Post Script
Colorado Springs Is a mid size city that has the personality of a dry pancake. The seminars are good and the people we meet at the seminar are nice and interesting people, but once we leave the hotel and go downtwon, we realize what a backwater Colorado Springs actually is. As most of you know, I do not like Salt Lake City, yet as I travel, I have a greater respect for it, especially when it comes to drinking. The past three states we have been in, the bars all close down before 10PM or are not even open until Thursday. At least in SLC you can find somewhere to hang your cane and have a drink or two and have an OK conversation or at least meet some crazy who can entertain you for awhile.
We take the hotel shuttle to the other side of I 25 where downtown is located, our shuttle driver is a vietnam vet named Charlie. Charlie is in his early 60's still working even after retiring from 23 years in the Air Force. A thin man with graying hair and a thin mustache, he reminds me of my grandfather.
My grandfather would drive the 70+ miles to Colorado Springs from Denver, in his black 42' Buick to sell Electrolux vacuum cleaners. There are some old houses next to the hotel and I can imagine my grandfather knock on the doors showing the women of the house the benefits of the Electrolux's powerful sucking.
We want to go to the "smallest bar in the world," as the brochure calls it, but it is closed at 9PM so is Club Blue right next door. I ask a few people walking down the street, " Where can a I get a drink?" they say they don't know, they are Christians. Finally we find an Irish Pub and walk in. By now Matt and Mykul are a two sheets to the wind coming up to three and four. We sit at the bar and the bartender asks what we want. The bartender is a very skinny tattooed kid with one fucked up eye, its more than a lazy eye, kind of like an eye afraid of seeing the things it has seen and is trying to crawl back inside the kids head.
The bar is having some kind of quiz night, which is appropriate for an Irish pub, but the questions?
" Who was the Principal in Saved by the Bell?"
" Who was the last runner up in "American Idol?"
Matt protests telling the bartender that this is a bunch of shit. The bartender's eye crawls further back in the kid's head. "You can be kicked out" "No bother, no respectful Irish man would put up with this drivel!" Matt is swedish, but never mind.
We leave the bar and walk down a few blocks to a want-to-be dive bar. The bar is mostly empty and I sit at the counter and Matt buys us two rounds. The bartender, a non-descript fat twenty something kid with a tattoo of Alan Alda's face on his neck, tells me that where I am sitting, belongs to someone. I tell him OK I'll move when they get back. He says it again and I say, "When they get back." He thinks I am staring him down, but its the tattoo I am staring at wondering what he was thinking, and it kinda freaks me out because it looks like Hawkeye is being born from his neck like some Greek god. The people in the bar are drinking and talking about nothing....I feel like I am in a Charlie Brown episode and stuck with the adults. Mykul and I are very out going and we try to start up a conversation, but we get nothing out of them,
we can hear the fan of the heater kicking in, our cue to go elsewhere.
We call Charlie and he comes and picks us up, He likes us and says that there is a descent dive bar near the hotel called, Bennies. We walk in and there is an open mic going on. We are all so drunk, because of our disappointment, but I still want to recite some poetry. I put my name down on the list and wait. This bar is a descent bar, with twenty -thirty somethings sitting around listening, these are people literally on the otherside of the railroad tracks and we feel home here. Mykul is sitting on a bench seeing if the can remember one of his poems, he looks at me and says, "its no use, I am too drunk." Finally its my turn to read.
Here is the Hotel Cavalier with its Orange neon sign sending Morse code to the malnurished, those hungering even for the imitation of love.........
The crowd is expecting some kind of hip hop or slam shit....
......she walks past me, caresses my cheek with prosthetic hook. Love is more or less abstract......
I am looking for the words inside my swimming head, picking them out, only missing a few that rush by on too much whiskey. At the same time I look over at Matt and his is crying in his hat. I think to myself, " This is a good poem, but not that good." The crowd is polite and I finish and walk over to Matt. The bartender is concerned, "Are you OK kid?" " My grandma just died." We sat there with our arm around him as he told us of her hard life and how he loved her. We did some shots in her memory even poured some on the ground for her to drink... and then stumbled the few blocks to the hotel.
We stop at the 7-11 to get some Gatoraide. The girl working the late shift is pretty, well she's pretty fat and not very attractive. I think of Valentine's day and wonder if she has a Valentine. I buy some flowers and as we are leaving I give them to her. " Will you be my Valentine." she smiles and tells me that I made her night. Her smile is very warm, I wink at her and leave.
We get back to the room and Matt is a mess, we do what we can to comfort him. Finally he passes out on the floor. I sit in the bed and start remembering the deaths in my family. I think how lucky I have been to be able to know them, that they shared part of their lives with me. Toast them and pour some whiskey on the carpet.
Coming back to SLC, I tell the city that I hate, that I don't hate her so much, that I need to leave, but its me.... not her. She laughs a little laugh from the sewer grate that I am passing. We agree to appreciate eachother more and to stay friends.
mmm good story eh
Posted by: jeff | July 03, 2007 at 06:12 PM