Day 100

As for these stories I'll be sharing, well some will be funny (at least to me) and some may be more serious or tragic. I'm trying to hold my end of the bargain when I said there would be no boundaries to what I say. This one is a bit more embarrassing but I suppose that's some of the fun. I think your twenties should be or have been about having fun, getting in trouble, and making mistakes. How you learn from them dictates how you grow.



This would've been around late summer or early fall of 2000. A long ass time ago at this point. I was working in a small t shirt shop in the U-City Loop on Delmar Blvd in St. Louis, where I'm from. I worked with an older guy and we wound up getting into a lot of shit together. In fact, while remembering this tale I'm reminded of others that will likely work their way into this list. Anyway, my coworker Jason and I went out for a night I barely remembered. Jason used to be in a hardcore band and ran with a pretty tough crew. Most nights I went out with he and his friends we wound up fighting with some other crew. I thought it was fun then but now seems rather juvenile. But that's what growing up is.



So one night we went out and went to the now defunct Creepy Crawl. The Creep was a punk rock dive bar. Jason's friend Larry Fingaz aka Bobby Hands aka Robert Fancher was the bartender and we regularly got hammered there for free or next to free. After several rounds at the Creepy Crawl we headed to some private, barely legal bar above Dapper Dan's, another low rent bar with a questionable clientele. Several rounds later, I was pretty hammered. My memory starts to get a little hazy past this but I remember being in some Japanese restaurant drinking sake and getting into a fight with some guy in the men's room. After that, I remember nothing.



Then I woke up in the backseat of an old Honda Accord. I sat up and my head exploded in pain. I had no wallet or watch. I had somehow lost both the night before. I leaned forward and pressed the CLOCK button on the radio and the time illuminated. 9:30 in the morning. I had to be at work at eleven and I had no idea where my car was nor where I was either. I got out of the Honda and looked around for a landmark. I saw none but knew I was somewhere in South City. I started walking down the street and immediately saw a cop car coming towards me. I flagged him down and he pulled to the side of the road and rolled down his window. Our conversation went something like this:
"Is there a problem, sir?"
"Not really but where am I?"
The cop, a bulky black guy in his mid-thirties laughed at that. "Rough night?"
I figured I'd be honest. As far as I knew, I hadn't done anything wrong. "Yeah something like that. I went out drinking with some friends and woke up in the backseat of a car that I've never been in. I lost my wallet. Where's the nearest gas station? I need a payphone to call a cab so I can get back to U-City."
The cop laughed again but it wasn't malicious. I could sense that he was kind. "Well you're in South City," which I figured. "Hop in and I'll drive you to a gas station."
I hopped and he drove. A couple of minutes later, he dropped me off at a Citgo. I thanked him profusely and told him to be careful, something I say to all police officers. Now I've been pulled over plenty of times and I've had some encounters with some real dick cops. But most of them are good guys/gals and simply want to help. This cop was a good cop who helped me out. I mean, how many cops do you know that would pull over and pick up a booze reeking, bearded, tattooed guy and give him a lift? Pretty cool guy in my book.
Anyway, he dropped me off at a gas station and I asked to use their phone. They looked at me kinda funny put handed me their cordless phone and a phone book. I called a cab and asked him to pick me up at the gas station. The cab dispatcher told me 20 minutes. I knew I didn't have my wallet which had my debit and credit cards. I checked my jeans pocket and found my driver's license, a twenty dollar bill, a lighter, and a crushed empty cigarette pack. I walked up to the counter where the two clerks were looking at me like I was a fucking nut. I'm sure I gave them good reason to be scared. Hair askew, clothes wrinkled, stinking of booze. I bought a pack of cigarettes and headed outside to have one while I waited for my cab. He showed up two smokes later. I hopped in.
"Where to?"
"U-City Loop. Delmar Blvd."
"You stink like booze."
"You stink like complacency."
The last half of that conversation didn't happen aloud but we were both thinking it. Around 10:15 we hit the Loop and I directed him to the parking lot of my bank branch, a block away from my store. With the meter running I hauled ass into the bank, thankful for my driver's license in my pocket. Using it, I withdrew $50 bucks and paid the cabby plus tip and then jogged to Starbucks (which I hate) and got a tall cup of coffee (which I needed) and then headed towards my store. Luckily, I still had my keys clipped to my belt when I woke up so I let myself in, turned on the lights and opened the store.
An hour later Jason walked in for his shift with wild eyes. He saw me and exhaled mightily.
"Man, I'm so glad you're here! I didn't know what happened to you or even if you were alive!"
"I feel like I'm dead but I guess I'm here. What in the holy hell happened last night? I woke up in the backseat of an Accord in South City."
Jason laughed and told me what had happened since my last memory at the Japanese restaurant and fighting with some guy in the bathroom. After that, he and Bob carried me out of the restaurant (where I think I lost my wallet in the alley). After that, we went to the also now-defunct Rocket Bar where we drank more and fought a group of assholes that cut in line at the bar. Allegedly I threw the first punch. Some tattoo artists we knew where also partying at the Rocket Bar and we joined forces in our night of debauchery. From there we went Eastside, which to a St. Louisan means crossing the Mississippi River into Illinois for some strip club action. I was tossed into the backseat of one of the artist's Honda Accord. Upon arriving at the strip club, they asked me if I wanted to see some titties. I said "Sure." They said "Get up" and I said "No" and went back to sleep. They went in and spent about 3 or 4 hours in the titty bar. When they left, everyone was drunk and parted ways. The artist's car I was in, Ed, I think, forgot I was passed out in his car and drove home to his apartment in South City, went inside and went to bed. I woke up in his car 3 hours later.
I worked my whole shift while the whole time being quite certain I would vomit and die at any moment. Didn't happen, though. We closed the store and took another cab downtown where my car was still in the parking lot of the Creepy Crawl and surprisingly unmolested. I went home and slept the sleep of the dead.