(Names have been changed, but the rest is at least as true as I remember it.)
When I got to the front of the line, I tried to get past the butch, bouncer-lady of the Top Hat by explaining my “situation.” Bouncers really aren’t fans of listening to excuses or reasoning, though, in my experience, and this was no exception.
“Sorry, buddy,” she said grabbing me by the shoulder and pushing me toward the door, “I can’t just let you into a ticketed show.”
I tried to plead a bit, blowing my drunk breath into her face as I screamed in her ear over the blasting music.
“I’m just trying to find my friends. They won’t answer their phones, they need to go home and I’m the designated driver…”
She cut me off saying, “That sounds like a personal problem”.
Now, I took that dismissive statement as quite offensive. Yes, she was just doing her job, but I am not the best at being dismissed and taking condescension when I am drunk. I have had my ass kicked to a bloody pulp several times because of this attitude, but I assure you, I’m working on it.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “Well, you sound like a cunt.”
Then I booked out the door before I could see her reaction, feeling defeated, but at least that I had gotten to express my views on the matter.
Like I said, I’m working on this.
I walked back towards The Palace. On the way, I passed by a yelling homeless man.
“Keep Missoula weird!” He yelled.
“Hell yeah!” I replied, not hearing the rest of his statement.
“Keep Missoula weird, 5 bucks!”
God, I wondered, Is nothing free anymore? And how was my donation going to help him do that at all?
When I got back to the Palace, I saw Sam sitting on the corner, smoking with an incredibly lovable, bearded man named Alex. I got a hug from the rather drunk Alex and leaned up against the bike rack with the two of them. It was around 11:00 now, and Sam wasn’t needed down at the KGBA thing anymore. According to him, it was pretty cool, but it didn’t sound “thirteen-dollar cover charge cool”.
Alex passed what they were smoking to me. I had assumed it was just a cigarette when I saw it at first, but the fact that it was being passed to me now made me think it wasn’t a cigarette. Generally, cigarettes are just smoked by the holder and not passed around unless someone asks for a drag.
This, as I started to realize after a few tokes, was, in fact, a spliff. You feel the tobacco immediately, and you might be able to believe it’s just a cigarette for a bit, but within a couple minutes, you’ll be able to tell what else happened to be in there. It had been a few months since I had smoked weed, and I always feel really paranoid when I feel a high coming on.
I passed the spliff back to Alex, and started to feel the familiar twinges of weed. You see a little more emotion on people’s faces, you pick up more patterns in the world around you, and you feel a little better about the things you like, and a little worse about the things you don’t. I’ve always had a hard time regulating this to just the good emotions, especially when my tolerance had gone down, but alcohol, for any bad feeling on any drug, is a great dampener. You still might feel bad about the things you’re feeling, but alcohol has the magical quality of making it so, though you may still be paranoid about some things, you don’t really give a fuck about them.
Alex told us about his friend’s band that was playing over at the Union Club, a couple blocks away. We decided to mob over with him, and Sam went back to find Rae before we left. Alex and I stood in front of the bar by the crowds for a minute and bullshitted.
After a minute or two of us standing there, a large, hairy man in a plain black t-shirt approached us. He described himself as a “real maharaja”, and bowed to us. He then offered us some love. Not just sex, he specified, but love. We said we weren’t all that interested, Alex however, being the serial conversationalist that he is, didn’t have a “fuck off” bone in his body, and asked him about his business as the maharajah. The Maharajah went back to his sales pitch, offering his love, not just sex, he specified again. This time, he put a price on it at the end of 20 bucks. Apparently, money can buy you love nowadays.
Alex again engaged the Maharaja in questions of his business, and of love. He then offered him a pull from a bag of wine that he had in his backpack. I slinked away from this conversation, as it was just too much for my high ass.
