Conversations In Bars: The I.R.A.

Today’s Music: Neil Young – Keep On Rockin In The Free World

*Note on today’s post: As with everything that happens to me in a bar, this is as true as I remember it. However, unlike most of my bar stories, I was sober for this one.

Ah yes, here we are again…

It was a Tuesday afternoon when I showed up to hit on the bartender.
I’d seen her a few nights before, working the Sunday night shift. This particular bar, in a working class neighborhood, was an Irish hangout. Saturday night, the place was awash in uilleann pipe music, cameraderie and pints of Guinness.
A friend of mine brought me there. I had a blast. That night ended early the next morning at someone’s apartment, with a rum-soaked dash into the neighbor’s pool for a quick dip before the neighbor came out in his boxers to yell at us.
But that’s another story.

This is how it always starts.

So after a bit of discreet investigation, I found out the bartender also worked the Tuesday day shift. I got there around 1 pm. The place was just about empty. I ordered a pint (mmm…afternoon drinking…) and waited for her to come back over so I could strike up a conversation.
While I was waiting, the guy who was sitting a bit down the bar wandered over and started talking. He’d started his afternoon drinking while it was still morning.

What followed was quite possibly the strangest real-life conversation I’ve ever had.

The Other Guy: Hello. Who are you?
El Guapo: Hey. I’m [name redacted].
TOG: Did they send you?
EG (looking a bit confused): Sorry?
TOG: Did they tell you where to find me?
EG: (Even more confused): Sorry, who?
TOG: Would it be easier for you if I turned around?
EG (Bewildered): Would what be easier?
TOG: To shoot me.
EG: (Lonnnng pause) Sorry man, I’m just here for a beer.
The guy makes one of those “oh, so that’s how it is” expressions. I, still bewildered go back to my beer, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
But The Other Guy wasn’t done.

TOG: I’ve been here over ten years, but I knew they wouldn’t forget. Now with all these peace talks, I knew they’d send someone over to clean up.
EG: Listen man, I’m just here to hit on the bartender
TOG: Sure you are. I guess it wouldn’t help if I tell you about my life here since I’ve been gone…

So for the next while, we chatted. He told me stories of the old country, of his kids. He told me about the construction business he’d built up.
The drink flowed freely.
I must have opened my mouth and spoke at some point, because eventually, he realized I was too much of an idiot to be anyone’s hit man.

The evening (yeah, we were there for a while) ended when he said he had to head off. I told him I needed food. He offered to give me his construction business.
I heartily agreed.

And that was the last I ever saw of him.

I could have built my very own Assassin HQ!

And the bartender? Apparently The Other Guy scared here and she didn’t want to mess around with any of his friends.
Meh.

An Adventure: The Naked Bar Slide

Today’s Music: Lionize – Surrender
Days Til Spring: 44

I’ve danced naked on bars, I’ve made naked snow angels outside them. Here is the final installment of my “naked in bars” opus.

Above my right nipple is a small scar that has long since healed. But my memories of it are vivid, and I still rub at it absentmindedly from time to time.

Not every story ends here.
But the ones that do are great.

Maybe a year or two after the first naked bar dance, my dart partner, The Terror, had gotten engaged to a wonderful woman from the bar we hung out in. He and the boys were out for his bachelor party, getting all sorts of drunk in all sorts of places. I was at the bar, drinking lightly, with a completely different group of friends from college.
And then worlds collided.

The Terror and the boys came back. Even though the bar (unlike last time) was full, space was made for them at the corner. Greetings were exchanged, backs were slapped, drinks were ordered.
“Gimme a Jameson”, shouted the Terror. “I can drink that smoother than anything!” six sets of eyes turned to me, all of us having been there the last time someone said that.
I smiled, and considered it a wedding gift.
“I can drink that smoother than you.” I said. Bigger grins all around.
The shots get set up, the shots get knocked down.
And I yell “Clear the bar!!!”

Now, I have no doubt that this time around, I drank it smoother than him. I’m not saying he dribbled all over himself, because that would be rude. But he was getting married, so give him a memorable send off.

