A. Mirmir and I have precious few requirements for any given small town. It pretty much has to have two things. 1) a bed we can sleep in 2) a bar. The bar is crucial because it allows us to interact with Interesting Locals. Wisconsin's problem was not that it didn't have a bar; Wisconsin is actually made of bars, and small diners. The problem was that there was only one bar within walking distance (see the previous post about 'Sconsonite's reactions to not drunk driving...)
B. When we walked to this one bar of an evening it was closed. We later found out it was closed because we caved and drove elsewhere where we found the owner of that first bar, drinking in the second bar. He promised it would be open the next night.
C. When I say this bar was within walking distance, that means that it was physically possible to get there on foot. Of course, that actually applies to anywhere in the Americas, assuming that we have enough time and want beer badly enough. I have no idea how far a walk it was, but the important part is that it was through the woods, in the pitch black, with no flashlight, during "spring break" which means "in the middle of winter."
The road looked a lot like this:
Except colder.
Getting there was thankfully not difficult. We were effervescent with the thoughts of spending an evening getting to know our new friends. Sure enough the owner was there, his regulars, and the owner of the bar we had driven to the night before. The regulars were the same as the guys from that other bar, plus one tired-looking woman and two kids who played a round of pool and then got the hell out of there.
What happened next, you must remember, is still not the adventure. We bought drinks, tried to tip and were told that this wasn't the big city. We bought second drinks, were told again not to tip and given free shots.
McGuillicutties tastes like a tictac.
Not only can you not taste or feel the liquor until it's far, FAR too late, but mint is my catnip. I will do things after eating a box of tictacs that even the least sober person in the room wouldn't.
But we were having a great time. We'd got more free shots than was sensible, played some Yahtzee, liar's dice type game, and learned that it's pronounced 'Sconsin, not Wisconsin.
And then the dude next to me opened his mouth. What came out was, to my recollection, "blah blah racist, blah blah homophobic, blah blah blah douchecakes." Everyone fell silent. The juke box screeched to a halt. Again. Obviously 'Sconsin has some wiring problems. Mirmir cringed down in her seat. He said something shitty about women, Jews, and lesbians.
Normally I'm the least confrontational of the Hive mind. But I was full of mint! And shots! And mint!
I told the guy to step off and when he started getting shitty I told him that tattooing the names of his kids on him did not make him a good father, that it was a Thursday night and maybe, instead of sitting in a bar insulting strangers, right after telling them how much he loved his kids he never saw, he might want to sober up, go home and actually be a dad.
One of us was going to have to leave.
It was him.
The owner threw him out and apologized for the guy. He seemed very concerned that we might think 'Sconsin was not an awesome place to be. We drank more shots and forgot all about it. Until it was time to leave the bar.
It was brought to our attention that asshole redneck guy might not have gone home. He might, possibly, maybe, be hanging around outside the bar waiting to kill us. There were not, I remind you, any lights about two feet past the bar. And outside the bar was a field. A dark, frozen, crappy field. Also, by "brought to our attention" I mean that the guys in the bar were like, "So, he might not have left and might, possibly, maybe be hanging around outside waiting. One of us should give you a ride home. Just, you know, to be safe."
Our new friends offered us a ride home. This would have been awesome if they hadn't been drunker than we were. Thus the Choose Your Own Adventure part of the evening began.
We decided not to take a ride from a drunk driver and turned to the appropriate page. And by page I mean staggering along the last stretch of road that had a light, next to that frozen, empty field as a car slowly pulled up behind us. It rattled. It clanked. It rumbled ominously towards us.
We squinted into the headlights, blinded, and made out a car built of rust and duct tape. If an angry racist dickbag was going to drive a car, it would likely be this one. This was a car that could get cast on a procedural drama as "the creepy car."
Mirmir remarked how this was going to be a really pants way to die. I agreed mournfully and prepared to run in a zig zag way in order to better dodge any bullets and or arrows that came out of the car (there's a lot of hunting in 'Sconsin). Of course, considering I was already weaving, in retrospect, that might have made me go in a straight line...
But it wasn't the angry redneck! It was one of our friends asking us if we were sure we didn't want a ride. He was fine to drive! Really! He had, however, been drunk when we'd arrived at the bar, and had downed a twelve pack during our time there.
We hadn't yet peed our pants from fear, or actually been shot, so we declined. Death by crappy car versus a tree/deer/veering off the road seemed more likely. We shuffled back off into the night.
So there we were, MirMir and I, headed home to the cabin. "What if there's a bear?" I asked nervously for approximately the eight zillionth time. "Bears can climb trees." The problem that I could see wasn't that bears could climb trees exactly, but that I sure as hell couldn't.
I'm not sure why I suddenly became so concerned about being attacked by a bear, but the conversation continued a lot like this.
Mir: I don't want to die from a hate crime!
Bess: Bears wake up about this time of year right?
Mir: I mean, a ditch, in 'Sconsin? It's not even an awesome death.
Bess: If I clap my hands and back away will that annoy a local bear or will it run away?
Mir: What?
Bess: BEARS!
Mir: THERE ARE NO BEARS!
Bess: But what if there are bears!
We decided this would make an awesome part to the Choose Your Own Adventure. You're on the road and a racist douche attacks you. Also there's a bear.
Do you
a) run away from the racist douche and get eaten by the bear [turn to page 6]
b) run away from the bear and get shot by the racist douche [turn to page 27]
c) drop flat and let the racist douche shoot the bear, thus enraging the bear which will, hopefully, maul the racist douche. [page 13]
Obviously, if this happened we were going to lie like rugs. Or is that lay? Whatever, flatness would occur.
Would we then
a) call 911 [page 9]
b) call animal control [page 31]
c) wait until the bear mauled the racist douche and then call animal control and tell them that there was an injured bear that needed aid. [page 29]
This, I'll admit, is maybe not as cool as some of the CYOA I read as a kid since there were no aliens, spies and had the potential to end in a mauling or hate crime.
You may have guessed: we made it back to the cabin without any of the above occurring. Just in time to take a turn too fast the next day and wind up on a quest for shitty pie. Huzzah.
Mirmir: You know, I think the Blair Witch might have something to do with why the woods were creepy. Even though neither of us have seen it. Still.
Bess: You don't think it had something to do with the redneck bear killer?
Mirmir: But there was no redneck bear killer.
Bess: BUT WHAT IF THERE ARE BEARS?!
0 comments:
Post a Comment