Irish Pub; Celebrating the Book

So I get this thumping on my door this morning; rap-rap, rap-rap-rap. I’m thinking to myself: “What the hell happened last night? And… where the hell am I? And…” The whole time, walking towards the door…

I get to the front door and open it quickly, almost as if I was fuming, but for me it was more because I wanted to promptly get this horrible incident over with; rapidly as possible. I didn’t feel that I was ready to have anyone at my door; the entire scenario seemed hideous at best. But I go there anyway, hoping more to make the knocking stop than anything else. And like I say, I furiously open the door…

So there’s this man standing there, and a girl- who has quickly taken a step back at either the door or the reprehensive way in which I’m confident I appear. The guy stutters something unintelligible in my direction and I go: “Hva?” Instinctively. He repeats the same ugly thing at me. And I return by saying the same thing as well, this time adding “gjorne du vant?” Suddenly I realize that we are having an exchange of which I cannot continue. “I mean… no, no, I don’t speak Danish… what do want, now?” The guy asked me if I’m from America and I say “yeah, yeah, I guess so.” Then he asks me if I have ever known anything about this book that he’s holding, adding the question of whether or not I’m familiar with it. I let him know that I am.

And then he asks me if GOD was in my life, if I read the book often, and if I celebrated God. “Celebrate?” I say, I ponder for a moment to myself, slightly stumbling from all of the alcohol some of which is still running me real good…”Celebrate?” and I stared past him for a moment, still trying… to remember last night, and then I looked to my right and see that there is someone on my couch. “Um… yeah… I celebrate.”

I remember last night at first in waves, like the ocean trying to lick away sand and finally win the war and witness what lies beneath. We had started off right after work. I can remember working later than most people and watching as people were one by one walking out of the door.

I had basically been waiting for Søren, who was going to walk with me to the Western Union so that I could take care of some financial matters. Finally when I realized that I was the hold-up and not him, I shut down my computer and we took off. We went outside and had a cigarette when he looks at me peculiarly and states: “Dude, what are we waiting for?” and I realize that he thinks we were still actually going to walk. “No, man… I called a cab. I need to get there quick, before they close. I cannot deal with this walking nonsense today.” And I meant it. I had no time for cold steps or long journeys by foot; I had things to do, man.

And so the cab arrives and Søren gets in with me. I tell him to instruct the cabbie where to go and watch in amazement as he spits out the Danish right to him and it all goes smoothly. Wow. It went so well. And that’s so odd because it hasn’t been going that way for me at all. Almost all of the cab rides I have taken have been somewhat odd. Ah, how great it was to have someone in the cab with me that knew the language; how much easier this went. Wow.

So we arrive at the Small Snack Shoppe, owned by someone from the Orient, or at least they were employed there. It was very strange to me to see people here in all walks of life speaking Danish. In America, all you usually hear is the thick accent of where someone grew up, but here, all I hear is the same thing… perfectly spoken Danish. And I’m suddenly upset with myself for not learning fast enough. I am definitely going to get better at speaking. Mark my word. Not being able to talk right is absurd.

I finish my business and we light up some more cigarettes and continue along. It’s a good experience and we are talking the whole way, planning to go out to eat when we get paid and just discussing things right and left. It’s great to have someone talkative here like myself because quite honestly when you meet someone and talk with someone from another background, there is an infinite quantity of things to discuss. And it’s a truly great experience.

We finally arrive at the Irish Pub, which has a door not entirely unlike a medieval door to an ancient and time-lost tavern. Even Søren makes note of this and calls it the “Hobbit Door.” That it is, and it leads to a place of wonder and drink. We enter; happily and ready.

I truly love this bar; the first thing you experience is the warm air and smell of fresh booze and maybe some fries and meat pie in the air. There’s laughter and authentic Irish music wailing away wonderfully in the background. There isn’t a soul in the beer-drinking universe that doesn’t get slightly uplifted by hearing these foot-stomping Irish tunes and it’s a great-great thing to me.

La-Lee-La, DaDaDaDee-Daa, La-Lee-La, Bah_rattleyRattleyRattely Taaa!!

Immediately I recognize the Crew and we both sit down and join them. We’ll skip all the nonsense and just get right into the gut of this thing… here are some pictures of the night… interwoven within my nonsense…

So the night moves on and it’s fun and interesting and full of joy….

It’s great that most of the time the Danes will try to speak English when I am around, but there are certainly many times when they also do not. I don’t think they mean to, it just sort of happens that way. They start out in English, but the moment you slip away, it all goes back. So for instance, if I have to get up and go to the bathroom… by the time I get back they are all mixed up in a conversation at full speed and with very fast Danish of which I could not possibly follow, especially at this stage in the language-learning process. I try, but it just doesn’t take hold. So I have to mention to someone that I cannot understand and then they will switch gears again. But as soon as I get up to get a drink… it’s the same routine all over again.

