After a day of writing the usual fun stuff: body found under
a bush, car accident, old people burying a time capsule, I made my usual post-work
trip to the bar.
For whatever reason, I felt compelled to try something other
than my usual spots. So I visited the Blue Leprechaun (located here). The walk was a little long, but the weather
was nice (until it started to rain. I report the news, not the weather).
I’ve been told that most the time the Blue Leprechaun sports
a pretty decent crowd with a good mix. Turns out that 6:30 on a Tuesday is not
one of those times, because the place was as bare as the stands at a JV soccer
game.
A decent crowd gathered at the circular bar, so I made my
way up and ordered a Bell’s Oberon—that’s where the journey begins.
About eight to nine dudes are at the bar—and not a woman in
sight, except our unfortunate bartender Lyndsey. Who spells Lyndsey with a ‘Y’?
Future post right there, but I digress.
Lyndsey did her best with nine “charming” bros who shared
everything from how much they liked her top to why their latest girlfriend
broke up with them. (I got off of work and was in no mood to talk, but I did
add 3 more dollars to my usual tip, call it “I’m sorry you deal with this”
compensation)
But back to my new friends for the night, the bro sitting
two seats down from me was Eduardo from Brazil, (I’m giving Eduardo 6 out of 10
confidence points that he really is Eduardo and 3 out of 10 that he is really
Brazilian). Anyhow, 20-something-year-old Eduardo was having a conversation with
a 40-something-year-old plumber Jim on what was better, Call of Duty or
Battlefield.
Eduardo was downing a Pepsi while using dramatic arm motions
to explain why Battlefield is better because Call of Duty is infested with
potty-mouth 10-year-olds who all know about anatomy of our mothers, while Jim
was asking about how to use the grenade launcher while sipping on his Bud
Light. (I know I shouldn’t judge people by what they drink, but they do,
because I’m judgmental like that).
Jim seemed to be digging Eduardo’s rant, only encouraging to
Eduardo to speak more on the fan boy manifestation of Call of Duty, meanwhile I
ordered the Chicken Parmesan (it said on the menu it’s the crowd favorite).
Jim was sitting next to his work buddy Bob, or was it Mike,
oh hell, I was too enthralled with the Chicken Parmesan and fan boy
conversation to pay that much attention. Bob/Mike was speaking with a recent
U-M engineering graduate on his astonishment of two teenagers that he
discovered smoking marijuana in a parking garage.
The graduate informed Bob/Mike that Ann Arbor has pretty lax
rules when it comes to weed, a $50 fine from the police if you get caught,
which apparently is a miracle in and of itself since AAPD have next to a 100
better things to do than catch you with pot.
The graduate explained the decimalization of marijuana is a
result of a ballot initiative the residents past. Bob/Mike scoffed at the idea
of a voting, claiming he hasn’t voted since 1992 since the candidates are
either “Liar A” or “Liar B”. (Come’on Bob/Mike, Ross Perot was on the ballot
that year, that’s at least worthy of a “Liar C” mention.)
While that conversation was developing, my new Brazilian
friend Eduardo blurted out ‘You know when the only time it’s OK for someone to
have sex with my mother?’ At that point I asked Lyndsey for another Oberon,
some things you just need to hear out.
Eduardo and Jim’s conversation evolved/devolved from fan
boys in online game to having relations with another dude’s mother—any online
gamer can see the natural progression.
After a short heart-to-heart, Eduardo and Jim gave each
other an awkward bro hug and told him it would be alright if Jim slept with
Eduardo’s mother, his rational was that he had access to his mom’s boobs as an
infant, so why shouldn’t Jim have access now. Eduardo was rolling four Pepsi refills
deep at the moment, so I’m not putting it past him that the caffeine is getting
the best of him.
Bob/Mike was done with his political discourse with the
graduate, who was having a loud conversation about bringing his
lady friend to the bar, and now turned his attention to Jim. This is when I finally
noticed they are working the same shirt and work at the same plumbing firm.
The conversation turned to the film The Purge, and what
would they do during a night of anarchy. Eduardo would use the law-free night
go speeding down I-94 in his Dodge Intrepid, while Jim and Bob/Mike would like
to relive the 1980s with some LSD and prostitutes.
This is when Jim turned to me and asked why I was so quiet,
pulling me into the conversation and away from my Chicken Parmesan. He asked me
who I was and what I would do. I explained I was a reporter, and outside of
breaking into a car dealership and pulling a Tyler Durden on the business that
owns my student loans, I’d have a quiet purge night---I like rules, rules keep
me safe.
I figured it was time to call for my tab. I left a 23
percent tip for Lyndsey, who did not notice/return my head nod as I walked
away.
The rain stopped for my journey back to the car, and as I
was walking through the UM campus back to my car I kept thinking, "damn, that
was a pretty good Chicken Parmesan."
