Sunday, September 23, 2007

I Left My Liver in Boise

The whirring baggage carousel carried the lone bag round and around the slanted stainless steel oval. It was the last bag. It was my bag.

That was baggage carousel #4. I, unfortunately, was standing at baggage carousel #1.

I was confused why there were no other passengers from my plane standing with me. I was growing impatient. My short visit to Boise had already gone awry.

Eventually, having spied my bag from a great distance, and having sheepishly retrieved it, I schlepped off to stand in another long line to acquire my rental car. The line was quite long and there was only one very hard working, yet very solo, car-boy at the counter. The wait, coming on the heels of my baggage debacle, was torture. I felt myself grow old. I watched precious strands of hair, leaping to their death, fall tragically before my face. I counted dots on the carpet. I fantasized about sitting.

I needed a drink.

Finally, I found my way to the front, and rented my car. Granted, it was cheap. I didn't need much, but holy hell, what a total piece of shit!

It was a Dodge Caliber, and no offense to any Caliber owners out there, but I would have been happier with one of those go-carts at the Bullwinkle's Family Fun Center...

So, anyway, I got the car and asked the car-lot girl how to get to the freeway. The freeway in question was I-84. Really, essentially, the ONLY freeway in town. The airport itself is right next to the freeway, and I could see it from where I sat. In essence, I was asking how to get out of the labyrinth-like parking lot. I assumed this was a question she was equipped to handle.

It was not.

"Um.. uh.. You mean , uh, like I-84?? Um, well, you go, uh right, I think, then a left or something, maybe a right... uh..."

"Never mind," I said, and headed off to blaze my own trail, which worked out just fine.

Then, finally, I arrived at the hotel. Now, the hotel, like the airport, lay right next to a long straight highway, which is called "The Downtown Connector" by the locals. It is the primary artery into the downtown sector of the city. The hotel lay right next to it. Right along side. You could see the hotel from the DOWNTOWN CONNECTOR.

At that point, I had roughly an hour to shower (See "dick head" below) and get downtown. Now, I assumed that the Connector would get me there, but to be on the safe side, I asked the girl at the hotel counter about the best way to get to downtown.

"Um, uh, you mean downtown Boise?" she asked.

I knew I was in trouble.

"Uh, um, you know, I'm not really sure."

I trusted my gut, and in fact, the Connector connected me to downtown in about a minute and a half. Perhaps my problem was that I was asking over-simple questions, which should have been obvious to anyone.

ANYWAY...

I got to the Friday rehearsal dinner, although, apparently, there was no actual rehearsal. Having had another map mishap, and having relied upon the fanciful imagination of Google Maps, I still managed to find the secretly hidden wine shop, and found the dinner party.

I was a half hour late. The wait staff were taking orders. I didn't want to make a scene, so I took the first open chair I could find.

Having finally ordered the first of many Gin & Tonics, I decided to meet the people I'd be dining with.

"Hi," I said, "I'm Brian. I'm a friend of Mary's from law school. I was at the first wedding."

Now, I hadn't planned on saying that. Rather, I was simply feeling cheeky, and had a surprising need to stir the pot a little...

"Hi, Brian," said the woman to my right, "I'm the groom's mother."

Oops.

She continued, "The man with the hat to my right is my husband. The man across the table is the groom's father, my ex-husband."

Lovely.

"Well," said the man with the hat, "this table is just full of irony..."

In the end, this proved to be an excellent table choice. Conversation was lively. Dinner was good. Drinks were plentiful, and the company was quite enjoyable.

Many drinks later, the party broke up, and I hooked up with Mary's oldest and dearest friend and that friend's boyfriend, both also from Portland, and we hit the bars to see what we could see...

[drinking happened]

Now, this is where the real story begins...

After a very fine night of good drunken carousing, I parted ways with my newest pals, and headed back to my lodging. It was midnight, and I discovered as I passed that the hotel bar was still open.

This will come as no surprise, but I am a sucker for hotel bars. I love the sad scene. So, I walked in for one more G&T before bed.

The music was varied, but loud. An old man in white spats disco danced alone in the middle of the dance floor. He shuffled a bit, but the old boy had moves. He was also working a table with a couple of saucy broads. They humored him, but neither one was going home with him.

Various visitors were either drinking, playing, or trying to make time with whoever happened to be sitting nearby. I sat alone at the empty bar and ordered my night cap. A couple played pool behind me.

It was a spacious and comfortable bar. The browns, oranges and smoked glass would have been very popular back in 1979.

I sipped my drink, and watched the hustling octogenarian be-bop to Dr. Dre. I was well-buzzed and near sleep. My thoughts were slowing. The bustle of the day was fading away...

I noticed the man, who had been playing pool behind me, suddenly leave in what looked like a hurried fashion. I didn't pay much attention to it though.

Then SHE sat down. Right beside me. It was a long bar. There were many seats. She could have sat in any one of them, but no, she took the one right next to me.

Admittedly, it was odd. However, it wasn't the first odd thing to happen that night, so I took little notice.

"Hey baby," she said, with a slight Hispanic accent,"I can see you're a good person."

"Uh, Ok." I replied. I didn't feel the need to argue the point.

"So, why are you here?" she asked, in a sharp tone.

"I'm here for a wedding." I explained, although, I wasn't sure why I needed to explain. Perhaps I misunderstood the question."

"Don't lie to me!" She demanded, "Why are you really here??"

"I uh, really, I, there's a wedding..." She was starting to get more of my considerably-cloudy attention. I was having to think, which annoyed me because I didn't want to think. I took a closer look.