Really I don’t mind because I love an adventure, but the weird thing is when people start drinking, they start forgetting that I haven’t heard a lot of the conversation. So people will expect that I just was hearing a subject when actually I hadn’t heard a thing. It’s confusing and disorientating; but so is drinking and I like that so… so what. I deal with it. It’s an amazing thing to be someone that can just deal with any bizarre level of disorientation and actually like it, but I guess I’m just that way. And thank god I am.

So the night barrels on through drink after drink. At some point I find myself buying a shirt from the place, but mostly because I suddenly felt too dressed up and wanted a nice tee-shirt. Besides, I think I had taken my friendship with Jerome (The Irish owner of the bar – and infamous bar tender) too far and had started taking pictures without his permission. So when we were chatting at the bar, I wanted to do something to show I’m not a wad… so I went with the shirt and a super nice tip. Money mends a lot of wounds. And like I say, I was overdressed anyway.

As the night goes on, people start to disappear from the bar. I don’t notice these things until suddenly I look up and it’s just Tommy and I. Tommy is the one wearing a shirt that basically says Troublemaker. It reads: Lommel. I had been warned.

We decide that it’s time to leave and start walking around in search of other entertainment. Mostly we were just walking and talking and spitting fine gibberish into the Danish cold nighttime air. At some point I ask him what this one place is… and he tells me that it’s a strip joint and that I have no business going in there… and for some reason, when he goes to use the bathroom… I decide that he’s all wrong… I have all the business in the world being in there. After all, I’ve never seen a strip bar in another country. So I sneak away from him and walk inside.

Into a new world. Weird. This is NOT what I thought it would be. All at once, there is a flurry of activity around me. Someone dressed in strange oriental garb is wanting to take my coat… and I don’t let her because it just doesn’t seem right. So this dark-skinned girl comes up to me and drags me to a table area… I start talking to her to get a gist of what’s going on here and it takes her a while to understand that I speak English. All of the women in here are looking at me like I’m some chunk of veal or a giant wallet for the taking or both. I actually find myself feeling a bit fearsome. Suddenly I remember this show that I’d recently seen on the television about sex-slaves and things like that… it turns out that this girl in this place… she is from AbaAba Africa or something like that… and she is just BEGGING me to give her money so that she can do something to me…anything…. Oh shit. I’m in over my head. This is not my scene I think to myself.

The fear gets really thick for me and I wonder what the hell I have gotten into. I spent the next couple of seconds just looking for a way out. So I tell her that I have to use the bathroom and she follows me… she manages to wrangle me into trying to buy a drink for me and her, so I bust out my card… I realize that I don’t want to do whatever it is that she wants me to do anyway, so I punch in the wrong number. “sorry… I think I’m out of money” she returns (in a bizzaro world Jamaican type language) with: “Why you come in heya… if you no-havin no monies….?”

I tell her to hold on when I look over and see Tommy poke his head in the door. “DUDE! Get the fuck out of here, man.” I feel like I have been rescued and I tell her that I’m supposed to give him a ride home and I have to go.

I basically run to get away from her grip and Tommy and I are suddenly out in the streets laughing and joking and falling all over each other at how stupid I was for even going in there. He points out that he told me not to go and I make a mental note to myself that perhaps from here on out I will weigh people’s advise more carefully.

Between the two of us, we decide that we really need to do down the street with the line of bars. So we walk down in the Danish Deep Night Streets and into this rock bar. Tommy points out that the band playing on the speakers is actually his little brother’s band or something like that… and so we chill and get some beers. But after all of the shots, the beer seems just awful. So I go in the bathroom and puke into these urinals that look like a long trough for animals to piss in. Then I wash down the puke with the rest of my beer, thinking to myself that I am glad Tommy isn’t seeing what became of his beer gift.

I walk out to the dance floor or slash-dancing area or whatever this thing is and tell him that it’s time to go. He reluctantly agrees. We kick open the doors and are both feeling the drink and quite rambunctious at the least. So on the way back, it’s decided that we need to go to the Manhattan and dance off this energy. When we get inside, it’s like this awesome rave club. I hear music that’s new and fresh and a mix of old European tunes along with break beats and thumps like I have never heard. Almost everything is good stuff and to me, it’s all new. Yeah!

