Is This Life?

In the middle of the night we drove downtown to meet Julie’s friend for her going away party. The lucky little bitch, she was moving to Florida. Anyplace but here, I thought, as we passed the empty streets. We found our parking spot – driving the wrong way into the exit lane of a parking garage, we pulled into a spot along the side of the lane going out, in a place marked for the bank. Banking hours were over, and it was close to the club, and it was cold.

At the door we had to show our IDs. Absurd. The bouncer was at least 10 years younger than us. He had a handheld electronic device through which he swiped our drivers licenses. The year of our ages blinked on the display in 72 point type for him to see. Quite a high-technology effort. Once we got inside the club, it was hard to believe that it was working. Even the hottest girls had hips like little leaguers. And the boys needed a lesson in color control and overall appearance. The look of the night was light-colored Polo golf shirts worn over white longsleeves. And there were too many khaki pants in the house. One guy, in a scarf over his shoulders, short and trying too hard, was wearing white sneakers with the laces done up like I did when I was 12 years old. The fabric of the laces pulled flat and then strung between the eyelets simply back and forth instead of gradually diagonally up. He was a damn fool, and I think he knew it, because the permanent smirk on his face was one of great insecurity.

But first we had to get into the place. In a small town display of pathetic overkill, there were two entrances off the street, about 20 feet apart. The complex consists of a street-level bar, a comedy club in the back, a dance floor downstairs and a lounge beside that. From the entrance we used, a long flight of stairs took us to a cashier outside the dance floor. I reached into my pocket and pulled out all three of my dollars. It wasn’t enough. Julie bailed me out – she had all the cash. They stamped the backs of our hands and we went in. It was crowded and loud, the peak of the evening. I wished I was stoned and for the first time in my entire life wished we had some coke. I needed a lift if I was going to get through this scene standing up.

The lounge is called Rain Lounge. It’s dark and has lots of plushy love seats and coffee tables. It feels humid, I think they’re pumping in moisture through the vents. Behind the bar are four large television screens showing a slow-motion loop of water splashing around. Something to keep your eyes on while they hold you up getting your drinks with bad service and deaf bartenders. Both of them. We peeked into the Buddha room to look for Chelsea but she wasn’t there. There were a few small groups of people there sitting in the love seats, but they looked tiring and dreary. So we went back to the bar for drinks. Julie is an elegant creature, a stubborn and beautiful princess. She’s rightfully above leaning into the bar waving a twenty at the kid with the drinks, so I shouldn’t have left her there waiting, but I did. We were standing there for about twenty minutes and I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stepped away for a bit to collect myself. But, then I was just standing against the wall. She wasn’t getting anywhere so I went back to her. People werent pushing ahead of her, but she hadnt advanced, either. She was only one level back. The ones in front of her, standing at the bar, were amateurs. They couldn’t have been more than 15 years old. I changed my order from a Bacardi on the rocks to a shot of Jack and a Budweiser. Fuck this elitist shit. These people were chugging their martinis. What I needed was to get drunk fast, not fuck around with nice ice and small glasses.

Finally we got our drinks. Julie took away 2 Jack and Cokes, he poured us a shot she didn’t ask for, and we left a small tip, determined to stick with the waitresses if we could. I drank my shot in one quick gasp at the bar. We went back to the Buddha room to see if Chelsea would come around.

The Buddha room was separated from the main room by pulled-back curtains. Love seats lined the three walls, a round coffee table in the middle, and a giant gold Buddha in the back of the room was looming over us. His eyes were shut tight and he was concentrating hard on his meditation, nearly jittering with effort to avoid turning over tables and kicking down chairs. On his meditative lap was a little black “Reserved” sign.

We sat there for a while. At one point the fat one of a group of four young women asked a bouncer if she could dance on the coffee table. Somehow she personified the pity I had for these people, and I felt like weeping. Fortunately Chelsea showed up for the distraction from the everywhere surrounding tragedy. She had changed her hair from blonde to black, so we werent sure if it was her, but I approached her to find out, and it was. She was thrilled to see Julie and lept into her lap. She introduced us to one of her friends, this gay boy in a black shirt that was too tight, and sadly unbuttoned too far, with a big ol gold bling hanging on his chest. Julie caught up with her friend for a minute, but it was close to closing time, and before we knew it the lights were gradually brightening. We made it to the dance floor before the crowd held us up. It was a near stampede getting out the door, up the stairs and out the door. There were too many people. Suddenly the crowd changed from poorly dressed teenagers into ghetto dancers and broad shouldered men with even eyes. It was a much tighter scene, and I missed all the narrow hips that had been inside where we were.

But it was only a momentary panic. The street outside was quiet and calm. Everybody was happy.

When we got into the car everything was still fine. It wasn’t until we drove towards the street that we realized we were trapped. The fuckers had closed off the exit lane with a wire line. I got out of the car and checked it out – it was all sealed up at the end and we were effectively locked in by a wire line. Two hours ago it was open, even though the bank had been closed for hours, and now it was closed. It had been a trap. We backed up and looked for another way out, but this part of the garage wasn’t connected to the rest of it, and there was no way out, just more exits blocked by wire. When we started looking closer at a corner exit in the back, adjacent to the alley, someone alerted us to the cops who were watching from the car at the corner. Julie wisely decided to give it a few minutes, so we re-parked, right where we had been, and walked back to the street that the club was on, hoping to find a pizza shop open. There wasn’t one, but there was a sidewalk Coke machine, so we bought a Coke and started meandering back to the car. In those short crucial minutes, someone had cut the line. We drove out fast and got out of there. If only we could do that for real.

- posted by seanmh @ 9:25 AM