Tuesday, March 15, 2011

The New Adventures of Drunk Bowman

A few things are no secret to anyone who knows me or knew me. One of those things is the fact that me, whiskey and gin used to be a helluva triumvirate and a "super funtime awesome happy trio". I say such a thing in past tense because that is where such a things belong. In the past. I used to get down quite a bit, but after several years of "getting after it" and the first six months of 2010 (a period which I can only describe as "thirsty") I had decided to spend some time on the party bench. I still went out and got down, I just kept things respectable and abandoned my old edict that I stole from the "Magic School Bus" and used to follow religiously:

1.Take Chances
2.Make Mistakes
3.Get Messy

(Name someone else who bases their social life on MSB. I dare you)

The Bow and j.Bowman are almost two entirely different entities. While j.Bowman can't sleep, The Bow staunchly refuses to. There are many tales of nights out that I honestly can barely remember and mostly piece together from old text messages/ McDonalds receipts discovered the morning after. Youthful indiscretions, how I miss you. Unfortunately sometimes if you want something bad enough you have to clean up your act a bit, and that's what I had to do so The Bow moved away and now he just visits occasionally. Like this past weekend, for instance.

First off, happy birthday to one of the most solid dudes I know and one of the first 4 people to read j.B.C.S. B. Shirlaw. He is good people. You should all be his friend (rumour has it he'll be starting his own blog soon, so be on the lookout for a plug) We went out and celebrated his date of birth at a local bar that specializes in Motown music. Hells to the fuck to the yes! I looooooooove motown. Love it! Quick plug for the "Honey Lounge" in Vancouver. Tell your friends. So naturally with that being the venue and the music du jour, I was "rarin' to go". I had also gotten off from work on a particularly busy day and I didn't have to go in the next morning, so again, I was "rarin". Met up with some of monpeeps, the music was fantastic, did some dancing, had some drinks and before you know it, it turned into a case of Dr. Jeckyll & Mr Hyde & Super Mr. Hyde.

(Guess which one this is....)

Now I'm not going to go into details about the body of the night. It was pretty standard. Drank some, danced more, pretty much how it goes. The "Bow-Town 2 Step" might just be the simplest yet most effective dance move ever. 7 years it took me to perfect that...and don't let your friends tell you otherwise, it is perfect. The night wasn't that interesting except for when it was time to go home. Taking a page out of Cinderella (as I'm known to do) I shouted out "my shit's turnin' pumpkin, I'M OUT!" and then attempted to flee into the night, never to be seen again, or at least until 6 am and my fortress of solitude.

(Other people may be in there, but in my mind it's just me and the p-cakes)

My quick escape plan hit a significant snag. I was trying to catch the last train home, and it leaves downtown at 1:20 am. This was the pumpkin I had been referring to earlier. I left myself plenty of time to get my coat, exit and perhaps have a quick pee in an alley so I can ride that last train withouth thinking about having to pee really bad. It was a rock solid plan that was thwarted by a)The world's worst coat check b)The world's most overzealous Skytrain gatekeeper. I stood in line at the coat check for 15 minutes. Filling up with white hot Bombay Sapphire rage with each passing minute.

(It'll make you angrily check your watch alot)

So I finally get up to the coat check, and I have roughly 6 minutes to get my coat and try and make my train. I gave the girl my ticket and she apologized for the wait saying "someone spilled a drink all over the floor back here so I just had to put the coats in random spots". I responded with a pleasantly Canadian "No worries" and then she went to get my coat.

Wait a second! Hold the phones here. Hold em! There are quite a few things wrong with that statement. I shall list them alphabetically until I grow tired of it.

A - Awful plan. The thing that helps coat check run smoothly is uniformality and some semblence of a filing system. Coat chaos is never good.
B - Blame. "Someone" spilled a drink back there? Hmm...nobody else was back there but her. I should know, I thought she was kinda cute and did a spot check whenever I was at the bar and she was always at the coat check. Just admit it was you. Woulda gone a long way. That is why we will never marry. Honesty is key.
C - Coat. I want mine.
D - Drink spillage. Let me get this straight, a drink was spilled on the floor, so the coats had to be moved...from the floor? That is the only way I see that making sense is if there were a bunch of coats just on the ground, which would indeed solidify this coat check as one of the world's worst.

(Artists renderring of the competition)

So I got my coat and off I ran, into the night, long coat flapping behind me as I sprinted down the street letting nothing stand between me and my goal. A bum asked me for change as I sped by. I told him I couldn't because I was "in an epic race against time for justice". I was like Batman, only I couldn't run in a straight line. I even decided not to take a pee because it was THAT important to me that I make that train and get some sleep in that oh so desired locale: my own bed. I've slept on enough couches in my life that if I have the opportunity and am physically able to return to the "Bow-doire", I will do whatever it takes to get there. 

So imagine the motherfucking gut punch when I arrive to the train station 4 minutes early (I'm really fast when I have a reason to be) and I see the metal gates are already pulled down and there is no way up to the platform. I = fucked. I had to stand below and watch 2, THAT'S RIGHT! 2 trains pass overhead taking a bunch of other drunks to their respective beds / Dennys. Because some anus-face decided to close the gates early, I'm now stranded. 

(Totally understand what that Rugby team went through now)

I should point out that on this particular night a very funny friend of mine had just acquired my phone number and we had been exchanging texts throughout the night. Now that my night had become a saga of bullshit, frustration and irony, she was getting the frontline scoops as it was all unfolding. Unlike Twitter, she was offering support and suggestions from afar. Protecting her identity, I will briefly recap a few of the key texts over the next few hours:

"Due to the worlds worst coat check, missed train. Stuck in Van. Boooooo!"
"Eww, do you have somewhere to stay? You are too far away for me to come and pick your drunk ass up. Nice english and grammar for a drunk guy tho...you have clearly mastered the english language"
"You've read the blog, you know me and the english language are peeps. I will figure this out. Drunk j***** is substantially more resourceful than sober j*****. He is a much better dancer also".

