We departed at 8pm for the night’s location: Max Fish. Would we return? Not sure, didn’t care. All we knew was that there was no turning back now. With the first bite of some specially prepared cookies, we stepped through the doors. Nothing hit yet so we approached the bar to wet the ol’ whistle.
Something was different. It was immediately apparent that this wasn’t a usual skate night. Upon closer inspection we discovered what it was. There were women! Usually there are a few ladies who show up every week but this was a takeover. Kristen from Old Blue Last had organized a special night where the ladies took control of the show. Kristen was enjoying herself among her cohorts and in her element. We were two cookies and two drinks in at this point, and things were beginning to get hazy.
In the distance, the familiar sound of men yelling at each other caught my ear. My eyes confirmed what I already knew to be true. Big Jim was letting people know it was time to “SHUT UP!” and then seemed to be confused about where he was. He threatened one of the guys who refused to stop talking that he would drop out of 7th period French class or something like that. Once he regained his bearings he let his battle cry like only he can: “WEEEEELLLLLCOOOMMMMEEEE TO SKATE NIIIIIIIIGGHHHHHHTTTTT!”
Three cookies in a piece and by now several libations deep, conversation was becoming fragmented. Small talk and high fives kept it going. Faces wandered by us as we held onto the bar like a boat uses an anchor to keep from floating off with the current. Basketballs, dice, and drinks all swirled around us. We heard there was to be some witch slapping later in the night, but first: the eating contest must take place. This time it was an all-woman, all-hands on deck for a pasta free for all.
By this point, everything was blurry. The people were fed, and they demanded dance. Thanos himself was ready to throw down the infinity gauntlet until Witch Slap was able to cast a spell that brought everyone near to listen.
Witch Slap went on to unleash power chords of doom and the energy was palpable. So much so that one needed to protect their eyesight.
By the end of the night, I couldn’t make out much. Every image I tried to capture was fractured. DJ Chappy was one with the lights. The lights were moving and fading in and out. It was time to leave and find a bed. I rendezvoused with my associate, Dr. Gonzo and make our way back into the night. Until next time, we will probably stick with beer.