With the alcohol still thick in me and the puking sense dissipated, the really loud music just sounds great. So I get out there with him and we start tearing up the dance floor. Really. I mean, all those times that I used to drive from Michigan down to Florida just to go to these fun raves, all of those ancient dance moves are suddenly back in me and my natural musicians’ rhythm is taking over… someone comes to me on the dance floor and yells “hooooooo” and gives me a high five and starts dancing next to me… it’s great…. Somewhere in this giant blur and mess of people I can see Tommy doing the same thing… people are all over the place.
Thump-thump-thump-thump

“can you feel? Ja-SHunk Denee Iskaaaaa”
What a great mix of English and some other alien words and magic…
Thump-thump-thump-thump

A new and yet distorted view of another place unknown…
Thump-thump-thump-thump
Dancing.
Mix.
Loud music taking away the night into some other…
Thump-thump-thump-thump
Place of mystery and otherworld madness…
Thump-thump-thump-thump

When suddenly… I’m thirsty. I just can’t go on without water.

Well, I go to the counter and the lady is not letting me use my credit card to get water. And she seems serious. Dammit. What the hell. So I remember that the other day I had talked the coat lady to help me out… so I walk out there to talk to her. And YES… it is the same girl. So I ask her if she remembers me and I am AMAZED when she does… wow… it’s been more than a week and she still remembers me…. I can’t remember, but I think I got her phone number as well…. But it doesn’t matter. She can help me.

So I’m talking to the coat girl=… and asking her this and that... and so I’m going on probably about all kinds of nonsense.

And she asks me something… when suddenly we see these police running through the door, big Giant Danish Dudes, all looking like they mean business. They appear to be storming the place like it was a search and seizure. It was like Navy Seals had suddenly found a target inside. What the hell??

I hadn’t seen anything that serious besides the movies in the longest time… At LEAST six of them run inside. So I turn to her and joke: “I thought they were after me, man. I mean, I’m a danger to myself, let alone anyone else. And just as quick as it had begun, suddenly they are dragging this man out the door at masterly speed. “OH yeah… I guess you are not as dangerous as that man…”

I look over and it’s Tommy!!!! Shit! I go: “No, but that’s my friend… um, maybe I’m not going to need that money after all?”… I turn to one of the cops: “what did he do, man? We just got here, I’m sure he didn’t do anything?” I look at Tommy: “what did you do?”

He looks back and is like: “Dude, I didn’t do anything, I was just in there dancing, man… shit” He goes right back into yelling at these bouncers. It’s funny how you can almost spot bullshit even in another language. I didn’t know what he did, but he was sure acting innocent, seeming to be just complaining to them, and proving his innocence. But somehow I could tell that he might have done something, somehow. I just didn’t know what. So I turn back to the girl and smile, “I guess we’re going to be going now,” I mention to her as if we had a choice in the matter and it was simply a matter of me deciding that I want to go somewhere else.

Tommy catches part of my conversation and turns to me, suddenly angry as hell: “Come in, man. We’re not going to give this place any of our money, man!!! They don’t deserve it!!!” I look back at her and she’s like… I don’t know… calm or maybe disinterested, but yet offers me a small grin… when suddenly Tommy has my arm and I’m dragged away. “Let’s go, man… these guys suck.”

So we wander back the way we assumed we’d entered the street.

For the longest time, Tommy is telling me the story… how innocent he is… he’s like… dude, I was just dancing and this guy hits, me, man… I’m sorry. And it goes on for a while.

I had thought that I had caught something in his eye back there, that maybe he had done something… but then… I mean… he was just dancing when I left him… hmmmm… oh well…

After a while, he’s looking at me and I think he’s realizing that I’m not mad… and he suddenly goes… coyly: “I might have hit him back and knocked him out.”

We both stop walking. That’s when I realize something: In a fight, they usually take the threat out, meaning the TWO people that were fighting. They only took out Tommy. Wow, he wasn’t so innocent. Egads, man. “I’m sorry dude.” I just started laughing at him. “No, no, I say… THIS is going in the blog tomorrow, man. It has to, it really has to….aw, man. I hope you comment on it, so people know that all this weird crap really happened.”

AH HA! So that’s who’s on my couch, I suddenly realize, looking back at the Religious Man standing at the door. He’s now got this religious paper in his hand, surprisingly in English… which he hands to me as he goes back into his questions: “Do you celebrate the Lor…..”

“Celebrate?” I say again, realizing how awkward my long pause between words might have been but still not caring. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

He hands me a pamphlet and I shut the door, not even sure if we were done with our exchange yet. Just audible for them to probably hear, Tommy is awake now and goes: “Dude, don’t take any shit from those guys.”

“Tommy,” I say, “I think I should have let them know that I’m probably going to hell after last night.” He sighs and rolls over. And I suddenly realize that Tommy might not be the best person for me to be hanging out with here in Europe. :-)