The night started off awkwardly with just a few people shuffling around on the grimy floor as the dumpy and apparently Scandinavian guitar player with a balding pony tail appeared. The jams began around the end of my second drink, and that's when the goblins appeared - suddenly and without warning. Goblins, if you don't know, are one part Caucasian, one part Jimmy Buffet, and two parts slightly burnt engine oil. They all knew each other and, like my parents, were all huge fans of the band. I bought two more beers from the bartender who called me honey - in the little kid way (I was at least 20 years younger than most everyone).
The atmosphere really started to pick up when band played what must have been an original number. One couple in particular got really amped about this as they manically screamed all lyrics to each other in a dance inspired by what could only have been their cherished memories of mutual domestic violence charges - assuming they had a "household". Do tents count? Trailers do. After the permed girlfriend and packrat-inhabiting-mullet boyfriend ceased their amorous shoving, I started to feel oddly entranced by the moment. I was mainly weirded out and a little tipsy - but everything did start to resemble some sort of psychedelic farce birthed from Terry Gilliam's mind.
I watched a woman who I'd generously call apple shaped dance her heart out in her cute Shape Ups that were totally helping her lose weight. She threw down some sick moves pumping one hand with the "hang loose" sign and the other one with the "metal" sign - some creative variation for good measure. Soon enough the next exhibit walked in to indulge at this already overcrowded trough. This couple could have been pulled directly out of the American Gothic. They stared coldly around the room and at each other. They never opened their mouths. They would simultaneously get up out of nowhere to begin an overly traditional, callous dance of death. They scared the shit out of me.
The music became louder with each passing odor. At times my ears were ringing louder than the amplifiers. Once the band invited their Kid Rock look-a-like buddy on stage to sing, the matter only worsened. I started losing hope in humanity, and the world seemed strange to me. Amidst my existential chill, however, I pulled myself away from the moment for a bit.
I looked in the back at the only other slightly young people: an out of place nerdy guy who probably didn't realize what kind of bar he'd come to and his natively Asian date. As I watched him struggle to make light of his circumstance, squirming and awkwardly smiling at his inequitably attractive date, I noticed her smile gradually widen through the night. Who was I to judge this mismatch or the rest of these misfits and miscreants? The music had brought everyone out of the woodwork and together as one. Like the gathering of animals at a pool of water in the African Savannah. But these were not animals - no.
My attention turned back to the apple shaped woman as she dramatically threw back the remaining drops of her Bud Light while running towards the Swedish guitar player during his solo. She pressed the bottle against his fretboard, but this didn't faze the Swede as he took the beer bottle and played slide guitar with it for the rest of his solo. I smiled and looked down slightly. I learned something here.
I'm still not sure what it is.
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