought relief in the bathroom, I sought relief of a different sort in what must have seemed like the only reasonable place possible at that moment.

Jason looked into his glass. :shock: It was then that the acrid smell seemingly punched his nose. The glowing amber he should have expected was instead frothy, heavily tinged with orange and red. And there were indiscernible chunks floating in the foul mix.

I had thrown up into the half-full pitcher of beer. :oops:

It must hard for my friends, especially Jason, to not heave up themselves at the disgusting possibility of what almost happened. Nonetheless, they maintained their composure. Soon the bouncers arrived, and after figuring out that there was no race war in progress, they promptly woke me from my drunken stupor enough to kick me out of the bar. :x

With a man on each side of me, the guys walked me down the stairs under the bouncer's watchful eye. If I'm to believe everything they told me -- and I don't -- supposedly I threatened to kick the ass of one of the hulking enforcers. :shock: I actually remember most of the night, but I don't remember doing that; besides, I'm not known to be an angry drunk to begin with. Considering that the bouncers at the Red Carpet had a tough reputation, one that would prove lethal several years later, I would think that if I had threatened a bouncer, I would have slept off the inebriation in a hospital bed.

It's kinda funny, but, I guess in some respects, the events of that night began the day I was born. 8)
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Yuck!

Postby Bigtime » 05 Feb 2008, 10:09

Tremors wrote:
Jason looked into his glass. It was then that the smell reached him. The glowing amber he should have expected was instead frothy, heavily tinged with orange and red. And there were indiscernible “chunks” floating in the foul mix.


Too much Information!
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Re: Yuck!

Postby Tremors » 05 Feb 2008, 10:31

Bigtime wrote:Tremors wrote:
Jason looked into his glass. It was then that the smell reached him. The glowing amber he should have expected was instead frothy, heavily tinged with orange and red. And there were indiscernible “chunks” floating in the foul mix.


Too much Information!


Ah, but the devil is in the details! :twisted: It is what differentiates simply "telling" a story from "showing" a story. There was no confusion in your mind’s eye as to exactly what you were envisioning huh? :lol:

Enjoy your breakfast! :wink:
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65

Postby Bigtime » 18 Feb 2008, 00:54

You belong to someone else and I do too.
It's just too crazy being here with you.
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat,
Doin' 90 miles an hour down a dead end street.



