The Artful Dodger, September 6, 2016
Tuesday, 9 PM
“How’s it going,” we ask the bouncer as he carries out the
stand from which to take cover charges.
Looks like we got there just in time. “Another day . . . " he sighs
as we breeze past.
We had walked downtown from home. Late summer and the crickets chirped
stationary as we moved. The stars and the crescent moon lit up the blue-green storybook
sky as we made our way. Bridgette
suggested a roommate outing and the time is now. The day is Tuesday. We three glide through this city smelling
like human apothecaries to keep off the damn skeeters. On the way, I consider that pretty soon I am
going to have to find another fun thing to do at night with friends besides
drink. My body tells me that. It doesn’t take long to get to our destination: The Artful Dodger. Tuesdays showcase the rare $2 rail and we are
collectors tonight.
If you have never had a chance to visit the Dodger, it is
pretty cool and swanky. They are always
showing the brightest and weirdest art on the walls. It’s a totally 70’s vibe; John
Travolta in bellbottoms would fit right in with the décor. You’d love it. Tonight, there are all types of people
here. There is no way to categorize this
crowd.
We order drinks and food at the bar. Bridgette and I drink tequila pineapples for
most of the night, punctuated, at times, by some other drinks, perhaps; it gets
fuzzy after a bit . . . As Bridgette
noted, the bartender always makes our drinks strong. In a good way. Wink wink.
Staff begins piling up chairs and squeeking them away to
clear the floor for dancing.
“Cheese is the most addicting substance on earth.”
“And it’s not natural; totally processed, totally manmande.”
Bridgette and I go out for a smoke break while my attorney guards
the table. While we are away, the food
arrives and he is faced with life’s ultimate question – to steal a chip or not
to steal a chip. Heavy stuff.
The food service was speedy.
Seven minutes or something. I got
a spanakopita sandwich. It was pretty
much a big pile of spinach and a lot of white cheeses on a big croissant, which
is pretty much just what I wanted so bam.
And the tator tots were dopevillacious, if I do say so myself. My attorney got the tuna Monte Cristo and
said that, “even though the tuna’s cold it works with the warm French-toast
style bread.” He also said that perhaps
tuna was not the best choice for bar food and that he would have to rinse his
fish breath out with whiskey. Bridgette
seemed to really enjoy her Vinny sandwich with chicken.
A round on my attorney!
In our haste to eat the tasty tasty food stuffs, Bridgette
and I kept trying to wash it down with tequila.
Disgusting! Pay attention,
ladies! And pay attention we did. The atmosphere in there had changed. De-rastically. It was rapidly turning into a cesspool. It was so loud people talking so loud. Good
Lord it was a Prep-city-scape as far as the eye could see. The JMU girls were dressed up nice and they
were drunk, boy were they ever drunk tonight, anxious to celebrate this post
Labor Day Tuesday Night.
9:30 PM is when the Frat madness began. Everyone is at this party. Oh wow it was loud. Yelling and shouting. Indiscernible noises surround. A Devon Lane party inside of the Artful
Dodger?
“Hey, buttcheeks at 4:30!”
“Huh?”
It’s true; buttcheeks were everywhere. Polo shirts and shorts that hit the exact
spot above the knee, off by a centimeter and it’s good try, kid, but you can go
on back to Goodwill where you belong.
Okay.
These people were way younger than me. They were even younger than my young
roommates. We were surrounded by the
most pristine tanned specimens of this next generation.
What we were witnessing was new. Novel.
Good for business. Hopefully good
for Harrisonburg.
LADIES AND GENTLEMEN JMU HAS HIT DOWNTOWN AND HOW!
I have lived in this town/city for total of six and a half
years and I have never seen anything like this.
Really. I knew it was
happening. I noticed it beginning last
year. A few college kids would wind up
downtown walking like tourists unsure of where to go or what lies ahead. But this!?
“We may not be able to get out.” It was a real concern.
And this fucking ratio, man.
If you went to JMU, you know what I’m talking about. If you drive through the Burg, you know what
I’m talking about. And it was clear as
ever tonight. Four women to every man;
five even! Six? These guys in the perfect-length shorts can’t
miss.
The lights went out.
Murmurring. And the light show
began. The Dodger has great light shows.
“Let’s see what the music’s like then we’ll go. If the music’s good, I’ll buy the next round”
– my attorney. Bridgette said the same about the next place
if the music was lame. The beat begins and it’s tight. Reggae infused into a heavy beat. My attorney got up to get more drinks.
I did not know what to do when the English guy sat down beside
Bridgette in the booth. I couldn’t hear
well enough to tell if he was cool or lame.
I felt like Barb in Stranger Things. I judged by Bridgette’s posture that it was the
latter and so tried to look annoyed but not too much in case I was
misinterpreting and it was the former. He
was lame, turns out, but excused himself once he realized Bridgette hadn’t, in
fact, been looking for easy sex with him on his very last night in the US.
“Hey look an old guy,” I said, motioning with my eyes. He was around forty. I felt like a Golden Girl myself.
On the wall, local artist Kyle Kirby had left a thought:
“The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage
to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, and the capacity for
sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues
make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” – Ernest Hemmingway
I had to get out of there.
To the gazebo! I’ll wait for y’all
there.
The Dodger was still full to capacity, with line out the
door.
Next thing I know I’m on the magical patio at Ruby’s with a
hand in my drink and a face on my smile.
The music here was much nicer.
On my notebook there was a diagram of tubular boobs, labeled
TUBULAR BOOBS. Knowledge is power.
“Oh yeah, the Romans used piss for everything!”
“Obviously Latin’s not dead.”
“Have you ever had a Scooby snack?”
I was writing: “TOILET MONSTERS probability” and was
starting to get very sleepy. My attorney was getting us Scooby snacks and we
still had a hike ahead of us.
“MMMM. Very creamy. Sweet.
Melony.”
We ran into my old buddy, Sean, who seems to be doing
alright these days. We were chilling
more. And drinking more. There were outdoor ceiling fans. I liked them a lot. I felt out of the loop
and in the middle of the loop at the same time. In the loop of life. The Joy and Contentment of my Town.
“Hola! Como estas!?” – I am smiling. I am drunk.
That’s what happens. Deep thought
is no longer a possibility. I picture
home and my bed. I keep smiling. My attorney transitions smoothly between
flirting with me and the other ladies and back to me again. We are laughing.
“It’s Biggie, yo!”
“Is that Pig Latin?”
“Biggie Smalls!”
And then we sang Riptide on the walk home.