She was 40-ish. A hard-40. maybe 50, but not quite. She was short, and weighed probably about 180 to 200 pounds. She was missing the whole or a part of at least one tooth. Maybe two.

I was still confused.

"I can sense there is something very special about you," she said, "you need to branch out and try something different."

"Huh?? Different than what?"

"Oh baby, don't you like to try new things?" When she said, "baby" is sounded similar to a waitress calling you "Hon."

Now, the fact is, I do like to try new things, very generally speaking. But what did this very odd woman know about that? I tried to make sense of what she was saying with my gin-soaked slow-firing synapses. I assumed she was just being friendly, or she just wanted free beer. Either way, I was a bit fascinated with the freak show.

Just then the bartender arrived and gave me an alarmed look. Again, I was slow on the uptake. I ordered a beer, and my new friend asked whether I was going to buy her one too.

Aha!! I was right, she DID just want free beer. Fine, I'll by anyone a beer. So, I bought her a beer, hoping she would now go drink it and leave me alone.

I was wrong.

"So, are you a crazy man?" she asked, "Do you like to do crazy things?"

I found irony in the question. Considering that I looked like a refugee from the Republican clubhouse, I thought the answer was obvious.

She continued. "I think you need to take some chances. I think you need to try something new."

Then, she winked at me.

"Oh good lord," I thought to myself as the hazy alcoholic veil slowly parted, "I think she wants to go back to my room with me..."

I resisted the urge to leap to my feat and run away. Somehow, I thought that would be rude, yet I did begin to consider my escape options...

"You know baby, I'm poor." She announced, looking sad-like...

-Oh shit-
-Oh shit-
-Oh shit-

"This sort of thing only happens to Carl." I thought to myself.

The conversation had taken a turn. The pieces had finally added up. Before she could actually propose the business transaction, I stood up. I patted her on the back, thanking her for the conversation, and risking that rude appearance, I ran out the door.

I slept for 12 hours that night, waking only once to apologize to my angry liver. The wedding the next day was beautiful in its simplicity and elegance. The reception was a hoot as was the second night of bar hopping with a slightly larger gaggle of wedding guests.

Upon returning to the hotel at the end of round two, I passed by the smokey glass doors of the hotel bar. They were closed, and the lights were off. To my further relief, there was nary a Mexican hooker in sight.

I assume Mary will eventually read this. So, congratulation again to you and David. Thanks for inviting me. I had a great time. You really should move to Portland.

12 comments:

  1. When it happens to me it usually involves a 14 year old girl and her 16 year old sister that decide they want to be “blessed” by me for their first time. Then later auntie comes along to show her approval of the whole deal. Apparently with auntie in then room watching it is all OK. For some reason, auntie seemed to make it even less ok. I declined the sisters and aunt.

    I blame my lack of cultural sensitivity and training and latent racism. If I were more culturally aware and less of a racists I will have been duty bound to shag those two girls and their auntie too.

    I’ll sign up for sensitivity classes so next time I can be sure I bone those bitches silly.

    ReplyDelete
  2. mrs. inog7:21 AM

    inog, you will not take sensitivity classes- assuming you like a home in the US of A.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Let this be a lesson to you that one should always do their best to avoid Idaho...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Brian, how you can be so blind? Obviously this woman was offering you an introduction into scientology - which usually starts with an electronic emotions test and a handjob. How do you think they got Forest Whitaker?

    ReplyDelete
  5. Dave...
    If I knew THAT'S how Scientology worked...well.. Let's just say I might be more willing to get in touch with the alien living inside me.
    Usually, when I talk to that alien, I just call him "Bad Mitch" and blame him for all the mischief that I couldn't POSSIBLY be responsible for.

    As for Brian - You're a brave man. I spent a year in Idaho one weekend. Let's just say that Mary could do worse than a little upgrade to the greater Portland Metro area - and this coming from a confirmed Losangeleno...
    Then again, if you're looking for Mexican hookers, why not come back to Southern California? Idaho seems a very round-about way to go...

    ReplyDelete
  6. Mexican Whore2:01 PM

    I hadn't turned a trick for a while, I was desperate. I walked into the hotel bar. There was only one kooky looking nerdy guy there

    oh shit-
    oh shit-
    oh shit-

    but I had hungry babies at home, a meth habit to feed and a pimp to pay

    Damn guy turned out to be a pussy anyway

    ReplyDelete
  7. pool-playing dude2:58 PM

    Hey, I was there too! But, I wasn't letting my wang anywhere near your jaggedy teeth.

    ReplyDelete
  8. Dude, I could have done magic with those incisors. It would be like an episode of extreme makeover.

    Dont worry, I got hit on at the Pomona car show by an actual crack whore. In fact her opening line was
    "hey, you wanna get yo dick sucked?"

    My reply was "no thanks"

    ReplyDelete
  9. Did you see any other law school buddies? Or were you our only representative?

    ReplyDelete
  10. The Bride4:19 PM

    Brian was the lone WUCL representative - as the rest of the bastards are off my list! (kidding Catherine!)... Your appearance at the grand event was a blessing, Brian. Apologies to your liver, but man, you are old enough to know better. It's just too bad you didn't hook up with my mom in the bar that night.

    BTW, the first one was the dress rehearsal. Feel glad knowing I got the caserole dish in the divorce! Thanks for the DustBuster this time around. It really sucks. ;9

    ReplyDelete
  11. I tried to get the dust buster off your list, but they no longer carried it...

    ReplyDelete

Be compelling.

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