“CLEAR THE BAR!!!”

The regulars started laughing and moved away towards the back wall. The new folk were looking on in disbelief as the story was explained to them, and they moved against the wall.
“Hey Otto!” I called to the bartender as I slipped out of my shirt and started undoing my belt (with a little wiggle. You know, for the crowd). “How about a slide this time around?”
Otto laughed and sprayed down the bar below the taps with seltzer. *Remember that the taps are the demarcation point. It’ll come up again.*
While Otto finished hosing down the bar, I got out of the rest of my clothes, making it as sexy as only a 170lb six-footer in need of a shave and a haircut can.

At this point, the people who’ve figured out what’s going on are laughing and clapping, while the rest are looking very very puzzled, and perhaps a bit aghast.

So naked me goes back by the dartboard, and, clad only in a worn pair of boat shoes, bellows “CLEAR THE BAR!!!” one last time before sprinting towards the rounded corner of the bar. I time my launch perfectly, feet leaving the ground as my fingers curl around the top of the bullnose edge of the bar and my arms drag me over it, adding to my momentum.
My stomach hits the bar in a splash of seltzer, and, with a slightly arched back to reduce drag, I zip down the bar, a carbonated rooster tail of spray marking my passage, as Otto sprays me in more seltzer (or possibly Diet Coke) as I slid by.
I’m in the zone! Only three other people have done the naked bar slide in this particular place, and I’ve already gone further than any of them! Why, I’ve almost made it as far as- Crap!
The taps!
(Remember those?)
They’re set at the middle of the bar, and jut out over halfway into the bar. I suddenly realize that maybe I had a tad too much momentum. And the bar is soaked, so no traction there.
So, like a latter day Indiana Jones avoiding a sword laden trap, I roll onto my side and watch as the taps near. I begin to slow down, my body contorted (and soaked) as speed bleeds off, decelerating to the point where, when I reach the tap, I’m going just fast enough…to scratch my chest…from below (???) to the center…of my nipple.

And the place goes wild!
I’ve seen plenty of stupid bar stunts, and been involved in plenty myself, but truly, this was an appreciative crowd.
So finally, I get off the bar and dry myself off. Several bar napkins staunch the flow of nipple blood. I make my way back to the end of the bar, past the smiling faces, the shocked faces, and the faces that have no idea what they’ve just seen, and lean against the bar near The Terror. We order another round (tequila this time for me) and toast. he leans over.
“I think you drank the Jameson smoother than me this time.”
“Nah. Congratulations, John. Have a happy marriage.”

Birthday Drinks: The NutMegan Highland

Today’s Music: Sophie and the Exciters – Heard It Through The Grapevine
Note on Today’s Music: Sophie and the Exciters hail from East Yorkshire, much like the birthday girl!

Everyones favorite psychopathic mother-figure, H.E. Ellis, thought that for Megans birthday, a drink menu would be nice.
Psychopathic.
It isn’t like Megan doesn’t have her degree. It isn’t like she isn’t building her own life out there in the real world in the wilds of England.
And nothing was said about how well she writes. I’ve been in the sphere about a year and a half. I met Megan early on in my time here. In all that time, she’s been posting her fiction on her blog. Musings, serials, stories that just flowed and stuff she had to work hard at to make as good as it is.
We weren’t asked to mention all of that.
We were asked to make drinks.

Psychopath.

I’d like to say I did this because H.E. asked.
And she scares the crap out of me.
But the truth is, I’m honored to asked to help celebrate Megan’s birthday here.
So pull up an easy chair by the fire, go read some of her stories, and enjoy a fine drink.

*Whatever you do after is not my fault.

The Birthday Girl at Disneyland!

The Appetizer
The Buzzer (This drink was actually made and named for me. How cool is that?)
To start…
Pour 3 parts rum over ice (I like Pussers. Not only does its history tie back to the British Navy, defenders of Megans home, but if I run out of gas after a night of drinking it, I can always vomit in my tank and move on.)
Fill glass with Ginger Ale
Add a splash of Amaretto
Add a cherry.
Sip, enjoy, and repeat until warm all over..

