Monthly Archives: February 2015

A Band Plays The Green Room

I’m behind the bar, chatting with a friend. We’re talking about something naughty, not going to go into it here. Kid comes up, probably 17-18, he says hi to my friend, then says, I think we’re going to play in the green room tonight. The green room?  I say, incredulously. How the hell is that going to work?  The green room is a small space. Fits a couch, and a little pathway in front of it. He says, we were thinking about playing in the Men’s room, but it smells like piss.

Yeah, sorry about that. Adds to the charm of the place.

See, bands have played all over the place in the bar. On the stage, of course. On the floor, in front of the stage. Upstairs, by the sound booth, the men’s bathroom, yes. ON the bar. (One guy with an acoustic). The front atrium before you come into the bar.

Whatever. Let them play in the green room. Keep things interesting.

Kid leaves, I go back to bartending.

Twenty minutes later, the band starts playing. Hey. They sound pretty good! I see a group of people watching from the doorway. Nobody’s at the bar, what the hellz, I’ll check it out.

I walk to the green room, peak my head in. There’s three people cramped on the couch, two standing beside it. Drummer, guitarist/singer singing through an amp. Garage-y sound, harsh, but alive. I listen a little bit more, then return to my post behind the bar.

They finish the set, I’d say it was a success. Small crowd applauding vigorously.

The second band starts setting up in front of the stage. Sorry guys, you lose out on the battle of who can play in the most original spot.

Now what’s left?  The scary basement. How about the women’s bathroom, the band members each in their own stalls, doors closed?

That wouldn’t be bad.

And then maybe the band could all take a shit while they’re playing, and when the last chords ring out

They all flush.

-Clint Curtis

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Science

I’m behind the bar, chatting with a buddy of mine. It’s around 9pm, pretty dead, so I have time for a convo. We get on the subject of a mutual friend. I say, where’s she at right now? He says, Florida. What’s she doing there? He says, she was getting her doctorate. I think she’s just bartending right now. I say, what was she studying? He says, I think it was science. Then I say, you know, I recently met a girl, she’s studying science. She was extremely knowledgeable about it, telling me all sorts of things. I couldn’t believe the things she was telling me. This girl, I’m not kidding,

Was blinding me with science.

-Clint Curtis

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Psycho

End of night, kid comes into the bar. I’ve seen him before, never actually talked to him. Maybe the perfunctory how you doing, what can I get you. He’s got a pleasant face, brown hair, not short, not long, seems a bit on the shy side. He orders a beer, I get it for him, make the transaction.

I take notice of him. He’s sitting there, spacing out. He’s alone, and surprisingly, not on his phone. I leave him be, start cleaning up behind the bar, beginning my closing duties.

He waves me over after a time. What’s up, my man?  What can I get you?  He mumbles something about the art on the wall, what’s the deal with it. I can barely understand him. I try to listen closely, with my bartender hearing. Has that one sold?  He is pointing to a large painting, on the far wall. It says Psycho on it. It’s a picture of the lead actress in the movie screaming. It’s a classic image.

I say, I have no idea. Wait a second. I think I can figure it out. I go get the books. When a painting sells, we mark it down. Looks like only three paintings sold so far, none of them the Psycho. I take a look at a typed list of the paintings, and the prices of them. Oh. The painting costs $525. That’s a chunk of change. I say, are you interested in buying it?  It’s $525. He says, yes. Ok, I say. I can run your card, sell it to you. He says, ok.

This DOES NOT seem like a good idea for this guy to be doing. At 1:15 in the morning, on a whim. He gives me his credit card, I get out the piece of paper to record the sale. I say, please write down your name and number. He takes his time with it. I look at his handwriting, it looks pretty illegible. Damn it. Is this guy drunk?  I feel like I’m taking advantage of him. He seems like a sweet guy. I take the sheet from him. It’s important that we can read the phone number, so we can call him when he can pick up the painting. I say, just making sure. It’s 515-8…35…7? He mumbles, 337. Huh. I repeat, so it’s 515-8337?  He says, yeah. I look at the number, it is CLEARLY a 5. What the fuck?  Guy can’t even write his own phone number. This is so sketchy.

