Thursday, September 26, 2013

I have written about the baseball game of about 15 years ago

 when I hit the winning home run through the neighborhood grouch's window. Of course, in accordance with the rules of sandlot baseball I ran like hell for the woods like the rest of the kids did. Not one of those kids ever ratted me out which says something.

I have also mentioned that a couple of the kids sometimes stop and chat with me and that some of them are damned near 30 years old.

Anyway, one of them is getting married and I do not know why, but he asked me to attend the wedding. I am scheduled to be at sea, though, so I'll miss it.

I did get invited to a half-assed bachelor party, though and I accepted. It was supposed to be a night out at a strip club, compliments of the groom to be's friend.


I don't really care too much for strip clubs as when you have worked in one you see the other side of it and I really didn't like what I saw. It's been three decades since I have been in one other than ten minutes in Lou Turks, which I spent 10 minutes in about ten years ago. Curiosity had overwhelmed me. I have driven past it for years but never stopped in and one night I did on impulse.

I ordered a coke, took a couple of sips and left after a quick look. 

I can't see why the young guys would ask an old goat like myself to go out for a night on the town with them but I decided I would just for the hell of it. I was curious. 

These guys didn't seem like the strip club type. Actually they were somewhat nerdy to tell the truth, but I figured it was just someone's bright idea. Someone got the idea and the rest of them went along with it.

Anyway, I decided to go for a couple of reasons, one of which is because I like the groom. He's a pretty good guy. I was also wondering if I still knew how to get every dancer in the joint to head straight to the table I was seated at.

"Bring a couple hundred bucks in ones," I told the groom's friend. "And you're driving," I added. 

"A couple hundred in ones? He asked.

"Yes. To tip the girls for coming by our table. I would bring a stack of ones myself but I am a Democrat and believe in spending someone else's money." I replied, smugly.

On party night I drove to the driver's house and parked. We picked up the rest of the guys and off we went. They took me to a place well off the beaten path and when I asked why we were not going downtown they told me that most of the clubs there were pretty much BYOB clubs.

We arrived. The place was out in BFE. We very well may have crossed into West Virginia. It was a real dive. It looked like it had been last remodeled back two weeks after Carol Doda got her world famous boob job. 

In a way it was smart because out of the city things tend to be easier and there is somewhat less hustle like there is in the city. On the other hand, it's a pretty good bet the local gendarmes are watching the place to bag drunk drivers.

Still, I didn't get a twitch about the place and I have a pretty good nose for trouble. It seemed safe. I looked around and it wasn't a busy night which was a plus.

Of course, if you are reading this, you were not there so I can get away with telling you that the girls there were as hot as the ones you see in strip clubs in the movies. They were. Really. Movie starlets. Anyway, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

 As soon as we found a table I got up to use the men's room and passed by the bar and had a quiet word with the bartender. I told him that I was to get no alcohol in my drinks. He was a pro and knew the drill. He called a waitress over and passed the word on to her.

I got back to the table in time to get the first round of drinks, ordering a  double Beam, neat with a water chaser. The drinks arrived, I knocked the double watered coke back, put the empty glass back in her tray and ordered another. When it arrived I knocked it back and put the glass back on the tray.

Of course the young guys ordered either beers or the mixed drinks that seem popular these days. Their eyes opened wide as they saw an Old School guy knock back a pair of doubles. Little did they know.

The guy that had invited me pulled out the wad of ones and stuffed in his shirt pocket. I did a thing that took good old fashioned gall. I reached over and yanked the wad out of his shirt pocket , peeled off about half of it, held it up and shouted.

"Yaaa-hooo! Let the ass kicking commence!" and started dancing in my chair. "Yes! Yes! Whisky for me and my friends!" In an instant I noticed the bouncer eying me which meant nothing so long as I didn't cross the line.

The kid next to me took my cue and let out an Ellie May Clampett whistle and the pair of us looked at the other four that seemed a bit shy.

