Dance Puppets! Dance!

Depending on the city you live in and the lifestyle you lead, you may have found a favorite or a few favorite watering holes if you’ve been in a city long enough. I know that my choices in night life destinations have evolved over time. I’ve grown out of places due to a shift in my interests and often a change in clientele. When the rest of world discovers a good secret it makes it a little less special. The places I used to frequent that no longer excite me remind me of an old Yogi Berra quote, “Nobody goes there anymore, it’s too crowded.”

One particular spot named Union Jacks began losing its charm as word spread about its $1 beer-till-close special on Thursday nights. At one point I frequented this place with a group of friends more than a couple of times a week because the drinks were strong, the female “talent” was usually plentiful, and the location was practically ideal. Over the course of a couple months the clientele shifted from young professionals to most guys that projected an image of “tough-guy street thug.” You know the type; chubby, chinstrap beard, long baggy shirt, flat brim hat, never brought girls of their own. Mix that with a bunch of young aggressive army guys fresh on leave, it makes for an interesting night.

After half a dozen bad visits we began to find ourselves choosing pregaming, night-life, and happy hour alternatives. pabst blue ribbon

It had been months since any of my friends had done an evening out at Union Jacks. My friend Jason wanted to bring out the Brazilian girl he was seeing along with her two female friends and his female room mate to have some drinks. Jason and I had  our reservations but we figured that since it was close to all of us and the ratio we were coming with was in our favor, there would be a higher chance of everyone coming away from the night with a good experience.

The five of us strolled in around 9:00 PM to a nearly empty bar. Jason, his female roommate, and I guzzled dollar draft beers of pabst blue ribbon one after another. The Brazilians kept ordering vodka red-bulls through a bartender they knew so it was a short time before all of us began catching a heavy buzz. After a couple of cigarette breaks and half a dozen more beers, the girls began throwing the idea of dancing. It was a little after 10:00 PM and I had no problem being the first group of people to get out on the dance floor.

I’ve never had reservations about dancing. Jason teamed up with two of the girls and I teamed up with the other three. I didn’t have any reservations flaunting the fact that I was smacking torsos and asses with three attractive women amid a cascading sea of dudes who all looked on in disbelief as they clung closely to the walls. I imagined we must have appeared to be a very an entertaining bunch because moments after we got onto the dance floor, couples and groups of girls began following our lead and getting into the spirit of dollar beer night with good old fashion trashy dancing.

As our grinding picked up during the next song I watched two scruffy looking guys approach our group. One of them attempted to dance with one of the girls grinding on me and he was quickly waved off by two of the girls and the other walked toward Jason. I burst into laughter as I watched the one of these ghetto punks angled himself to sideways grind on the girl that was humping Jason’s back. The odd looking train took the shape of a “dude club sandwich” and I knew Jason wasn’t going to stand by and let it continue.

union jacks

When Jason finally noticed the new addition, he flipped around and shouted, “Hey buddy, I’m don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not gay.”

“Huh?!” The chubby scruffy looking guy said edging closer.

“I said, I’m not gay and I’m not sure what you’re trying to do with me. You must be a faggot or something bro.” Jason said clearly inebriated and taking an aggressive posture.

“You think I’m gay?” Said the dumb looking ghetto guy puffing his chest out while his buddy emerged from the crowd to stand behind him.

“You must be because you’re trying to dance on me.” Said Jason gesturing downwards at the dance floor.

“Okay, Okay boys,” I said putting myself between the two of them. “Clearly the girls we brought are just trying to have a fun night, they’re not into meeting strangers this evening. It’s not a big deal. Everybody move on.”

Jason and I got death stares from the two ghetto chubby guys while they wondered off in disappointment and blended back into the growing crowd of the bar.

Our group went on dancing and drinking heavily until midnight when the girls decided they needed to call it a night. After all, it was only Thursday and waking up early for work on Friday whilst still drunk or massively hung-over isn’t all that much fun if it can be avoided. Jason and I bid our farewells to the girls and stuck around to pound cheap drinks and make some new friends.