65 was a great year! I was Nineteen going on Twenty years old, and had the world by the tail!
I had decided over a year earlier that college was not my thing, after completing four semesters. I just had a hard time sitting in an art appreciation class and well, appreciating it! I just couldn’t stomach it as I thought there was absolutely no good reason for me to acquire knowledge of this caliber. I just wasn’t a “art” type of person. I was sent to the art class by my Japanese councilor because I was a Student of Liberal Arts, and most of the classes I wanted to take were filled almost immediately. I had taken some really good ones, like Astronomy with a professor named Kaufmanus teaching it. It was great! Labs, at night, that you could actually go look at the stars and planets with the huge rotating telescope mounted on top of one of the halls. My grades were in the B+ range, and I found my self spending more and more time at the student union playing pool and listening to the Beetles. I had no idea what so ever what I wanted to become or do with my life.
I had been very serious about this beautiful girl; let’s just call her Annie for the sake of this story. She was pushing me and pushing me. Her daddy wouldn’t ever allow us to marry if I didn’t finish college. So I had to make a choice. Besides something way down inside me told me that I wasn’t ready to be a married man, at least not yet! I have always somewhat regretted that decision. She was probably the most beautiful wonderful lady that I was ever involved with, but she was before I was ready to be tied down! Bye Annie! It’s been sweet!
In 65 I was driving a brand new black SS Impala with chrome wheels. It had a 327, 300 horse engine with a 4 speed on the floor. I had landed a job at the Standard Conveyor Company in North Saint Paul. I had a friend who had a welder. He taught me what I had to know, and soon I was welding for an extra $.75 an hour at SC. Although I still wasn’t 21, I was in and out of most all the bars in town. I never got asked for an ID as I looked like I was in my mid twenties, and had a heavy beard. By noon I usually had 5 o’clock shadow.
Lunch at SC was an unpaid half hour starting at noon. There was a 5 minute wash-up period before, and five minutes to get back to your area after wards. If you were leaving the building, you had to punch out. We would take turns, leaving one person to punch out everyone else, and then run, rather than drive the long block down to the VFW. They had a hot ham or beef sandwich on a big bun for $.25. A Schooner, (like a quart fishbowl) of beer was also a $.25. It was a lot of beer, but if you were good you could down both the sandwich and beer and be back in time to punch back in. We did this both winter and summer. Winters, since you were running you never wore a coat. Anyhow by 12:35 I was back welding away, with a half a buzz on, and the afternoon just flew by. Then down to one of the local bars after quitting time, usually the “Flame” and maybe home to supper, and maybe not.
Occasionally we would go to the loop in Saint Paul at night just to look at the cars, girls, and maybe do a little street drag. There was a new bar that had just opened up, I think on Saint Peter Street called “Whisky a Go Go”. It was a new hot place! “Go Go” girls danced on pedestals around the perimeter of the bar. Beautiful! Scantily Clad! Man this had to be what Las Vegas was like! I got past the bouncer! He never even questioned me. Once inside we found that this new type entertainment was expensive! A bottle of beer was $2.00? Well we will drink slowly! Aw what the heck! Another round please!
One particular night a couple of buddies and I decided to stop at the “go go” for a drink and “check it out”! That night, I ran into a friend of mine that I usually ran to lunch with at Standard Conveyor. His name was Frank and he was in his mid twenties. He lived in White Bear Lake, and I knew he was getting a divorce from this chic that he had married right out of high school. He was with a woman that was about 30 years older than he was. They were both really drunk and hanging all over each other. I offered him a ride home, and he declined. He said he was in good hands; she had a place right down town. It turned out later that she was a stripper from Alary’s bar. Yikes! So we left him.
The next Monday morning I ran into Frank before work started. He didn’t remember seeing me the previous weekend. He didn’t remember who he was with, but he had lost all the money he had with him and woke up in a hallway somewhere on Sunday morning. He was really embarrassed when I told him about who he was with in front of the rest of the crew. It became a big joke. Every one was razzing Frank about his choice of Ladies. “Keep your grandma away from Frank”! He was getting pretty sick of it, and we just kept pouring it on.
Later that week perhaps on Thursday we ran to the VFW for “lunch”. Frank hadn’t come into work that morning, nobody knew where he was. There was of course some comment about maybe he got lost at a old folks home etc etc.
We had our usual lunch, and were running back to the job to punch in. As we ran up to the front gate I noticed Frank’s green Pontiac sitting outside the gate. There was someone in the car! OMG! It was an old woman! Another older woman! We were all laughing as we punched in, and all of sudden there was Frank, coming out of the front office. “Hi Frank”! He told us he had just stopped to pick up his check as he had to take the next day off also. “What are you doing”? “I see you just can’t leave them old ladies alone! Where did you find that old bag that’s sitting in your car”?
There was a long silence…………
Frank said “That’s my mother”! :shock:
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Postby Tremors » 19 Feb 2008, 16:37

:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

I was gonna comment on how good your lunch routine sounded when the story took such a hard left turn! Damn that's funny. You suppose he had to explain it to his mom? That could be tough.

:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:
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An old "Flame"

Postby Bigtime » 04 Mar 2008, 17:59

Fe, fe, fi, fi, fo, fo, fum
Look at Molly now, here she come
Wearin' a wig, has the shades to match
Got a-high healed shoes and an aligator hat
Wearin' her pearls and her diamond ring
Got rasors on her fingers and everything…………………