Now that you’re warmed up a bit, lets move on to something to round you out nicely.
One of the things the greater UK(Scotland specifically) is known for is its Scotch.
The history, the techniques, the flavors.
But how to combine this treasure from Megans general part of the world for a concoction worthy of celebrating the anniversary of such a wonderful woman’s birth?
Royal Lochnager had a Royal Warrant to distill for the Queen.
Now, their product is used in Johnny Walker Blue and Black labels.
The Main Course
The NutMegan Highland
Pour one part JWB
Add a dash of bitters (Angostura, because really, how many bitters makers are there?)
Add a splash of orange juice
A few drops of sweet vermouth
Gently float in a touch of lime juice. (You may want to make a batch of these before you start drinking, Megan, or the dashing and splashing may get a bit out of hand.)
Scratch a bit of nutmeg dust on top.
Sip…and…savor.

Since we’ve been to the Caribbean and toured the Highlands of Megan’s land, lets wrap up in one of my favorite distilling parts of the world, Mexico, for
Dessert
At this point, you probably can’t feel your lips. Or your feet. The room is spinning. Your liver has crawled out your ear to have a serious talk with you, but got caught up in the drinking songs and camaraderie, and now it wants to do shots.

I remember the cactus being greener.
Oh, wait. That was me.

Tequila
Shot glass filled with TequilaI recommend Porfidio Cactus. Not only does it taste great, but when you’re this drunk, you can spend hours wondering how they got that little glass cactus in the bottle.)
Lime
Salt
(If everyone is drinking the same as you, it is totally acceptable to throw the condiments at any and all.)
Three empty pint glasses/one large empty pitcher (The bartender will appreciate your foresight in having receptacles to throw up in.)

Don’t worry if tomorrow you can’t remember what happened. I’m pretty sure many of your friends have recorded it and uploaded it to you tube!

Happy Birthday, Megan, and happy every day after.
And I hope you find everything you’re looking for!

If you’re still thirsty, have some more delicious beverages here.
Just don’t drive…
H.E. Ellis
Sandy Like A Beach
H.R. Nightmare
Archon’s Den

An Adventure – The Naked Snow Angels

Today’s Music: The Fratellis – Look Out Sunshine

Note – Happy holidays to every last one of you. If we were hanging out enjoying each others company, when the topic sung around to white christmases, this is probably the story I’d tell.
So consider this a holiday laugh gift, and I hope you enjoy it!

*Disclaimer – The story below is as true as I remember it. But I was pretty drunk at the time.

So I’m in this bar.
It’s snowing like hell outside, a fresh layer of several inches on top of the inches already on the ground, for this particularly cold, white winter.
It’s me and Pat, the owner/bartender. We’re drinking pints and shots, trading stories, telling lies about the women (this was before TMWGITU).

They’re keeping themselves covered to avoid seeing what’s coming…

By about 0030, we’re the only ones there, not even any stragglers wandering in, and the snow just keeps on falling.
“Want to walk down to Tracey and Don’s place?” asks Pat.
I think to myself. The snow is falling hard, but the wind is minimal. It’s a half a mile, about a ten or fifteen minute walk. I still have most of a pack of cigarettes.
“Sure, why not.” I answer, and down the road we head.