I’m holding his card, looking at him. I say, you sure you want to do this?  He says a simple, yes. Ok, I say. It’s 525 dollars. He says, yeah. All right, I say. I swipe his card, type in 525, look at him one more time, say, last chance, he nods his head, I push enter, and the guy now owns a $525 Psycho painting.

I hope he doesn’t wake up tomorrow, look at his bank statement, say, $525?!?!?!  What the HELL did I buy for $525?

-Clint Curtis

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We Are The Aliens

I’ve never really been into conspiracy theories. Sure, there’s probably things we don’t know out in the world. Maybe we’re better off not knowing about those things. 9/11 was an inside job. The government was connected to the JFK assassination. I have no problem with someone seeking the truth. I think that’s what I try to do. But you have to keep it in check. You uncover lies, you look for it, you find it, why is that a conspiracy? It’s just people lying to you, not wanting to be caught. I guess that’s what a conspiracy is. At the end of the month, I really don’t care.

I was daydreaming yesterday, my thoughts have a mind of their own. I don’t know where these ideas come from. Do you? I just try to keep an open idea, maybe these ideas are gifts from some higher power.

It’s a conspiracy!

I started thinking about time travel. We’ve seen many movies/TV shows about it. See Dr. Who. That show’s been going on for decades. There’s a shout-out to my friend Steve Martin, who introduced me to the show.

Ok, here goes my “theory.” WHAT IF (they always start with that, don’t they?). What if these UFO sightings aren’t really aliens, but us in the future? Time travelers. Boom. This may be a reason why they wouldn’t want to be seen. They can’t be seen. If we actually knew these “people” were from the future, that would change everything we know about the world. We can’t know that that’s true. How much it would change things. But maybe they do.

Think about, if you will, how far we’ve come with technology in the last 10 years. Isn’t it mind-boggling? Think about 10 years from now. Think about 50 years from now. Think about 100’s and 100’s and 1,000’s of years from now. Can you imagine where we will go, if we’re still around? Maybe the sci-fi movies will come true. Technology will take over things. Robots will rule us, until we are extinct.

So why isn’t it possible for us to achieve time travel, in 1,000 years, or a million years? Therefore, why isn’t it conceivable that these lights in the sky are not some aliens from outer-space,

but who we will become in the future.

-Clint Curtis

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Reply All

I’m behind the bar, setting up, doors in half. I finish, I have a moment, think I’ll check in with one of my friends. Nothing special, just, what’s up, what are you doing tonight?

A couple hours go by, I check my phone. Huh. My friend hasn’t texted back. Usually he gets back to me in a timely manner. I check my phone, go thru my texts, wait a minute. It doesn’t even look like I sent him a message. Ohhhh.

Sent the text to the wrong person. Makes sense my friend wouldn’t have texted back.

A couple years ago, I get a group email from my boss. It’s just him, and some woman I don’t know. I don’t remember exactly what the email was about, but I recall one of her responses being a bit off-putting. I have a pretty good relationship with my boss. Long story short, we talk shit. So this email, I read it, then respond to him,

Sounds like this chick wants to bang you.

I send it, thinking I’m being pretty funny. But on closer inspection, I realize that I had pushed

Reply all.

Why I haven’t been fired a long tine ago, I have no idea.

-Clint Curtis

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I’d Sit On Your Face

It’s a rowdy crowd, people having fun, I’m actually in really good spirits. It feels good sometimes to be a part of a night when people are having a great time. We are the ringleaders, us bartenders.

And you are the animals we must keep in line!

Two chicks at the bar, I’m serving them drinks, one of them says, you’re married, huh? I say, yes, I am.

Her friend turns to me, says, I’d still sit on your face.

Woah, thanks for the compliment. Love getting my face sat upon.

Hour later, my fellow bartender sidles up, says to me, that girl over there told me she’d like to sit on my face.

What a BITCH! I feel good about a compliment, then it gets thrown in the trash.

-Clint Curtis

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On The Bar

I’m behind the bar, serving those dranks, busy night, great music, people having fun. Guy comes up, I know him, he’s a writer for a local rag, he says, slamming his hand down on the bar, what does it take for me to get in your blog? Shit on the bar?

I think for a second, then say, in all seriousness,

Yeah. Actually.

-Clint Curtis

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