Cruising
So, late Friday night, as the bar was closing we decided to go to my friend’s apartment. As it takes a while to get large groups of people going, I headed out on my own to hit the beer vendor before it closed. The plan was that I would grab beer, and then meet the gang at the apartment. Simple enough.
So I bought beer, and as I thought it would be for a large group, I bought a lot of beer. Now, I don’t know how it is where you live, but in Winnipeg when the bar’s all close at 2 am, the streets become flooded with drunken yahoos. Being well aware of this, I tried to stick to side streets and back alleys, but confrontations were inevitable. I don’t know why, but every single guy I passed had to comment on the fact that I had a lot of beer. "Hey, he’s got beer." "Woah, look at the beer on that guy." "Hey, look at the guy with the beer." "Beer." "I’m retarded." Oh wait, they didn’t actually say that last one, they were just thinking it. Jesus Christ. Yes, I had beer! Now shut the fuck up!
I was actually pretty paranoid, as I’ve been hearing stories for years about dudes getting cracked in the head for their beer. Constant vigilance was making me irritable. At one point, on a darkened sidestreet, a guy came out of an alley behind me. I guess I glanced rather sharply, as he felt the need to reassure me: "It’s okay… I don’t… want… your beer. I’m just going… to my truck. It’s… okay." No it’s not okay! Back the fuck up, motherfucker! "Never know," is all I growled, in my toughest voice (my toughest voice can charitably be referred to as a ‘squeak’).
So I got to my friends apartment well in advance of my friends. Figuring I should get out of the light where I might draw unwanted attention, I went and squatted in the park across the street. Now, I should mention that my friend lives in a neighborhood that is the hotspot in Winnipeg for male prostitution. I’ve got to say that watching all the hustlers pacing back and froth, and the legions of cruising johns from my shadowy perch did little to calm my nerves.
Fortunately, my friends were all drunk and stoned, so they took forever to show up. Thanks, guys!
So I bought beer, and as I thought it would be for a large group, I bought a lot of beer. Now, I don’t know how it is where you live, but in Winnipeg when the bar’s all close at 2 am, the streets become flooded with drunken yahoos. Being well aware of this, I tried to stick to side streets and back alleys, but confrontations were inevitable. I don’t know why, but every single guy I passed had to comment on the fact that I had a lot of beer. "Hey, he’s got beer." "Woah, look at the beer on that guy." "Hey, look at the guy with the beer." "Beer." "I’m retarded." Oh wait, they didn’t actually say that last one, they were just thinking it. Jesus Christ. Yes, I had beer! Now shut the fuck up!
I was actually pretty paranoid, as I’ve been hearing stories for years about dudes getting cracked in the head for their beer. Constant vigilance was making me irritable. At one point, on a darkened sidestreet, a guy came out of an alley behind me. I guess I glanced rather sharply, as he felt the need to reassure me: "It’s okay… I don’t… want… your beer. I’m just going… to my truck. It’s… okay." No it’s not okay! Back the fuck up, motherfucker! "Never know," is all I growled, in my toughest voice (my toughest voice can charitably be referred to as a ‘squeak’).
So I got to my friends apartment well in advance of my friends. Figuring I should get out of the light where I might draw unwanted attention, I went and squatted in the park across the street. Now, I should mention that my friend lives in a neighborhood that is the hotspot in Winnipeg for male prostitution. I’ve got to say that watching all the hustlers pacing back and froth, and the legions of cruising johns from my shadowy perch did little to calm my nerves.
Fortunately, my friends were all drunk and stoned, so they took forever to show up. Thanks, guys!
posted by Dash Bradley at 4:54 PM
5 Comments:
In Chicago, they stagger the bar closings. Thus, some bars are known as "2 o'clock bars" and some are "4 o'clock bars."
Did you happen to spot my ex-husband among the prostitutes and/or johns? I suppose you wouldn't know if you did. If you hit him in the head with a beer bottle, I wouldn't care.
I was desperately trying to avoid eye contact so i wouldn't have recognized me own pa. And i drink beer by the can, not the bottle. More economic, but far less handy in a fight.
and you can crush the cans on your forehead when you're done...
at least you know the places to go if you need to make a quick buck, squeaky!
I don't know If I'd go as far as calling Lucky Lager "beer". I'd stick with "Alchohlic Liquid". I wouldn't even call it a beverage.
I suppose I should've known about the cans vs. bottles after this Dash Bradley escapade. It's a good thing, too. You could've been Dash Bradley Bleeding Badley.
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