I wish the first blog post on Wailing And Failing could be a positive one. But alas, it cannot be. There will be negativity around me all the time, and so I will need to fend off negativity all time.
So this happened yesterday, New Year's Eve. I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), where they was a huge BBQ party. I've been to shindigs like this in the past, and it's been kind of a shitshow. But I was invited, and I've been a good customer for decades, and so I was going to brave the crowds and the spotty customer service and eat free food.
I get in line to get food, but they run out of chicken. But as I get to the end of the line, where the desserts are, I see that they brought in more chicken. So what do I do? I get back in line. Why? I DESERVE SOME FUCKIN' CHICKEN! I wide with fuckin', like, beans and cole slaw, and I should just be happy with that? Fuck you!
OK, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Anyway, I'm getting back in line to get what's mine. The guy ahead of me looks at me funny, but whatever. And then, out of fucking nowhere, I hear some guy from the bar. I look over there, and this bartender is looking at my general direction. I've seen him before, but we've never really spoken, although he got me drink once or twice in the past. We don't know each other. So I don't think he was speaking with me because he would have no reason to. But after looking around and pointing to myself, he apparently was.
So this guy is a white dude (aside: this place is an old-time bar, holding back the times in an area of Minneapolis that is both gentrifying and increasingly populated by people of color. I would hazard a guess and say that on weekend evenings, the greatest concentration of people in downtown Minneapolis who are both white and blue-collar would be here) but with curly hair I will now regard as Jeri-Curls because he's an asshole. And this fucker lays into -- "You can't take more than one plate of food! Share!" He didn't fucking understand. I didn't get my chicken, and I was owed chicken, SO I WAS GETTING MY DAMN PLATE OF CHICKEN!!!
But I saw the lay of the land. I saw many faces I didn't know. Moreover, I saw the faces I did know and, if there was a disagreement between White Jeri-Curl Man and I ... well, I would lose.
And that's the sad thing about this place. Deep down, although I have enjoyed and spent thousands of dollars here over my lifetime, when it comes right down to it, I'm an outsider. And if there ever was a situation where I would need someone to have my back in there, I would have no one. I don't know what I would have to do to be accepted or at least not disrespected here, but seeing the way that bartender prick yelled at me for something I didn't do, I don't think I ever will be able to.
So I sat done, with just a fucking plate of beans and cole slaw. Those side dishes were made by one of the strippers whom I bought a lap dance from, however, so it wasn't a total bad day, maybe.
---
I think I'm just going to avoid My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for a week, or three. And I think that motherfucker just works during the day, so I hope he won't be fuckin' around at night (but he probably will). And then -- and I know I might be burying the lede -- I am not absolutely sure they're a titty bar anymore. There has been recent news that their adult entertainment license is going to lapse. It looks like, barring a judgement in the owner's favor, that it definitely will end at the end of this year. But it may have ended last year. And if that's the case, well, at least I won't have to see that dick anymore.
Oh -- Happy New Year, everybody.
So this happened yesterday, New Year's Eve. I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), where they was a huge BBQ party. I've been to shindigs like this in the past, and it's been kind of a shitshow. But I was invited, and I've been a good customer for decades, and so I was going to brave the crowds and the spotty customer service and eat free food.
I get in line to get food, but they run out of chicken. But as I get to the end of the line, where the desserts are, I see that they brought in more chicken. So what do I do? I get back in line. Why? I DESERVE SOME FUCKIN' CHICKEN! I wide with fuckin', like, beans and cole slaw, and I should just be happy with that? Fuck you!
OK, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Anyway, I'm getting back in line to get what's mine. The guy ahead of me looks at me funny, but whatever. And then, out of fucking nowhere, I hear some guy from the bar. I look over there, and this bartender is looking at my general direction. I've seen him before, but we've never really spoken, although he got me drink once or twice in the past. We don't know each other. So I don't think he was speaking with me because he would have no reason to. But after looking around and pointing to myself, he apparently was.
So this guy is a white dude (aside: this place is an old-time bar, holding back the times in an area of Minneapolis that is both gentrifying and increasingly populated by people of color. I would hazard a guess and say that on weekend evenings, the greatest concentration of people in downtown Minneapolis who are both white and blue-collar would be here) but with curly hair I will now regard as Jeri-Curls because he's an asshole. And this fucker lays into -- "You can't take more than one plate of food! Share!" He didn't fucking understand. I didn't get my chicken, and I was owed chicken, SO I WAS GETTING MY DAMN PLATE OF CHICKEN!!!
But I saw the lay of the land. I saw many faces I didn't know. Moreover, I saw the faces I did know and, if there was a disagreement between White Jeri-Curl Man and I ... well, I would lose.
And that's the sad thing about this place. Deep down, although I have enjoyed and spent thousands of dollars here over my lifetime, when it comes right down to it, I'm an outsider. And if there ever was a situation where I would need someone to have my back in there, I would have no one. I don't know what I would have to do to be accepted or at least not disrespected here, but seeing the way that bartender prick yelled at me for something I didn't do, I don't think I ever will be able to.
So I sat done, with just a fucking plate of beans and cole slaw. Those side dishes were made by one of the strippers whom I bought a lap dance from, however, so it wasn't a total bad day, maybe.
---
I think I'm just going to avoid My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) for a week, or three. And I think that motherfucker just works during the day, so I hope he won't be fuckin' around at night (but he probably will). And then -- and I know I might be burying the lede -- I am not absolutely sure they're a titty bar anymore. There has been recent news that their adult entertainment license is going to lapse. It looks like, barring a judgement in the owner's favor, that it definitely will end at the end of this year. But it may have ended last year. And if that's the case, well, at least I won't have to see that dick anymore.
Oh -- Happy New Year, everybody.
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