We get there. Tracey and Don are behind the bar, about two or three people in the bar, none of whom I know. They know me though.
“Guapo? Guapo…hey! You did those naked bar dances here! It’s great to meet you, man! I’ve heard those stories!”
Another of the patrons is a brunette girl, about 5’11”, college age. Not hammered, but she is definitely not on her first drink.
So Pat and I sit back, start talking with Tracey and Don, who, it turns out, have never heard the first naked bar dance story (I know, right?).
So, with the lure and softening of multiple free shots of Jaegermeister, I launch into a very animated retelling.
It’s a great story, and the group is laughing (with me) as I finish.
Tracey pours another round and says “I’ve never seen anything like that”.
“Sorry” I answer. “I’m not near drunk enough to do it again.”
“That’s alright” says Don, passing me another full shot. He looks at the girl. “Have you ever done anything like that?”
She starts laughing at him. “Oh my god, are you kidding?” She turns to me. “How drunk were you when you did that?”
“Too drunk to remember how drunk I was.” (Can you imagine I was ever single!)
“You could do naked snow angels!” yells Don. I look up at him. The girl laughs some more, as does everyone else.
We keep talking, drinks are flowing freely, and as happens, someone needs to go to the bathroom – the girl.
While she’s up, Pat comes over to me.
“You realize we have no interest in seeing you naked, right?” he asks.
“Thanks Pat. I’m both offended and relieved”, my usual answer when guys say things like that to me.
“But we want to see her do one, and if you do, she might too” he finishes.

Well, being one to sacrifice myself for the cause, I say that if she agrees, I’m more than happy to do it too.

She comes back from the ladies room. Drinks flow a little more freely, jokes, stories, laughter.
Tracey brings up the snow angel again.
The girl is still reluctant, but not as much.

More drinks (I’m pretty well wrecked at this point, and I know the 15 minute walk back will take me at least a half hour, with the weaving.

I don’t care if it’s my fault. I’m still blaming this.

This goes on a little longer until I say
“I’ll do it if you will.”
She looks at me with a calculating expression. “Will you go first?”
“Sure. But once I do, you can’t back out. You know, embarrassment shared and all that.”
She thinks for a moment.
“Ok.”
Crap.

Jumping into a cold pool? Done it.
Run across snow to a hot tub? Fun.
Laying down in the altogether and flailing in frozen water? How on earth is that considered a good idea?

But seriously, it needed to be done if only to slow down the amount of alcohol pouring down my throat.

So I step up, kick off my shoes and jeans, my shirt and hat, my boxers.
But not my socks.
No idea why. Did I mention I was drunk?

And out the door I go.
And IT’S. EFFIN’. COLD.

I lay down, I wave my arms up and down, and yes, I open and close my legs. There is snow in places snow is not meant to be.
And there is naked in places naked is not meant to be.
And I learned that night, that if there is ever a speed snow angel competition, I’m a shoe in for the gold.

So I pop myself back up, stumble laughingly back into the bar (through the other laughing stumbling patrons), pull my coat (just my coat) back on, and drink my delightfully warm(er than me) beer.

The group comes back in, and now we’re waiting for her. She’s reluctant. Understandable – even in the pre-internet days, running naked around a bar is never a good idea. But eventually, she holds up her side.
She goes into the bathroom, strips down, then streaks down the bar, shoots out the door, does her angel and dives back in.

The whole place is cheering and applauding, and we’re all (including her) laughing our heads off.

She gets dressed. I start to pull on my clothes. Except the socks. Those I pull off. Because they were soaked.

Epilogue:
I go into that bar a month later. Winter has lightened a bit, and that first hint of spring is in the air. But the bar is holding onto winter.
In the form of my socks.
Which are nailed to the wall with a commemorative “First Annual Naked Snowman” marker.

But it looks so pure…

An Adventure – The First Naked Bar Dance

Today’s Music: Violent Femmes – Blister in the Sun

*Disclaimer – The story below is as true as I remember it. But I was pretty drunk at the time.

It looks so innocent...

This story takes place probably during my third or fourth year of college. Definitely not my fifth.
So I’m in this bar (as I often was). On a Sunday afternoon (when I often was).
Me and the bartender (whose name I just realize I have completely forgotten) are hanging out. I’m drinking up the last of the money I had, but that’s ok. I spent a lot of time in this bar, and really never wanted for a drink. When I was ahead, I spent it all, when I was behind, they covered me.

So Bartender and I are just shooting the breeze. It’s a beautiful spring day, so no one is around.Just the two of us. There might have been some card playing, but I don’t recall…

In walk Jimmy and the boys, back from a day at the pitch and putt. They’re laughing and telling stories, ragging on each others golfing as they settle in at the bar.

