Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Busting balls at Tipitina's


Dawn's man Sam was all hepped up to see the Mother Truckers at Tip's the night before Mardi Gras (Lundi Gras). The band was good but the music was much too loud and the room entirely too smoky so Dawn and I left Sam inside and tripped outdoors to hang out on the picnic tables to talk and catch up.

An inebriated frat boy type stumbled onto our area and drunkenly slurred a question. I could tell it was a question by the way his voice went up at the end but in no way could I translate his garbled request. Drunk boy repeated himself.

Oooohhh, you want tickets to the show?

Yes.
The show has already begun so you can get in free now. Just go to that door and walk in, I say.
He is so excited. Free?
Yep.
Which door?
That one.
He walks off in that drunk spaghetti leg fashion that we've all done at some point of our drunken careers.
"You know that's the backstage door, right?" Dawn asked.
"Shit yeah, I know. I just wanted to see if he'd do it", I answer.

Dawn smokes her cigarette and I drink my beer as we watch Drunk Boy open the backstage door only to get pushed back and yelled at by the bouncer. The bouncer points toward the ticket window and entry door and shuts the door.

Drunk Boy apparently doesn't have enough energy to walk toward the ticket window and returns to us.

"They wouldn't let me in. I think I had the wrong door," he slurs.
"Hell no, son! They don't know who
you are. Go to that door. Act like you own the joint and walk in. If you act as if you know where you're going, they'll let you through," I instruct him.
"Sssssshure, I can't wait to sssshhhee THE MOTHER TRUCKERS!!! I LOVE THEM, MAN!"
"I don't know . . . ." heard from Dawn.
He's off.

This time, he rips the door open so hard, it bounces off the outside wall, hits him in the back and sends him flying smack dab into the already aggravated bouncer. Dawn and I are laughing so hard we're crying but we feel the need to muffle ourselves so we're not thought to be in cohoots with the rabblerouser.
The bouncer is pissed. The door opens and a blast of sound comes with it. We can't hear the bouncer's words but we see his index finger hitting Drunk Boy's chest many times as instructions are repeated to go to the ticket window.
Drunk Boy actually gets to the ticket window and pulls out his pockets to find not enough funds. He is dejected and of course, comes back to our picnic table.
"I lost some money. I had lots of cash earlier but I don't have it now. Damn! I really want to see the show."

In a moment of tenderness, Dawn asks where he is from.
Ohio/Iowa/Utah.
(I forget, one of those four letter states beginning with a vowel.)
Where are your friends?
I don't know.
Where are you staying?
At some guy's house.
Do you know where?
No.
You don't know the address?
No.
How will you get back there tonight?
I'll find it. I was real messed up last night and found it so tonight's no problem.

He walks off toward the entry door and is gone awhile. They must have let him in, how about that, I think only to see him coming back with a beer in his hand.

Drunk Boy tells us he ordered a beer at the bar but when they noticed his lack of a wristband, he's thrown out.

"I'm gonna go see that band", he avows as he stands up and looks toward the backstage door.
"I wouldn't . . ." Dawn attempts to warn.
He gives her the shut-up-arm wave and ambles toward the door and opens it.
The light and sound streaks out on the sidewalk and the bouncer is on him. The bouncer grips Drunk Boy's shirt but Drunk Boy is headed inside like a cow returning to the barn. With a couple heaves, the bouncer gets Drunk Boy outside and shouts toward the entry door for assistance. No one hears him over the din of the Mother Trucker's 18 minute guitar ride and Drunk Boy detaches himself from the bouncer hug. I'm laughing so hard, beer comes out my nose.

Guess where he heads?
You got it.
Towards us.
The bouncer now has the attention of the uniformed but off-patrol NOPD officer sitting at the front door.
"Get the hell out of here
NOW!" we both tell Drunk Boy, "They're gonna take you in."
"They can't arressss' me. I didn't get to see the Mother Truckerssssss!"
The bouncer sees Drunk Boy and points the cop toward us. Here comes the fuzz.
"Go!" we hiss with clenched teeth.
All the sudden, Drunk Boy catches a snap and bolts down Napoleon Avenue like a sprint runner. A cab passes him, brakes and we hear a car door open and slam. Drunk Boy escaped!
New Orleans Finest approaches and asks, "He's gone?"
We shrug. Seems so.

Drunk Boy, wherever you are, we hope you made it back to whatever vowel letter state you're from. We hope you had a good time in New Orleans and a fun Mardi Gras. We wondered if you were the tourist that woke up in an ice-filled bathtub, without a kidney. We want you to know your antics still make us laugh when Dawn and I get together. That was some Funny Ass Shit.

4 comments:

Lyla Dame said...

Great story. And thank you for contributing to my vocabulary building. I have never heard (or noticed) the word 'rabble rouser' and now I know. Brava!

Kimberly said...

Stupid mutha truckers! But I so dig the banana's Foster at Tips.

Louisiana Belle said...

Haha...you guys are bad. Bet that was fun, though! Probably more entertaining than the band. :)

Kittie Howard said...

Funny, funny! You made my day!

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