Last night's show at
JR's turned out to be much more socially arousing than I had expected. While the bands were all great (
Woods Afire,
The Prayers and Tears of Arthur Digby Sellers, and
The Mountain Goats), I couldn't quite focus on the second half of the show. This was after I had gone to the bathroom to relieve some excruciating bladder pressure. I had done so with an unknown partner of course, as you must often do in a piss trough situation such as it was. While I washed my hands, the stranger who stood next to me in my private moment of waste removal suddenly walked out, and without washing his own hands I might add. Catching the door before it slammed shut were two noisome frat-esque boys who proceeded to ask me what took "us" so long in the bathroom. One of them even said "You two weren't in here yankin' each other's puds were ya?" I ignored their comments, giving them a blank stare while I dried my hands with the last two paper towels. Ignoring people who are quite obviously desperate for attention isn't always the best idea. Especially when they're twice your size and have a penchant for picking fights with queers. I tried to walk out, but the talkative one grabbed my arm and asked why I wasn't in the mood for a laugh. I think I might have crossed the proverbial line when I said, "I didn't hear anything funny." In moments like this, my mouth says whatever my brain thinks would be the most entertaining response before it actually rationalizes the entirety of the situation and then realizes the inevitable repercussions. I walked out of the bathroom with my face still arranged properly. I had stunned them. It wouldn't last long. I knew that as soon as they finished at the trough, they would come looking for me. I stayed close to the bar like a child on roller skates for the first time, clinging to the outer wall of the rink. An old co-worker from my short stint at a popular chain of import stores suddenly approached me out of nowhere. I hadn't seen this guy in almost a year. He's not even from here. He lives in some other town. What the hell was this guy doing here? He doesn't like this type of music or this type of bar. Either way, this is where my luck suddenly turns around. I don't make a habit of considering myself lucky very often. When good things happen to me, I usually blame it on things like the fact that I'm just totally awesome or that "I'm just that good." But this time...this was luck, pure and simple. You see, this guy that sought me out through the crowd just to say hello, this guy that I truly don't consider a friend but simply an acquaintance or as I said before "an old co-worker", yea...he just so happens to be best friends with Mister and Mesdames Pud Yanker. How did I know this? Because when they found me in the crowd, grabbed me and spun me around to get a clean punch at my jaw, they noticed I was having a friendly chat with their bestest little redneck buddy. After a few exchanges of "I was about to kick your ass, dude." and "no, I was about to kick YOUR ass, dude." one of the guys leaned in close to me, turning his eyes away like he was looking for the cops and said "you want to go party?" I immediately said no thanks. "Party" in frat language, and especially with that body language, means let's go do something illegal that might permanently affect our health. No, thanks. I get enough of that while watching television. Then I stood there pretending to listen to the band as I watched the three wankers walk up the stairs and out the front door together. I had to verify with my friends that they indeed would have got my back if the situation had turned nasty. Of course they responded with a resounding yes, but that's easy for them to say now. The threat had left the building. I left the building too eventually, with my jaw intact and my luck laying somewhere on the stained industrial carpet next to the bar.
