Modern Chemistry and the Bar Scene
My Friday afternoons have been appropriated to alcohol and coworkers at various local drinking establishments. In that respect, it was a Friday like any other. Hiram, Jennifer, Rico, Anton, and a handful of others made a brief jaunt up the hill, to Black Bottle. Where the drinks are strong, and the service is good. If you can hold your breath long enough to avoid the smell of pretentious assholes in cardigans and argyle it’s a pretty decent place to get a drink. As the sun sank our usual conversations ensued. Talk of work woes and frustrations. Tidbits of our personal lives slip out, and for a moment you know work fellows a bit better. I glanced down at the digital readout of my phone that reported the time back to me. I was trying to leave by a certain time, in order to attend a martial arts class.
For this segment of todays episode, I will inform you of my three vices. Beautiful women, alcohol, and fighting. I’ve been a martial artist since I was very young. I like to think it is for this reason that I’ve always had a tendency to enjoy the violent side of life. Be it football, boxing, or just your average street fight. My current fixation in this realm is a Brazilian style of martial arts called Capoeira. It is a hybrid of break dancing, martial arts and music. I had been attending classes fairly regularly for the last two months. I continued to watch the time as the evening dragged on, until it was 630PM. I stood to excuse myself – if I caught the Metro now I would just be able to make it on time. Amid my coworkers came heckles of, “Leaving already?”, and “C’mon, you should stay.” I spent a fair portion of time convincing them I had to go, so much time in fact that I missed my bus.
I was up and packed and couldn’t really stomach the uppity clientele that had infested the bar. So I convinced Hiram to walk with me from the bar to Capitol Hill. The problem was that The Whiskey Bar is on the way to Capitol Hill from where we were. The Whiskey Bar is one of my favorite bars in Seattle. For several reasons. A spectacular selection of bourbons, competent bartenders, and a nice atmosphere. We stop in front of the bar and linger for a minute. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?! So we duck in and poke around for any points of interest. My attention is drawn at once to the table containing an assorted collective of girls dressed as animals (Not like furries, that’s just creepy). Hiram has excused himself to the rest room at this point, so I take it upon myself to find out the story behind the groups attire.
A whiskey and coke in hand I approached the table, questioning about the costumes. In the center a small dark-haired girl proclaimed it was her birthday. My eyes drifted around the table, a pirate, a cat, a bunny, a t-rex (the only boy at the table), a warthog and a bear. Interestingly enough they were all very receptive to me, and by the time Hiram returned from the bathroom I was already entangled in conversation with both Bunny and Cat. My Texan friend (Hiram) sat at one of the tables occupied by my new friends and began a conversation with a few of them himself. Soon after our arrival, another member of the party showed dressed as a pirate. Anyone willing to dress as a pirate automatically has my attention. Can you blame me? Pirates are bitchin’! Sitting in my spot of choice between Cat and Pirate, a conversation about masochism springs to life (I would tell you how it got to this point but I honestly have no idea). A bit of common knowledge about me is that I am a bit of a masochist, and that I have a bit of a biting fetish. With the revelation of this truth my two companions asked if they could bite me. Beautiful women being one of my vices I couldn’t exactly say no. They both took an arm each into their mouths and clamped down impressions that could be used as dental records in the event of their untimely demise. These bite marks would become the object of my ridicule for the next week. I wasn’t really thinking about that at the time.
Wanting to leave a lasting impression on them (as they had left their own impressions upon me) I opted to buy a drink for the girl of my choice, Cat. I purchase a rum and coke for each of us and drifted back over to the table. Forsaking the conversation I had been having with Cat I began talking randomness with Bunny and T-Rex. Pictures were taken, Fake noses were worn, it was a good time. When I returned to my seat aside Cat she was grinning happily and asked me if I wanted to kiss her. I did. So I did. Texan had also been hitting on Cat for the duration of the evening, but by this time he was not in any way to be hitting on anyone. The whiskey had gone to his brain, and he was a giggling mess for the rest of the evening. Amidst kisses from the Cat my phone rattled in my pocket. I received a text from Ms. X asking for my latitude and longitude. We were supposed to go back to my house for the evening. I responded that I was at the whiskey bar and FYI’ed her on the fact that there was a girl there kissing me.
After answering my phone, I never got around to informing Cat that my date was coming to pick me up and whisk me away to my apartment to do deviant things. So when Ms. X showed up and started kissing me Cat was less than thrilled and brushed past to kiss me good night, and left the bar in a huff. I had gotten her phone number earlier on in the evening but I never called her. It’s probably for the better.
-Cole