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The lights flipped on for last call around 1:15, Jason and I closed out our tabs but not before ordering our last two drinks. We recapped the evenings events with great amusement a midst downing the last couple of beers. We exited Union Jacks out the back door that faced a major road and moved to the side of the raised patio to burn the final cigarette of the evening.

A few obnoxious inebriated groups of idiots passed us until I spotted the two guys who had hassled Jason earlier in the night. The two passed us unassumingly as they were clearly super hammered and once they got to the side walk they started in on a random group of three guys with slurred aggressive and snide comments. These two punks were just the kind of guys that enjoyed going around to different bars ruining other people’s good time by trying to stir up trouble. I don’t like those type of people and I never will be apart of that garbage. We watched on from only a few feet away as the two groups exchanged a couple of insults followed by empty threats until finally the two scruffy looking ghetto guys continued on across the street. I frowned as I watched the two of them walking chest out and half a limping (to look cool) like a bunch of regular billy badasses on their way over to the gas station to likely grab cigarettes.

“Wanna see something funny?” I said to Jason with a devilish grin, “Watch this.”

“Hey did somebody just call those two guys faggots?!” I yelled across the street.

The two scruffy ghetto guys stopped in their tracks at the median and turned around.

“Huh?!” One of them yelled back towards the bar as drunk stragglers were still pouring out of the back exit.

“Yo! Whoever called those two guys walking across the street faggots better cut it out.” I yelled again looking around me as if someone in the immediate area had actually said something.

Jason looked at me confused for a split second, then he looked back out towards the street while putting his arm over his mouth and shouted into his sleeve, “Faggotttts!!!”

The two guys started flapping their arms and shuffling their feet while they shouted incoherent non-sense towards the bar while people began looking on. desmond bryant

“Seriously! Somebody keeps calling those two guys right there in the median faggots!” I yelled into the crowd of people outside the bar in antagonizing fashion.

“Faggggotttts!” Jason yelled muffled into his arm again. The guys standing in the median couldn’t decide what to do but were getting more riled up by every passing second.

“YO! I’m not playing! You better quit calling those guys faggots!” I chimed in again looking over the crowd then back at the two guys who clearly couldn’t tell who the noise was coming from. All these two drunken idiots could figure out was that these obnoxious accusations were coming from just outside the bar.

Jason and I giggled while we watched the two scruffy looking ghetto guys turn around and march back across the street back towards the bar.

“This should be entertaining.” I said lighting another cigarette and resting my elbows on top of the patio railing.

We looked on with big grins as the two chubby ghetto guys rolled up their sleeves as they approached the group of three guys they had talked trash to moments after leaving the bar.

In a flash sucker punches came out of nowhere and an all-out melee started. One of the scruffy looking guys knocked out someone from the group of three as he caught two hard blows to the face. Seemingly out of nowhere more people began joining in in on the brawl. Haymakers, cheap shots, and awkward wrestling matches on the ground ensued. Jason and I cheered on in glee.

“Get em!” I yelled laughing hysterically, “Put em’ in a body bag Johnny!”

“Fagggggggots! FAGGGGOOOTSSSS!” Wailed Jason almost in tears from laughing.

Out of nowhere two heavy-set Spanish girls got tangled into the mess and began fighting when they both tried to restrain their boyfriends. Jason and I viewed the chaos with mouths open as one of the girls got knocked out with a hard right punch from a random ghetto guy. More guys poured into the battle while Jason and I pulled drags from our cigarettes pointing and laughing at the drunk fighters swinging wildly at each other.

The crowd surrounding the fight let out loud collective “Oh’s!” like they were watching a firework display whenever someone got blindsided by a hard punch or knocked off their feet.

“Dance puppets! Dance!” I jeered at the chaotic mess of drunk brawlers from behind the metal railing on the raised patio.

I had single handedly orchestrated a ghetto drunk royal rumble without lifting a finger; a proud moment in my eyes.

The large crowd rapidly dispersed once a few people yelled, “Cops are coming!”

I spotted both of our ghetto scruffy guys stumbling and limping away from bar with ripped shirts, large welts, and scrapes all over their elbows and knees.

“Buncha’ faggots.” I yelled laughing elbowing Jason.

Jason and I shook hands in triumphant fashion and flicked out cigarettes into the street to head home from an entertaining Thursday evening.

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