At the NE corner of 7th and Margaret is a bar named the Polar Lounge. Originally it was named Conlins. Some time around the time I turned 20 the bar was bought by two firemen from St Paul. Ray Berger and Milt Miller, the new owners, named their bar “The Flame”. Nothing changed, just the name. I hung out with a group of about a dozen guys. We all loved to drink beer, talk smart, and ride motorcycles. “Get drunk and be somebody”! We met at the bar almost every night, except Sundays when it was closed! We didn’t necessarily stay there, but that was usually the starting point for the night’s adventure. As I said I still wasn’t 21, but nobody, not even most of my buddies realized it. Now it’s called the “Polar Lounge” and has been remodeled. It has a square bar. The Flame had a long bar that ran along the entire east side of the building, with booths on the west side. There was also a row of table and chairs throughout the center of the bar. Perhaps a hundred people could squeeze into the bar on a really busy night. It had never been “really busy” until we got the idea that Ray and Milt should hire some “go-go girls” like the big clubs downtown. A really good idea!
The bar had a cross section of customers that were mostly working men and sometimes their wives or girlfriends. We were the younger crowd, and then there were the "middle aged" people, many of who knew the night bartender, named Blackie Tart. Blackie was married to Carol, and they had 2 children and lived in an apartment above the bar. A fact that usually shut down the juke box after 10PM on weekdays. Blackie was a truck driver for 3M Company during the day, and many of his friends and co-workers came to the bar at night. He was an American Indian, and most of the ladies thought him to be very handsome and debonair. He was, until the “brandy” grabbed a hold of him. Unknown to Ray and Milt there were nights that he was put to bed at 10 and Carol came down and finished up the night behind the bar. Blackie would “straighten up” for a couple of weeks, and not touch a drop, but eventually he would fall down again! His favorite song was on the juke box………… “Poor old Kaw-liga” a song about a wooden cigar store Indian. He used to dance like a Indian behind the bar and do "war whoops" when ever somene played that song.
Well then, as now the city of North Saint Paul used to have an end of summer celebration called “Fall Round Up”. It was much grander than it is now. The Round Up was a full 3 days long, with street dances and parades. All the downtown businesses got involved and had sidewalk sales and in store specials. Everyone in town dressed up in western garb. There was a “posse” appointed and the “job” of the posse was to go into local stores and arrest the owner for some trivial violation (like no cowboy hat). The arrested man was brought to jail at 7th and Margaret. The particular year I am writing about, Luger Lumber had donated enough 2x2’s to make a really nice wooden jail (about 6’ x 8’). The jail sat on the sidewalk immediately outside the Flame Bar. Business men would be jailed until they paid a fine for their violation. Yes, there was a judge and jury, right there. The money collected was all donated to charity. I used to get a big kick out of Dick Bighley. Dick owed a local body shop on Margaret Street. He was a small man with a dark complexion and huge black moustache. He started his own group of banditos, all dressed in Mexican garb. Kinda like the vulcans in the winter carnival. Boy did he look Mexican, like the “Cisco Kid” except with a pot belly. All of the business men carried real pistols, loaded with blanks. So did many of the other local people.
I had previously stated that the Flame had never been really busy, until we had the bright idea to hire go-go girls. About a month before Fall Round-up weekend some guys we knew from Willernie stopped to have a beer with their girlfriends. We all had a couple of beers, and someone had played a new song by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. Suddenly, their girlfriends, Jackie and Pattie, were dancing with each other in the small dance area in front of the jukebox. Wow! They could shake it, just like the ladies in the cages at the big clubs in downtown St Paul. Man could those two dance! Beautiful! Ah! “Built like a bag full of bobcats”! Everything shook! The girls had so much fun (showing off) they came back the next night with the guys, and then the next night, and then started coming to North Saint Paul without the guys! Other ladies would stop in, and soon be trying to learn to “dance” from the Willernie girls. Sometimes there were a dozen ladies on the dance floor at a time. Young and old! There were even a couple of older ladies named Ethyl and Marion that were in their late 60’s that were out there trying to shake it up. It was rather “humorous”, especially after they had a couple of brandy sevens!