Bar crowds always fascinate me, and I took some time to watch it breathe in its natural ecosystem. When people are drunk, they seem to sink into a very directed version of themselves, often focusing very intently on the pursuit of base pleasures. When a drunk person is trying to get more fucked up, they slam their drinks, keeping an eye out for more of them. They strike up conversations with people smoking cigarettes, asking for a drag or, if they are bold, a full cig after about one or two lines of dialog.
When a drunk person is trying to eat, they keep trying to usher their friends to leave what they are doing to go with them to get food, or to go in with them on a pizza or to split a Jimmy John’s. And, when a drunk person is trying to get laid, it is particularly obvious. They go out of their way to talk to a potential mate, striking out again and again until they latch onto someone who is willing to keep talking to them, then listen to whatever shit they say, trying to slowly get more and more physical until, god-willing, they may be able to convince them to go someplace and fuck.
After watching this system do its thing for a while, I met up with my group and we walked towards the Union. The group consisted of Alex, Gary, Rae, Sam, and I, as well as a few other people I didn’t know. I was in the odd position that you occasionally find yourself in when walking with big groups where all the people you know are walking slightly ahead of you and you’re kind of glommed on to the other section of people. It looks awkward, and maybe even a little off-putting of you to run past the group and catch up with the people you’d rather walk with, so you just stick with it. I’m not the greatest with starting up conversations with relative strangers in general, and especially not when I’m a little stoned, so I decided to remain quiet for the saunter.
We made it to the Union at around midnight. Live music could be heard spewing out the door whenever it opened, and another decent crowd of drunks lingered outside. I caught up with Alex before we went into the bar and asked him what the deal was in this bar, being in no mood to be denied entry to another establishment.
“Don’t worry, man” he said. “Anyone can get into this place! I’ll get you drinks if you want ‘em.”
That reassured me, well enough, and I cued up behind the others in line. Sam got in, then Rae, then the rest of the group, so I was feeling pretty comfortable with my odds. Being that bullshit didn’t work at the Top Hat, I decided it was time to try the honesty route. I got up to the old, mustachioed bouncer, and hit him with a clean blast of truth.
“Hey, it’s all good, I’m not 21, so just mark me with the X’s.”
Turns out that this was the kind of place that you’re supposed to lie at.
“Sorry, no go, man. It’s 21 only.”
I looked back to Alex, then back to the bouncer. I’m not as good at arguing when I’m high, so I begrudgingly slid back to the back of the line. Though I may be a little less confrontational high, I’m also more stupid. So as he was checking Alex’s ID, I tried to sneak in the gap into the door. I saw him notice me, and he gave me a very please-fuck-off-looking glare. With no quarrel, I slumped my shoulders and left out the door.
I never did like being removed from places like this, but with all of my other options removed, I decided I had no other choice but to stew outside while my friends were at the show. I didn’t really mind that much I was having a good time just being generally fucked up and people-watching. Plus, I could always just go home if they stayed in there for too long, drunken wandering being one of my favorite pass-times.
There was a slightly smaller crowd outside the Union, but it was a little later in the night, and the crowd seemed to be, on average, drunker than they were outside of the Palace. A man walked by me screaming to his friends “SHE KNOWS SHE’S TEEN WOLF”. A group of drunk girls tried to force their drunk friend into a cab so that she can go home, telling her she was “too drunk.” After they forced her into the car, one of the girls tripped and hit her drunk face on the curb. Glass houses and all that.
Alex came out of the bar a few minutes later to smoke. When he saw me, apologized for misleading me about how easy it is to get in there.
“Oh yeah, sorry about that, man,” he shouted over the crowd, “You saw those other guys got in though, right? You see, the trick is that you flash him your ID really quick, and then you start up a conversation with him. The guy’s really cool, and if you seem cool, he’ll let you in.”
He then offered that we could switch shirts and try to get in again. Before I could say anything, a girl walked up to us and said, “Hey, you guys know people who work here smoke too, right?”. She walked back inside. Being crossfaded and dumb, the two of us shrugged it off with confusion and went into an alley to switch shirts.
CONCLUDED IN PART 3
