"Hang me up to dry, You've wrung me out too, too, too many times."Cold War Kids, Hang Me Up to Dry
It was an unspectacular Tuesday. Tony and I had just finished watching Easy Rider for the first time and we were both picking it from our teeth; digesting it slowly. I'm not really sure what I expected but it was not what I had just experienced. For a 'classic' I didn't think it was all that great but as time has passed it's grown on me.
Earlier in the day I had bumped into Janis and Georgina on High Street. They were grabbing a bite to eat before Janis had to head into work, tending bar at one of my former haunts Butter's in my home suburb Gahanna. Saying I was a frequent customer when I first moved back to Ohio and lived in my parents house (less than a mile away) would be the understatement of a lifetime. I was on a first name basis with the owner. I knew all the regulars and got love on my tabs but still managed to spend half my pay checks. It was where all my coworkers congregated. I met a women I ended up dating there as well as a fling or two. Classy, I know.
Since moving downtown, I hadn't returned and part of me was very curious to see how the place was holding up without me. Surely it had gone under. How could it possibly go on? In my mind I single-handily kept them afloat. With the way I tossed my Visa around people thought I was working on my Disc Golf game.
With the movie finished, I felt a strong itch for booze. I said bye to Tony and took off. The Cold War Kids had been getting heavy play in my car stereo of late and as I blasted down the freeway at 95 MPH their off-beat riffs and poetic lyrics coursed through my speakers. My high powered machine cut through the night air like a white shark through water. I made it to the burbs in 11 minutes flat.
Apparently business was fine. The only thing unable to stay afloat in my absence was the deflated ego owned by yours truly. They obviously didn't need me around to keep asses in the seats. Everything was just how I left it. There was a large, rectangular bar in the middle, a pool table to your right, two more to the rear and a modest dance floor. Dirty Dave was up to his old tricks in the DJ booth, enthralling the surprisingly large crowd with Def Leppard or something equally shitty from the 80s that most of us are happy to forget. He followed it up with (insert new auto-tune rap song from the radio) before sneaking in Cotton Eye Joe just as people seemed ready to dance. The crazy bastard was all over the place ... as usual.
Gahanna, New Albany, and Westerville high school alum of varying ages littered the room: hometown heroes, lifers, townies ... fiends and degenerates mostly. People who still live in the same zip code they grew up in. Sometimes in the same house even. Not that I can say much, I was one of them six months ago and some still call me a degenerate lowlife. The rest were residents of the neighboring apartment complex or randoms stopping in to find Mr./Mrs. right-now. The place can feel a little sleazy at times but I wouldn't have it any other way. To truly appreciate clean you must first get dirty. I was glad I'd moved downtown just the same.
Sitting at the bar, I caught up with Georgina who had just gotten back from a trip to Oregon to see her mom. She had been gone four months so there was a lot to talk about. First thing I noticed was her hair, which was now blond as apposed to the auburn I remembered. She showed me her camera full of photos and told me how things had been on the West Coast. Having never seen the Pacific I was captivated.
Janis kept the draft PBR's flowing, which are $1 all-day everyday at Butter's. I even saw some of my old high school crew who stumbled in. Shots were poured and laughs were had. Everything was copasetic until it was time to close out.
Some jerk on the other side of the bar had been giving Janis grief all night and it was escalating. He was a young fucker. Maybe 21 or 22 at the oldest and lousy at holding his liquor. After talking to her, I found out he was a regular and usually a problem. His ride had left him and someone was going to have to take him home because he'd bailed on so many cab rides without paying they refused to pick him up. After studying the guy, I couldn't blame anyone for hanging him out to dry.
"Well depending on where he lives, I may be able to take him home," I said to Janis and Butter, the owner.
My buzz was healthy but not unmanageable and I felt I owed him a solid for the many nights he had hooked me up in the past. He thought a second and then walked to his register. He returned with some green backs and slapped them down on the counter in front of me.
"That's $30 cash," he said. "Your tab is taken care of. I'm not dicking around. Please get that kid out of my fucking sight."
After little thought, I realized for better or worse I had just signed up for a possible suicide mission. I didn't know this guy from Adam. He might be a psychotic killer, or worse, a Jesus Freak ... but probably not the latter considering how smashed he was. Either way I was going to find out. I waited until he went to the bathroom to break the ice.
Once I was standing next to him at the urinals I made some small talk. Asked him where he went to high school, where he worked, where the after party was. He was an unemployed, high school drop-out but he had beer at his place. He just had no way to get there. Perfect segue.
"Well I can give you a ride," I said with a forced but convincing smile. "Long as I can snag some of those beers."
"Thanks man," he said. "That's no problem. Let me close my tab. You're such a kind soul."
Well who's soul wouldn't get kinder when cash money is involved? Of course I didn't tell him about the bribe. We hopped in my six-cylinder chariot and started to leave, Cold War Kids blaring. Apparently he was also a fan and he couldn't stop telling me about it. He was one of those drunks who keep repeating themselves, over, and over, and over until you just tune them out completely. Nodding as your mind drifts in any direction opposite the blather spewing out of their mouth.
Half way to his parents house (where he was living ever since he'd dropped out of high school) he decided he was hungry. God bless the McDonald's all-night breakfast menu, especially since it was on his dime. After stuffing our faces I dropped him off and told him I was going to have to pass on the beers. Busy day of sleeping in ahead of me but I made up some believable excuse about having to work early.
Pulling away I watched him lumber up the massive driveway to his parents palace. Part of me felt sorry for him. Based on his sob stories, people had been hanging him out to dry for as long as he could remember. A perfect but tired example of someone who's been 'screwed over' their whole life. This coming from a kid who lived in a million dollar mansion in New Albany, with his parents. Rent free. The irony was killing me.
As a result the other part of me wanted to slap him around out of disgust. Another spoiled rich kid who was pissing away his life. Wearing out his welcome at local watering holes ... but am I really any better? True, I have a job. I graduated from college but I've been run out of a bar or two in my day. I've felt sorry for myself and hoped to find the answers to my sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Maybe he just needed some time to be a fuck up. He might grow out of it. Start taking responsibility for his life. I did but somehow I doubted he would.
Heading back downtown a richer man than I'd been when I left, I reflected on my night. It'd been fun but I was more relived then anything that it was over. I could go back to my new home in the Short North, away from the self-perpetuating hometown cliche. It felt strange being back and it's not everyday you get paid to Chauffeur a drunk stranger around after drinking on the houses' tab. Throw in a free breakfast and you got yourself one eventful evening indeed. It'd be awhile before I returned but I hoped my next visit to Butter's would be as lucrative.
-J.R.
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