So I set off to find another way home. I felt pretty positive about things, however having to defeatedly walk past the bum I had denied change to as I bolted down the street left me feeling pretty damn awful. It may have just been the glassy eyes (his or mine) but I'm pretty sure he shot me a smug look, knowing that I failed to get to where I was trying to get to. Who knows, maybe this is exactly how he ended up living on the street? One minute you're having fun with your friends, the next minute your stealing Rickshaws from Kramer and Newman. It's a vicious cycle.

(Google image search: "Seinfeld Homeless Rickshaw"....sweet band name!)

My night continues to unfold as thanks to C.Bax (they call him "secrets") and a girl named Kayla I managed to get onto a party bus heading in the direction of home. I hadn't met her before and I doubt she even knows this blog exists but she is an allstar in my book forever. I took to my phone to update my friend on my whereabouts.

On a party bus now. Not sure exactly where I'm getting off but I will re-evaluate my situation when it gets to wherever it's going. Adventure. Exactly like "Up" only with more cussin'
You are my hero. Originally thanks to my stupid touch screen type that said "you ate my hero". Either works... 

So eventually I get off the party bus and am deciding on whether or not to crash at a friends house when all of a sudden I turn around and see the N19 lumbering towards me. For those who don't know (probably a lot of you) the N19 is also known as the "Night Bus". Essentially it a bus full of drunk people who missed the last train. It runs until like 3 am or something only it takes fucking forever to get where you need to go because it seemingly has to stop at every bustop in a 70 km radius. It's bullshit, but sometimes it can be a godsend. This night, I was thinking the latter. 

 (Pictured: vomit filled salvation)

I flag it down, and hop on. Keep in mind at this point I'm about 10 minutes away from home on this bus. It just needs to cross a bridge and then boom! drops me off like 150 yards from my apartment. I...was...psyched! Probably just as psyched as those dudes were in "Alive" (the ones who didn't get eaten, of course) I even sent a text to another friend and told him that the timing of that bus being there was 

"Definitely in the Top 40 best things that have ever happened to me".

I rode the bus, super content with the fact that my journey is coming to an end and I'm a goddamn survivor. After a while though, something didn't seem quite right. The following texts were sent after I had been on the bus for much longer than I would care to admit.

I think I have made a grave error.
I got dropped off in New West and I was just gonna crash at my friends but I stubbornly wanted my own bed. I eagerly jumped on the nightbus, amazed at my incredible fortune. I rode it for awhile before realizing that it's heading in the opposite direction, back downtown.
Is it bad that I'm laughing at your misfortune?

I get off the bus, totally pretending like that was my intended stop all along so I don't look like a fucking idiot in front of drunk strangers. I get off at 16th st, cause I'm a huge Trevor Linden fan and I took that as a sign. I elected to use this time to pee/ I stood a few feet from the sidewalk, formulating a new plan in mid-stream when a cab comes driving by almost as if from my imagination. In my excitement, I almost end up flagging it down with the "whitesaber", but I manage to use my free hand and the guy stops for me. Fucking saint. He is getting a crazy tip. The driver agrees to take me home, but thing is now that I rode that stupid bus in the wrong direction for so long I need to hit the ATM to get more cash out. It's now roughly 3 am. The only ATM open is in 7-11 and I've essentially got to go there, drunk as hell after a long journey and try not to spend $40 on candy.


I ask the driver to take me to 7-11, and I apologize to him for smelling like "gin and skanks" (It is a very real smell, trust me). I run in and quickly hit the ATM. The meter is running so it's kinda like I'm trying to diffuse a bomb. I was so focused on the ATM when I entered that as soon as I turned from it and saw the bevy of treats at my fingertips that I just had to acquire. I went on some sort of alchohol fueled shopping spree and in a panic I grabbed whatever random items I unconciously felt I NEEDED to have (not just a "want". That's childish. We're talking "needs" here people!) What items did I end up grabbing in the heat of passion? Take a look. I was pretty disciplined though.

(NOTE: The next item is so amazing and delicious it deserves to have a space between it and the other ones. Call it an "awesome buffer")


The cabbie ends up dropping me off home. I give him a huge drunk tip because as far as I'm concerned he may have saved me from a life on the streets. He's kinda like a social worker only less of a government servant and more of a cab driver. He waited for me to actually get into my building before driving away. Class act. I kinda wish I had offered to share some Mike & Ike's with him, but fuck it. They are mine....and Mike's....and Ike's.

I walk through my door and I'm greeted with a big wafty "fuck you" from my hockey bag. Interesting side note to the story, I had played hockey late the night before and I had forgotted to air out my gear when I got home. The last thing I did before leaving for work that morning is fish my wallet out of the bag of aggressively smelly hockey gear. I described it as exactly like how things went down when the Nazi's opened up the Ark in Indiana Jones and their faces all melted. Not a great way to be welcomed home after my journey.

(This dude just caught a whiff of my gloves. They're always the worst)

So after all that, I was finally home. It was a really fun night, glad The Bow could stop by and take the reins for awhile. Looking back on the night the only regret I have was not buying two of the Klondike Big Cookie Ice Cream Sandwiches. Eating two of those at 4 am would qualify as a hook up as far as I'm concerned. 

Oh, and when I got home I watched the 2004 "Dawn of the Dead" because it's awesome and I felt like I had been through some shit and I deserved it.

(3 people in this picture smell like gin and skanks)

Thanks for Reading

- jB

1 comment:

  1. I base most of my life on magic school bus :s