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Last Friday (Saturday) I meant to go down to see Brendan Benson at the Pig. I heard he had some sorta Supergroup (SSM?) opening for him, and I've never seen the dude (I thought the coupla songs I heard were OK, but nothing that captivated me), and I thought after, like, five years of doing the column that I should go down and finally see what makes the hos' panties wet, or whatever.
But, my friend Andrew called, and my girlfriend wanted to come out, and Andrew had some vague girl from the rehab center that he wanted to hook up with, and I was the only one that was on the list, so we ended up at the 8-ball. I really meant to see Benson, but whatever. We got drunk downstairs and that was more fun. By the time we got up to see him, they had waived the cover, Amy'd gone home, and Andrew's girl never showed up. (I say that's because she doesn't like him nearly as much as he thinks, and because the coworkers that alledge she does are liars hoping for workspace drama). So, we saw one and a half songs from Benson, which were OK, kinda generic pretty boy pop. I now understand what makes the hos' panties wet.
So, we go to the Fleetwood (which despite persistent rumors is not closing), and hop right down for a seat, because we're awesome and beat the bar crowd. Monica's working and flirty, which is nice when you're drunk.
So, there are two guys there who can't seem to get a table, and are kinda loudly berating everyone. Andrew and I are running an internal pool on whether they're actually gay or just drunk, as they're very affectionate in their efforts to calm each other down. I don't press cheek to cheek with my friends like that, but maybe I'm repressed.
Anyway, they insist that the folks at the Fleetwood open up outside seating (with an outdoor temperature of like, 7°) and when they're refused, they start swearing at everyone. There's a terse "Get out" from the cook, they do a round of "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you," at the patrons, we sing a chorus of "Na-na-na-nah Na-na-na-nah..." You get the picture.
Suddenly, one of the women sitting at the table next to us decides that she needs to give them the bum rush outside, shoving them out the door and yelling at them to get the fuck out. The guy she was with goes with them, and once she's got them out the door, they start whaling on the guy she was with, who seems confused as to how his girlfriend (I assume) managed to start this fight then disappear. She's back at the table next to us, pontificating.
"I'm a teacher in Detroit, and I break up fights all the time," she says loudly. This stocky white woman is already taking props for how she handled the situation while the guy is still getting the crap kicked out of him outside.
So one of his friends from the table goes out there too, and suddenly it's a real brawl. The drunk guys aren't coordinated enough to connect often, and they're a lot smaller, but they've got that alcohol courage, right?
So the cook gets a pipe wrench and goes out there. He's standing there, trying to break things up, but he drops the pipe wrench pretty quickly. (He says afterwards "I realized how heavy that wrench was, even though they weren't scared of it, and how much it would hurt to get hit with it. And I thought, if I hit one of these guys and it really hurts him, I'm gonna get in trouble.")
So now it's five guys, four of them actively trying to whale on each other, a fifth skinny cook trying to pull them apart, while the woman is still inside being like "I don't take any crap. I just threw them out," right as the brawlers manage to pop the plexiglass window in front of the table to the right of the door clear out onto the plates of the people eating.
So then, it's been about five minutes, and the cops show up. One car, then ten seconds later, another car, then ten seconds later, a third car. So we've got six cops out there pulling people apart, and while the bald drunk guy lands a hell of a punch on a cop, they get things settled down. I'm not sure it hurt the cop all that much, as he looked more surprised than anything, but it was one of those hits to the face where it's best described by putting your hand over your mouth and going "Oooh."
After a stern talking to, the cops let everyone go. Both Andrew and I suspect that if there was a black guy involved he'd have been tossed in the back of the cop car, but since they were all well-dressed white people, it was "Don't do it again" time. The guy who had been with the schoolteacher comes back in with a massively bloody nose, while the woman is STILL talking about how well she handled the whole thing, and yet he doesn't smack her. Maybe she was his ride.
Anyway, we tipped well. |
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Oh, and yesterday, I put up a new mix on my music blog.
And on a related note, Brandon, Zach, Sarah and I are finally trying to get an AnnArbor/Ypsi music blog off the ground... |
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