CHAPTER 4 – THE SHOWDOWN
A few weeks had passed since I had witnessed one of the
girls across the hall pass out into my front door, and though my roommate Sara
and I had never actually met either one of them – we knew all that we needed to
know. They had only lived in our
building for a few months, but in that time had already packed our foyer to the
brim with garbage, had gentleman callers wake us in the early morning hours,
and had a theatrical display of drunkenness at 7AM on a Tuesday. That being said – it was odd that we
had never met face to face, given the amount of time we had lived directly
across from one another. In fact,
the closest thing to any sort of interaction between us was a note I left in
the foyer gently reminding “all tenants” to be responsible for their own refuse
– which they promptly ripped down and tore up. I knew that it was only a matter of time before we had a
showdown. Luckily
for me however, it was Sara who had the pleasure of meeting them first.
It was around 10:30PM on a Sunday evening, and I was reading
in bed. Sara had a friend visiting
from out of town, and I heard the two of them slam the front door and walk
straight to my room. “You will never believe what just happened!” Sara said as
she threw open my door. Startled,
I informed them both that I was naked under my sheets – but they cared not. In a mad rush, they proceeded to tell me
the following story.
As I mentioned, Sara’s friend Maggie was visiting from out
of town. The two had met while
volunteering at an orphanage in Africa, and Maggie decided to visit New York
for a few days on her way home to Canada.
They had spent the afternoon sightseeing and had returned home after a
late dinner, only to find a shadowy figure huddled on our stoop. As they approached, Sara could make out
that it was a woman, her forehead planted against the front door, blindly
stabbing her keys into the air.
Having heard the story of my last encounter many times, she realized
that this must be Short Ponytail from across the hall. Instantly, two things became clear. One – this woman was extremely
intoxicated, and two – there was absolutely no way they could get around
her. Interaction was unavoidable.
“Excuse me,” Sara said as she approached, “Do you need
help?” Short Ponytail turned around and
pursed her thin, leathery lips.
She was much older than Sara had expected. When we had called our landlord’s office to discuss the man
breaking into our foyer, the receptionist had tried to quash our fears by
saying “it was probably just a boy trying to get the attention of one of the
young ladies that moved in across the hall from you. You know what it’s like to be young.” However, this woman was not young – nor
was she a lady. She stared at both
Sara and her friend for an awkward amount of time, and then turned back towards
the door without saying a thing.
“Okay, well, I’m going to scooch on by if you don’t mind,”
Sara said as she reached around to unlock the door. The woman just stood there as the two entered the
foyer. Sara held the door open and
asked if she was going to come in.
The woman remained silent. “Okay, well, I’m going to shut the door now…”
Sara said, as she slowly closed the door on the woman’s face. As they headed up the stairs, Maggie
turned around and made a facial expression to express her shock. That’s when they heard the shouting.
The sound was muffled by the front door, so they paused and
listened more closely. “I
believe…” Maggie whispered, “I believe she’s calling us…cunts.”
Now, you should understand that my roommate is easily the
least confrontational person I have ever met. I once saw her eat something she is allergic to rather than tell
the waiter he had brought her the wrong order. “I don’t know what came over me,” Sara said as she retold
the story to me, “It was like some one else took over my body.” Without
thinking, she marched back to the door and yanked it open. The woman tried to enter, but Sara put
her hand up to block her. “You
know what, I don’t know who you are but I really don’t appreciate you calling me a cunt.”
“Well I really don’t appreciate all the damn signs you leave
all over the place!” The woman shouted.
In one swift motion, she kicked the door wide open and push passed Sara
and her companion. “Get out of my
way, cunts!” Though her speech was slurred, she made a point to enunciate the
hideous word as clearly as possible.
The two just stood there watching as the intoxicated woman
climbed the stairs – repeatedly shouting the c-word as she went. Every movement and every action was a
complete struggle for her, and yet that word flowed from her Marlboro Red
smoking lips with such ease. Maggie
simply stood their shell-shocked.
As a young Canadian girl who had spent the last six months volunteering
with African orphans diagnosed with AIDS, I can only imagine this was one of the
first times anyone had used this word to describe her sweet soul. Halfway up the stairs, the woman’s
skirt slipped down to her ankles, and she barely caught herself as she tumbled
over onto her side. Undeterred and
still saying the c-word, she jumped to her feet, pulled her clothes halfway
back on, and made her way to her door.
“Oh, and one more thing,” she turned around and said – her
eyes ablaze, her makeup smeared, her underwear exposed, her denim skirt
clutched in her hand. “Nice to
fucking meet you!” She then
quickly unlocked her door and disappeared into the darkness, letting the door
slam behind her.
“Dammit!” Sara said to her friend, “What a great exit
line.” She kicked herself for not
thinking of it first.
 |
| Actual Photo from the incident. |
Yes, I am giving the Patriot Saloon 1 star. Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you why - without editorializing or exaggeration either. Here is a play by play of the evening:
5:00PM Wednesday Afternoon: Not very crowded. I'm waiting for a beer at the bar downstairs. There are two bartenders - one working up a furry at the opposite end of the bar, and one staring into a mirror, watching herself repeatedly put on and take off a pair of aviator sunglasses. There's a crowd forming around the busy bartender, so I figure I'll have a better chance waiting in one of the many empty stools at the other end. I mean, Sunglasses has got to notice me at some point, right?
5:10PM: Sunglasses has not noticed me.
5:15PM: My friends are texting me from the upstairs bar wondering where I am. I tell them that I'm still working on getting a beer. My first beer. Finally Sunglasses notices me. She walks over, and mutters something. I say "I'm sorry?" She mutters it again and smiles, and then kind of falls over a little bit. I assume she asked me what I was drinking, so I tell her a Bud Light. She frowns. She gets really quiet. And then she lifts her hand above her head and SLAMS it into the bar, screaming in gibberish. She then turns around, and crumples up into a ball. She does not get me a beer.
5:20PM: Sunglasses is still standing motionless in a ball like formation - so I give up and decide to try the upstairs bar. My friends had warned me it was a shit show - but I can't imagine it's worse than what I just witnessed.
5:21PM: It is worse. Much worse. The bar is more crowded upstairs - all older skeez balls watching the scantily clad bartender bounce up and down around the bar. She is most likely old enough to be my mother, assuming she had her first child when she was 13 - which is when I'm assuming she had her first of many children. She is clearly high, and for all of the bouncing she's doing, she's not pouring very many drinks. In fact, I watch her for 10 minutes and she opens not one bottle. Instead, she is draped over the bar, licking her lips at an older gentleman. Everyone seems happy but me. No one is drinking.