Some where during that time period, I don’t remember who, someone had a big plywood crate in the back of their pickup box, parked outside the bar. It was about 4foot square and well built. The owner said it was about to become firewood, and so it was secured from him for a few free drinks. It was carried into the bar and placed near the back door by the juke box. A surprise for Jackie and Patti the next time they stopped by! The next time they stopped by it wasn’t hard to coax them one at time onto the “box” to do some dancing! First one, then the other. Soon one would try to outdo the other, and then some of the local girls would get into the contest. Go-go girls at the Flame Bar! First they were awarded for their dancing with drinks, soon it was for drinks and “cash” as the number of customers grew by leaps and bounds.
Well all this information leads up to that particular Saturday night of “Fall Round-up”. The usual proceedings had taken place during the day. A parade during the day, the banditos, the sales, and all the street vendors with food. Beer was only available in the bars, and had to be consumed indoors. By the way there was no Taco’s or Pizza yet on the street, they were just coming into the ‘American Way’. Around 10 Pm that night we were all at the Flame. The town was rocking, with a lot of people attending the local street dance (polka music), and barhopping up and down the street. It was a warm fall night, and the business men and other locals that were dressed as cowboys were shooting their pistols into the air. All of them were shooting blanks (well I think they were). The doors to the flame bar were wide open, and the juke box was on loud! Three bartenders and the place was packed! Jackie was on the stage "shaking" her flaming red hair and other “stuff”. Wow! Man she was good looking! The dance floor was full of young and "old" ladies doing the same.
The events of the night were to begin with a group of people I knew that were sitting at a booth. Both the guys and their wives were dressed as “cowhands”, and both guys had on pistols with holsters. Ron with Cathy and George with Connie. They had been downtown since the parade in the afternoon. George was beginning to nod off from too much beer, even with the noise created by the action in the bar! It was loud! Ron got the bright idea he would wake his buddy up by shooting his large caliber pistol. In fact, he decided he was going to scare the bajeebers out of the whole bar. He pulled his pistol quietly out of his holster under the table. He pointed it at George and pulled the trigger! KABLAMM! EVERYBODY JUMPED! George came alive! He was roaring mad and crazy all at once. He knocked Connie right out of the booth onto the floor in his “arising”. Everyone turned around and looked at him. It was like he had gone crazy. Soon blood appeared on his pants. The blank that Ron had shot him with had shot the paper wad right into George’s leg. He clutched his leg and tipped over on the floor! Connie screamed! We ran to George and tried to figure out what was wrong! “Some one call the cops”! I put a tourniquet on his leg that I made out of my belt.
The Go-go girls never missed a beat! Suddenly 2 cops rushed into the bar! They looked at Jackie, and she nearly fell off the stage! She immediately jumped down. They found their way to George, and were examining him trying to find out what had happened. The juke box was shut down. There was suddenly this “murmur” in the bar. A murmur with some giggling and laughter. I heard someone yell “OH NO”! As I started to help carry George out, there in the middle of the dance floor were Ethyl and Marion. They were both completely naked except they still had on their underpants (thank god)! It seems that during the heat of things they both decided to give everyone a “treat”! Some real go-go girls. I remember George Wojak, one of the police officers exclaiming “Oh my God”! “Where are your cloths”? I don’t know how many of you have ever seen a couple of 60’s+ ladies naked, but it wasn’t pretty!
Bleeding George and my belt was taken up the street to meet one of the local doctors, either Beck or Muller, at the doctor’s office to get patched up after the wad was removed. The juke box was turned back on, and the “girls” found most all of their clothing and were told to stay dressed! Patti and Jackie climbed onto the stage and danced the rest of the night away. I had a premonition, and after some discussion we decided that we could make one hell of a fish house with all those nice 2x2’s in the “jail” that was still sitting outside! Later that night we carried it down to one of the guy’s garage on Margaret and 3rd.
During the next week, the city council informed the “Flame” that there would be no more Go-go girls or else! This wasn’t Saint Paul! There was also an ordinance of some sort enacted that would no longer allow fire arms even with blanks on the streets of North Saint Paul! An article in the “Review” the next week wondered out loud what had happened to the “Jail” from Roundup days. Who knew? It had been disassembled into a neat pile, in a garage, waiting to be put used for our new fish house. But that’s another story……….
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Postby Tremors » 09 Jun 2008, 11:32

