It was a fun enough evening at the Late Bar. 80s Goth and New Wave night. Three dollars is all a domestic beer should ever cost, now and forever. The ladies were dancing a little and they played crazy videos. A tall, greasy fella chopped at the air to a Front 242 song and some clown with a lazy mohawk made a few lonely kicks towards the mirrored wall.
It was all fine until the goth girls showed up. Three of them in the shiny black everything, war paint caked on their sour mugs. I’ve never felt a vacuum of energy like that before. I mean, I’m over 30 and trying to hang on to the fringes of youth as well, but for fuck’s sake these broads were drips. Over-exaggerated dancing with the most bored looks on their faces. Ministry was on. “Everyday Is Halloween.” Confusing since Halloween is fun. These girls danced like everyday was a baby funeral. One dark angel sat next to me wearing so much patchouli I got light-headed. Oh, Wiccan priestess, can you not cast a spell of self-awareness unto thee, you Pegasus fart-smelling twat? So much effort put into not having a single ounce of fun. I was drunk and ready to say something wrong, something like “Who is this playing right now? Is this Soupy Sales and the Banshees?” “Excuse me, I’m supposed to meet my eHarmony date here. Is your name Brittany?”
It got so bad after I while I couldn’t even laugh at it anymore. I left and went to the karaoke bar full of criminals down the street. At least the theives were singing some Billy Joel. Next time I’ll head back to an old haunt. Club Foot maybe. Sure it’s full of hipsters, but at least nobody can accuse them of taking everything too seriously. Til next time, Chicago.
So we’re burying my grandmother tomorrow morning. Tonight, my dad and his half-brother Phil reminisced.
Dad: I remember the gouge in the table.
Phil: From when she threw the knife at me, yes. She should’ve just let me go to the movies. I kept asking “Can I go to the movies? Can I go to the movies?” I was being obnoxious, so she threw a knife at me.
Dad: I tripped on the sidewalk and broke my arm. I mean, it was bent. I showed it to her and she said, “Let me finish my card game and then we’ll go to the hospital.” I remember that, and that I got hit with a frying pan. She boinked me with a frying pan.
Phil: “Boinked” is such a good word. It almost sounds funny when you put it like that.
I got up around 7 AM on Sunday morning, which is not what I normally like to do. But it was just in time to get a $60 cab to the airport (I have shit friends). I got there a little after 8 for a 10 AM flight.
American Eagle should get some sort of reward for having the slowest lines of all time…
This is an amazing story, Brido. Glad you’re safe. To be honest though, “shit friends” are the ones that expect rides to LAX at 7am on a Sunday. But really, totes glad you’re okay.