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Random Bar Encoutners in Traverse City [misspelling intentional]

June 15, 2009
By
By Nat

photo cowboyoutfitters.com

photo cowboyoutfitters.com

Mulleted Brad: Excushhhe me – I don’t me to be a, but where did shou get that coat?
Mad Natter: Coat? I got this in, uh, London.
MB: That looksh like—what do you call the old—what the cowboyshh wore?
MN: Uh…
MB: Your coat looks like one of those – that long coat. This one lookshh more shhivilized.
MN: Well, thank you.
MB: What brand is that?
MN [taking off coat]: This is…um…Aquaschrutum…scrotum…scrutum. Aquascrutum.
MB: Ohhh Yeahhhh. I was reading ’bout them guyshh. But it’s like a cowboy.
MN: Yeah—like all the dudes in Tombstone wore.
MB: YEAHH!! [High-fives] Dushhter! That’sss what they called it—but yours is…like…more shivvilized.
MN: Well, thanks, man. Civilized Duster. You know what this is? CiviDuster.
MB: SHIVVIDUSHTER! Yeah. Ha ha [Stumbles and falls back with each “ha” like they’re right hooks]. My name’shh Brad.
MN: Nat.
MB: Mned. Matt—you got that fine coat…ShivviDushter. [Looks around] Who wants to play POOL?!
[Heading back to table] MN: Nice guy – I learned something: The cowboys wore a coat like this, like in Tombstone, and it’s called a “Duster.”
Stanks: You keep a shotgun under there?
MN: I wish.
S: Hrrn, hrrn. That guy is Creepy, what did he say to you? Did he call you “Matt”?
[OS: MB attempts convershation at table of similarly forty-somethings: Stout Man w/ Glasses; Indistinguishable Guy; Overly Bleached Pallid Woman] MB: Let’s rack ’em! Hey! Hey! What’shh your names? Who wants to play some POOL?
Stout Man w/ Glasses: You got a ride home?
MB: Naw. There’s gotta be a Taxi phone somewhere here.
SMwG: Well, let’s play…
MB: I beat you—you gotta give me a ride home. I beat you, I give you a ride home.
SMwG: Rack ’em.
[Pan back to Stanka and I watching this nonsense]
S: Ohhh. Did you hear that? HA HA! [Nasaly Sardonic Stanka Laugh, Followed By Snort; she puffs from her cigarette, expelling the smoke from each nostril]
Waitress: Kim?: Everyone okay here?
MN: Can I get something to go?
WK? [Stone-faced]: Absolutely Not.
MN: Oh. Okay then.
S: Noooo, you can get it to go.
MN: What?
WK?: No, you can…I was jes’ joking.
S: HA HA! She was joking, dude.
MN: Oh.
WK?: Want me to bring the menus?
MN: So I can get it to go?
WK?: I’ll bring the menus. [Struts away.]
MN: Was she joking?
S: Of course. Why would they not?
MN: Well, um some bars do crazy shit.
S: No they Donnn’t.
MN [Pointing]: Three dollars cover charge for a bar that has nothing going on.
S: Ohh. Last weekend?
[WK? Brings menus]
MN: So I can get this to go?
WK?: Of course. I was just joking.
MN: Ah! Umm, Crispy Chicken Sandwich.
S: Mmm, crispi-lish.
[Offstage splashes of conversation are heard as MB works his magic on Overly Bleached pallid Woman, referring to her as “Marilyn.” His advances spurned, he stumbles back to the pool table to take a shot, leaning into the table and singing]
MB: Leeeeaning, leeeeaning, safe and secure…
MN: Leaning in the everlasting…that’s from Night of the Hunter!
S: Shh! Don’t say anything! He’s gonna come over here and be creepy.
[MB comes over and bes creepy. Specifically, he moves in to take the seat nearest Stanka and starts kicking the stool.]
S: Brad? What are you doing?
MB: I’m kicking the shtool.
S: Oh, okay…You know, Brad’s my bunny’s name.
MB: [Leaning in closer, scooping up the beer left by Stanka’s friend Michelle] Oh, you got a bunny? What do you feed it? Carrots and lettuce?
S: No, no lettuce. Lettuce doesn’t have any nutrients. I feed him hay.
MB: Hay? Yeah, I was reading about that—they got that indushtrial hay now, don’t they?
S: It’s very good for them…
MB:…
MN: So Brad, I heard you singing Leaning. From Night of the Hunter.
MB: Yeah. [He says this as though he’s just been shown a sneak preview of the Second Coming]
MN: Robert Mitchum, that’s where they got the whole “Love/Hate” tattooed on the knuckles.
MB: Thish guys knows his thingsh.
S: He’s an editor.
MB: Ahh, I read about that.
S: I bet you do.
MB: [Turning toward Stanka, holding out his hands] Yeahhh. Here give me your hand.
S: Ohhh, no. I’m not going to do that.
MB: I bet you like to play pool, don’t you?
S: No. Not really. You go ahead though, we’ll watch you.
[MB mumbles some mutterance and stumbles away as our food arrives.]
S: If you want to take off, go ahead.
MN: Uh, I don’t really want to leave you with this guy.
S: Oh, it’s okay – I have my pepper spray.
MN: You want to borrow my shotgun? And ’scuse me, but what the fuck? For all he knows we could be a couple, what’s this hand shit?
S: Oh, does that make you mad?
MN: No, that makes him a prick.
[MB stumbles back once more] MB: You know, I buried my wife on Christmas.
[S and I look at each other, stone-faced]
MB: Then my mother died a week after that. That was seven year ’go. Seven yearsshh ’goo. You…you…ever walked pass yourmother?
S: What’s that, Brad?
MB: Ever walk pass mhr’hr?
[WK? Sees this nonsense and heroically steps up]
MB: There’s my girl! I…I…where or you?
WK?: How you doin’?
MB: Gotta get that. Wanted to come here to play pool. But I came here to dance...with...you…uh…
WK?: You don’t remember my name?
MB: Kim?
WK?: Nooo…
MB: Ahhhhh. Maybe if I had a dance…
[WK? Takes the lead and Brad off our hands. I pay my tab, collect my food and head for home. Stanka stayed on for a bit longer. Apparently Brad got a little more belligerent and was eventually escorted away. Good times in Traverse City.]

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