My wife, her brother and I walked across the street to Club Brady from The Nomad for a number of reasons: the music at The Nomad was so loud we couldn’t talk, there were a number of drunks singing along to the music and dropping bottles, and they had apparently not cleaned up from New Year’s, the night before, if they had ever even closed.
Club Brady was exactly what we were looking for. It was empty, well lit, clean, and had a good jukebox, a friendly bartender, darts, pool and air hockey. We sat at the bar drinking beer and catching up, happy to be away for an evening after the holidays. People started trickling in as the night wore on, including a group of drunks that sat at the end of the bar, occasionally running around, knocking over stools, etc, but not bothering us. Then the guy next to me at the bar started having some trouble not bumping into me. No problem, I scooted over a couple of inches to give the drunk some room. And now I had a problem.
“Hey, you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s alright.”
“Well, I don’t want to cause a problem or nothing here.”
“No, it’s ok.” I turned back around and in a minute he clapped me on the shoulder, “Hey, what’s wrong there man?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just talking to these people here, ok?” This went on a few more times. He wouldn’t leave me alone, I wasn’t interested in making friends.
“I’m really wasted,” he explained. He was having trouble focusing on me.
“Really?” I said, tired of dealing with him. “That’s great. I mean, that’s really something special. Not just anyone can go out and get wasted. That really takes a special talent to drink too much and get hammered. I’m impressed with you. You’re great.”
He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not sure if you’re making fun of me or not.”
“No, no. Not at all, I’m just enjoying my night out. Cheers.” I turned back around.
“Bartender!” he yelled, “Two cherry bombs…or what’s the, uh, the one I like…” Clapping me on the shoulder once again, “We’re doing a shot together.”
“No, I’m not doing a shot.”
He didn’t understand, and acted hurt. “You’re not doing a shot with me?”
“No, I don’t want to do a shot with you.”
He started getting more agitated, so the bartender grabbed his elbow and turned him back to his group and I turned back to mine.
A few minutes later another drunk walks over to me. “Hey, sorry about that guy. I know he’s a dick. He’s always a dick when we go out.”
“Ok.”
“I told him I was going to come over and tell you off just to make him calm down, so act like I’m telling you off when I start.”
“Ok.”
“Cause, like, you seem like a regular guy, and I’m a regular guy, so there’s like no reason for trouble. I mean, why is there trouble?”
“Ok. Look, I’m just trying to talk to people I like tonight, alright?”
“Yeah man, I…yeah. You and me, we’re just out, having fun…but I need to…I’m just going to call you a dick, ok? THIS GUY’S A REAL DICK. YEAH, WHAT A DICK!” He was gesturing at me, yelling at his group.
“Ok.” I started turning back around.
“So, like, we’re cool man, right? It’s, like, the New Year, right? 2009. We all gotta be friends now. It’s bad enough, you know?” He grabbed my hand.
“Ok, man.”
Club Brady | Milwaukee, WI
My wife, her brother and I walked across the street to Club Brady from The Nomad for a number of reasons: the music at The Nomad was so loud we couldn’t talk, there were a number of drunks singing along to the music and dropping bottles, and they had apparently not cleaned up from New Year’s, the night before, if they had ever even closed.
Club Brady was exactly what we were looking for. It was empty, well lit, clean, and had a good jukebox, a friendly bartender, darts, pool and air hockey. We sat at the bar drinking beer and catching up, happy to be away for an evening after the holidays. People started trickling in as the night wore on, including a group of drunks that sat at the end of the bar, occasionally running around, knocking over stools, etc, but not bothering us. Then the guy next to me at the bar started having some trouble not bumping into me. No problem, I scooted over a couple of inches to give the drunk some room. And now I had a problem.
“Hey, you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah, it’s alright.”
“Well, I don’t want to cause a problem or nothing here.”
“No, it’s ok.” I turned back around and in a minute he clapped me on the shoulder, “Hey, what’s wrong there man?”
“Nothing’s wrong, I’m just talking to these people here, ok?” This went on a few more times. He wouldn’t leave me alone, I wasn’t interested in making friends.
“I’m really wasted,” he explained. He was having trouble focusing on me.
“Really?” I said, tired of dealing with him. “That’s great. I mean, that’s really something special. Not just anyone can go out and get wasted. That really takes a special talent to drink too much and get hammered. I’m impressed with you. You’re great.”
He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not sure if you’re making fun of me or not.”
“No, no. Not at all, I’m just enjoying my night out. Cheers.” I turned back around.
“Bartender!” he yelled, “Two cherry bombs…or what’s the, uh, the one I like…” Clapping me on the shoulder once again, “We’re doing a shot together.”
“No, I’m not doing a shot.”
He didn’t understand, and acted hurt. “You’re not doing a shot with me?”
“No, I don’t want to do a shot with you.”
He started getting more agitated, so the bartender grabbed his elbow and turned him back to his group and I turned back to mine.
A few minutes later another drunk walks over to me. “Hey, sorry about that guy. I know he’s a dick. He’s always a dick when we go out.”
“Ok.”
“I told him I was going to come over and tell you off just to make him calm down, so act like I’m telling you off when I start.”
“Ok.”
“Cause, like, you seem like a regular guy, and I’m a regular guy, so there’s like no reason for trouble. I mean, why is there trouble?”
“Ok. Look, I’m just trying to talk to people I like tonight, alright?”
“Yeah man, I…yeah. You and me, we’re just out, having fun…but I need to…I’m just going to call you a dick, ok? THIS GUY’S A REAL DICK. YEAH, WHAT A DICK!” He was gesturing at me, yelling at his group.
“Ok.” I started turning back around.
“So, like, we’re cool man, right? It’s, like, the New Year, right? 2009. We all gotta be friends now. It’s bad enough, you know?” He grabbed my hand.
“Ok, man.”
So we finished our beers and hit the road.