Mac Daddy's

My friend Jason owns a DJ company. Due to this fact, every Friday he is contracted to DJ at a club in Summerset Wisconsin called Mac Daddy's. My friend Aaron and I had a free Friday this last week and decided to check out the scene; besides, Jay could hook us up with free booze, so I couldn't pass that up! :wink:

My initial impression of Mac Daddy's is that the club was a slice out of the past. A faint wisp of fog glided gently over the empty dance floor, reflecting itself in the mirrors along the back wall. Colored light bulbs fanned out in a sunburst pattern that clung to the ceiling, as two mini-mirror balls spun from the overhead trussing at oddly different speeds. Random strips of blacklight from above, illuminated light colored clothing in the darkened club or made heretofore unnoticed strands of stray lint on dark clothing standout brightly. Along the back wall, lighted plastic blocks in columns danced reds, greens, yellows, and blues--dimly--as they had clearly been doing for the last couple decades. I turned to Aaron as the first song of the night, Money for Nothing by Dire Straits, boomed over the audio system.

"Take a look around," I said to my friend.

Aaron looked at the space around us. The DJ booth was behind us, below dancing signs of neon, the main bar area, pool tables and bathrooms in the distance to our right, and about two dozen early patrons milling about.

"What?"

"If we put someone in a time machine and brought them here, now, they would never know anything was different."

"What?"

"I mean, the dated lights, the music, the grimy floor. I can't imagine this club looked any different 25 years ago, than it does today," I clarified to my friend before taking a sip of the cold beer in my plastic glass. As if on cue, a middle aged woman and her dour fellow sporting a "classic" mullet hair style took their place at a table nearby.

"No. I mean, what did you say?!" Apparently sitting next to a bank of speakers makes it hard to hear. Who would have guessed? :shock:

Within a half hour, one could note the age of the majority of the music decreased as the numbers of younger patrons increased. Aaron was busy shooting pool nearby with a couple locals, as I sat back with my beer and watched the scene; occasionally chatting with Jason, when he had a minute to spare from his entertainment duties. I noticed that it didn't take long for Wisconsinites to drink themselves into a state of happiness.

When we first arrived earlier in the evening, Jason made it a point to show us the bras and panties that carelessly dangled from his microphone stand. "Check 'em out," he said to me; however, suspecting that these skivvies were not fresh from the store, I told him I was just fine seeing them from where I stood. Jay did try to reassure me by informing me that they only came from the "hottest girls" there. Okay then. Later, around ten that evening, Jay grabs the microphone to show me how he acquires souvenirs for his mic stand.

"The first girl who brings up her bra gets free Country Fest tickets! No backs!"

From the dance floor, two chesty Cheeseheads reach back to set themselves free and give the DJ his due. One got the tickets, the other decided it was easier to donate her brassiere to the cause rather than run to the bathroom to put it back on. For Jason and his sidekick, the 6'4", 350 pound DJ"Big Pappa D", they scored 2 bras for the price of one set of tickets. Nice. :wink:

It was about that time that I felt the urge to purge the three "talls" I had consumed, and made my way across the bar, around the tables, dodged the cue sticks of the billiard players and made it to the bathroom-not a moment too soon. However, when I got the restroom, I pushed on the door, and felt a resistance from the other side; someone was pushing back. :? "Screw them", I though, and shoved hard against the oily, smoke coated wood door.

Once again I got resistance as I opened the door, but was able to easily overcome it. From the other side, I heard a distinct squeak sound as the pain-in-the-ass was pushed into the wall behind them. I stepped inside, looked around the door, and saw a young woman, back firmly plastered to the wall, settle back from her tip-toes onto her feet. I just gave her the look that said: "hey, what do you expect when you try to keep a guy out of the men's bathroom,” but since I had more pressing matters to attend to, I just turned away and said; "Eh, I don't care." I figured she deserved to see whatever she saw; being in a bathroom with a bunch of guys heeding nature's call. That's her problem.

One stall, two urinals; and I was the third person who was now in the bathroom to actually use the bathroom. A moment later, from the other side of the partition wall, I heard the door open. I just assumed it was the girl finally leaving, but no. To my left, one fellow was doing his business; to my right, about four feet was the occupied stall, and between us, the sink. As I stood, holding my pride, this bleary eyed twenty-something waddles up to my right. Failing to find open real estate to suit his needs, the inebriate proceeds to water the wall between my urinal and the sink. :shock: As he does this, I take a half step back to avoid what I was sure would be the inevitable pooling effect on the floor. :x

Now, even in Wisconsin, there is some semblance of decency and decorum. Thinking better about what he was doing, and realizing that pissing on the tile wall of the bathroom was not appropriate, this guy takes a half step to his right, gives hips a bit of a twist and continues--uninterrupted--to hose down the only sink in the bathroom. :evil: When you gotta go, you gotta go; but when you gotta stop, you can't.

It's a good thing that most people in "Sconnie" are not accustomed to washing up afterwards :lol:, because no one would have wanted to use that sink for its intended purpose after that! Earlier in the evening, I had gone with Jason to the backroom to get some ice, so once I was finished with my business, I walked out of the bathroom and straight into the backroom and used the sink back there to wash up.

By 11:30, Aaron and I had had our fill. We, especially me, had a long drive home, and it was time to go. We said our good byes to Jay before he announced his next undie acquiring scheme, er, ah...contest", and began the long drive back. All in all, it was a good night.
8)
Last edited by Tremors on 28 Apr 2017, 14:30, edited 2 times in total.
I know who I am! I'm a dude playing a dude, disguised as another dude!
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Tremors
 
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