Jimmy pulls out a small wad of cash. “Aright fellas, what are you having?” Everyone calls out their drink orders.
Jimmy turns to me.
“Sorry Jimmy, I’m tapped”
“That wasn’t the question, Guap. What’ll you have?”
See what I mean? It was that kind of bar. So I get another beer.
This goes on for several rounds. We’re telling stories, throwing darts, and I’m close to hammered by the middle of the afternoon.
So Jimmy calls out for another round. The Terror declines a beer, says “Give me a Jameson. I can drink that smoother than anything else.”
(There? Did you see that? That was my cue.)
“Hah”, I call out. “I can drink that smoother than you”
The Terror gives me the once over, sees that I’m drunk. We’d been hanging out a long time.
“If I drink this smoother than you” he says, “What do I win?”
At this point, I should have shut up. But I’m me. So I didn’t.
I stand next to him at the corner of the bar, thinking a moment.
“If you drink that smoother than me, I will dance naked…” – open my hand and slap the bar top…”On”…slap..”this”…slap…”BAR!!!”
SET ‘EM UP!

Bartender pulls another round, sets up a filled rocks glass of Jameson for The Terror, sets up a full rocks glass of Jameson for me.
(For the record, there was nothing smart about this. Having once sucked down half a fifth of Jack Daniels once, I never developed a like for Whiskey. More of a tequila man, me…)

Everyone watches as The Terror downs his shot. Smooth.
All eyes turn to me as I down my shot. Smooth.
“I don’t know, Guap”, chimes in one of the guys.”I think Terror was smoother”
“What?!?” I shoot back, surprised. Considering I was drunk enough where balance was now an issue, I thought I downed it pretty well. One quick shot, no spillage, no dribbling. (I don’t have to like a liquor to give it respect. I’m classy that way.)
Nods and murmurs of agreement form the guys. They thought John was smoother.
But I’m a man of my word.”CLEAR THE BAR!!!” I shout as my battle cry.
Everyones eyes fly all the way open in surprise as I start getting out of my shirt.
“Guap”, says The Terror, “You don’t have to do this.”
CLEAR THE BAR!!!” as I take off my boat shoes.
“Dude” says Jimmy, “you really don’t have to do this”.
“CLEAR. THE. BAR!!!”
“He’s doing it fellas. Move your drinks!”

I looked better than this...

The bar at this place was a long U – twenty feet along the length, two five foot sections at the ends. I was at the corner of the bottom (furthest from the door) of the bar.
They cleared the bar.
I hopped up in the altogether and started to dance my naked self down towards the front.
Now above the bar was a lowered section of roof. I’m about six feet tall, and I had about 4 feet of room, so I was hunched over. Remember that. It will be important in a minute.
So I’m dancing down the bar, hunched over, knees wide for balance and because there is really no way to keep them in.
The guys are laughing themselves silly, and I’m trying to see and not fall over.
I make it to the end of the bar, down the return and turn around.

So now you have a pretty good idea of the scene. Me, naked, dancing on top of the bar, knees wide for balance, turning back around.
What you don’t know, because I haven’t mentioned it yet, is the girl. Sitting in the corner of the bar. Right where I’m starting to turning around.
She is sitting there, head turned away, hand over her face.
She picks that moment to look up to see if it’s safe.
As I’m halfway through my turn.Knees spread. Right. In front. Of her.
Fortunately, I’m already bent over, so I don’t have to yell as i slur “I’m sorry, I lost a bet”.
She “Eeps” and hides her face again.

...but probably not as good as this.

I stumble back down the bar, and get off, to the cheers and applause of the guys. Who hid my clothes.
they left behind my boat shoes and belt. So I put those on, hung a couple of strategic napkins from the belt and ordered another beer.
Jimmy couldn’t stop laughing, but managed to sputter out that we all hadn’t eaten in a while, and we should all take a walk up to Dunkin Donuts to get some food.
I was halfway out the door before they pulled me back.

It was a good day. But not the last time I was naked in a bar…