The rules generally seem not to have changed much. Keep your ass in the chair, don't get grabby, too sloppy or break anything.

The nearest dancer come straight over to the table where she danced for us for a minute. I stuffed a couple of bucks in her G-string and the procession of dancers began coming over to the table.

I overheard one of the younger guys say to the other, "Piccolo sure knows how to get the women over here!"

It didn't take long for the somewhat nerdy guys to catch on. 

You have to take into account that these guys were not the hard men and bad boys of the French Foreign Legion nor were they brawling commercial fishermen or merchant seamen. (The kind of people I'm used to drinking with) These were fairly straight suburban kids whose parents had kept after them.

They'd done a limited amount of partying in college, I'm sure. This was actually a double edged sword. Generally they avoided trouble, but kids like this that get a snootful can get jammed up MOST riki-tik. There is something about kids like that that says 'easy mark' on them.

I was totally astonished they didn't have a designated driver picked out ahead of time and I made it a note to do some serious ass chewing further up the road.

It took the 5 of them maybe 2 1/2 to 3 hours or so to get plastered and drop their wads and we stumbled out. I stuffed them into the car, making sure the guy next to me had his head out the window in case he puked. The rest of them I stuffed into the back seat as best I could. Then I started to drive them home.

I really didn't know the way home. My plan was to head east until I crossed I-79 and then pick it up somehow.

 I made a wrong turn or three and whipped an illegal U-turn to get back on track. I figured it wouldn't matter in the light traffic but some policeman with nothing to do at the time thought otherwise and came out of nowhere. He turned on his lights.

"Rollers," I said and three of the five paled. "I got it, stay cool."

I rolled down the window and the cop took one look at us. "Out drinking, huh?" he asked.

"They have, but my grandson had enough sense to call me to scrape him and his friends up to stay out of hot water," I replied. "I'll take his friends home and park my gransdon on the couch and tell my daughter-in-law we were busy flying model airplanes or some such crap."

"You cover for him?" asked the cop, with a touch of disapproval in his voice.

"He's a big boy. He covers for me," I shot back, "We got each other on speed dial. He scraped me up a couple weeks ago  at the strip club down McKee's Rock."

The officer chuckled and reached for the license I offered him. While he shined his flashlight on my face, he had the beam lowered to keep it directly out of my eyes. I knew he was checking me for signs of drinking. 

I looked at the kid next to me and quietly saw his hand go out the window in front of his face and I knew I had trained him well. He was sticking his finger down his throat and he vomited loudly. It was then I knew my good training had paid off. It got the officer's attention and he grimaced.

The officer glanced at my license with his flashlight, handed it back as the kid vomited again. He shook his head, "Better you than me, Pal. Stay safe." 

We drove off and the kid riding shotgun looked at me with a
self satisfied grin. He was punching his way out of the fog.

I was still lost for a while but then I picked up on a landmark and put it on automatic pilot and drove them home and dropped them off. My pickup had been parked in the driveway of the guy that owned the car and I drove home.

While I certainly wouldn't have gone there alone, it was fun. Three of the guys were kids I played that baseball with with so many years ago and we see each other seldom. The game and the resulting neighborhood outrage has been a special bond and it is fun to meet then now they are grown up.

When I got home I had a pretty good sized belt.

 One of them drove by the house the following morning looking like hell as I was in the driveway drinking my morning coffee. He slowed down and waved and truth is he looked like he had to puke again. I, of course, looked no worse for the wear. 

The passengers side of the door looked had somewhat of a smeary stain on it. I figured he was going to stop at the car wash on the way to work.

I wonder what's going to happen when they start talking and he reports he saw me the following morning looking as fresh as a daisy.

There are a couple of them I am going to chase down and chew out for not appointing a designated driver early on in the game. Not doing so was a crock.

Still, I guess they got a charge out of an old man that hadn't forgotten how to raise hell in a low-rent dive strip club.

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