The evening's not supposed to turn strange and ugly until at least midnight. That's just the way it oughta be. When shit goes down earlier, it catches me off guard, makes me feel like things aren't right in the world, like maybe random acts of weirdness have now become the norm.
But there we were at 8 p.m., seated in between a big ol' gal with a big ol' buzz and a little man with a high, squeaky voice who was equally intoxicated. The woman bellowed about how proud she was to be a Dubya-loving Republican, while the guy kept whining: "Friends don't let friends vote Republican." The man soon left — leaving us with the obnoxious drunk woman who kept yammering about how great it was to be Southern — and a member of the GOP. She wanted us to join her Gasparilla krewe, which was meeting in the adjacent room.
"They probably kicked her out," Buck said to me. "I don't know if she's drunk, but she's fucked up on something."
Buck and I ducked into the Rock-n-Sports bar in Ybor City on our way home the other Thursday. I needed to use the ATM. Nothing more. But then we decided to stay. One more beer. Y'know how it goes.
Buck and I had met at New World Brewery around 4, and started drinking pints of Guinness. Buck usually goes with Miller Lite, but lately he has been expanding his hops horizons.
"Guinness doesn't give me hangovers," he said.
"Really?" I answered.
"Drank five pints the other night and felt fine the next morning," he said.
"But that's only five."
"Yeah, you're right."
"Maybe we should put your Guinness-no-hangover theory to the test," I said, "And see if we can put away, say, 10 pints each. See how we feel after that."
This prompted Buck to inquire about keeping a keg of Guinness at his house. The bartender explained he would need a couple different kinds of gases to carbonate the beer and assured him the brew would stay fresh for at least a month if he kept it steadily cool.
"I might just have to look into that," Buck said.
We then left so I could make an interview with a webcast called Media Talk at Tampa Bay Brewing Company. Walking down Eighth Avenue, we spotted a tiny old lady in a tight black dress. "She does have nice legs," Buck offered.
I cringed.
We arrived at the Brewing Co. in time for me to slam a pint of their tasty and potent Elephant Foot (6.5 percent alcohol). I don't advocate drinking before representing your company on a broadcast that will go across the worldwide Web and be available for download on YouTube, but in my case, it's essential. See, when I'm sober and get excited, I tend to stammer a bit. Not stutter. Stammer. My words run together and create something of a verbal logjam. This happens in the office when I pitch story ideas to my editor, Eric Snider. He's really understanding. When it gets bad, he laughs and says stuff like: "Are you on fucking drugs?"
After my flawless, five-minute interview — courtesy of a well-calibrated buzz — Buck and I found a spot at the BrewCo bar and drank a few. Five dudes in white shirts and ties surrounded the cute young woman I had talked with briefly before getting up to be interviewed.
"Better make a move," Buck said.
But I didn't. Our bartender was attractive, too. So I flirted with her a bit, or tried to, before deciding that making an actual move wasn't worth the effort: She lived in Apollo Beach, with her parents, and wouldn't be getting off work until like 4 a.m.
We left. I needed cash for the parking garage.
"There's an ATM right there," Buck said as we passed Rock-N-Sports.
"Damn right I'm a Republican," hollered Big Ol' Gal as we entered.
"Let's get one more beer," Buck said as I fumbled with the money machine.
"Fine," I answered.
Buck took a seat on the other side of the bar. Not me. I got my cash and cozied right up between Big Ol' Gal and the diminutive man she was shouting at. Buck reluctantly joined me.
"Hey there," she slurred.
The woman told us how she had just gotten a D.U.I. that included a bust for coke possession.
"But I'm getting off," she said. "I have a great lawyer."
And she just might.
Rock-n-Sports has several rooms. We were at the bar. Big Ol' Gal's krewe was meeting in the back. Up front, the scantily clad geriatric in the black dress we saw earlier was on stage butchering songs popularized by everyone from Judy Garland to Amy Winehouse. There were five people watching her; two of them were cross-dressers — not exactly what one expects to find at "sports bar."
"This might be the weirdest place I've ever been to," Buck said.
Big Ol' Gal got up to hit the Ladies Room or something, and we got out of there before she returned.
Rock-n-Sports Bar & Grille, 1811 N. 15th St., Ybor City. 813-242-6220.
This article appears in Sep 26 – Oct 2, 2007.