Each night here in Tampa provides a thickening plot to my life story. This particular catalyst was the eldest of the Moneyhans, Aarons, birthday. Tonight is the 26th anniversary of his birth so we set out to celebrate with all of the approriate mannerisms of our barros(1). For some reason a popular place to celebrate birthdays is at Channelside; a high class courtyard filled with bars such as Stumps, Howl at the Moon, Wet Willies, Margaritaville. I have only been in attendance twice and from my observations I’ve drawn that this is where cute young single girls go to find presumably well off men to buy their drinks. I am not a well off man, but Aaron is, so its a reasonable destination.
A group of eight assembled at our humble apartment at Camden at around ten. It consisted of Kasey, Leigha, Trever, Benji, Aaron, two medical students and myself. After the delay of two eighteen packs and a bottle of vodka we decided that we needed a cab to take us to Channelside. Ben called a cabby that he knows on a first name basis, Imad, and arranged for us to be picked up by him and a friend. For some reason we had to meet them at the gate so the gang began the short trek to the main gates of Camden. Everyone drove, even though I insisted on walking. When we got to the gates two cabs were already there waiting for us. After a friendly exchange we seperated into the two transports and hit the road. It was a ridiculous ride, both cabbys allowed us to bring booze unboard. The ride was the better part of twenty minutes and ended up costing 38.55. Ridiculous.
When we had arrived at channelside it was almost eleven-thirty and the raucous environment was in full swing. Girls in short black dresses accompanied by men in striped collared shirts and stylishly torn jeans (apparantly the formal attire of channelside) perused the inner courtyards. Women clung to the cookie cutter assortment of men held asunder by the charm of alcohol. A distinct taste of pity hung in my mouth, I find this new tradition of courtship disgusting.(who am I to judge however) As we meandered through the crowd we found our way to Stumps Supper Club. I have no idea why its called stumps supper club, but I’ve never actually investigated. It is what it is; Stumps Supper Club. Immediately after a routine ID check at the door we walk to the first bar in sight. Practically no one is in the entrance as the dance floor is packed. A stereotypical female bartender is cleaning various bartending tools to kill the time. We walk up and place our orders. Pabst Blue Ribbon is the poison of choice tonight, at 2.50 a tall boy its a relatively good deal, although it is devoid of class. We met up with more of Aarons friends, med students as well, and begin to drink heavily.
Everyone had spoke of two girls that were going to be meeting us at the bar. I was told that they would be absolutely beautiful, and listened to several rants of one particular girls attractiveness. After much anticipation and curiousity that I am guilty of, they arrived. Beautiful, yes; intriguing, no. I noticed both of them staring at me at one point, obviously out of perplexion to my appearance. Everyone I was with was wearing polos, with properly manicured faces. I on the other hand was wearing a green flannel, gray shorts, chuck taylors, and a fedora that didn’t really match anything else I was wearing. I assume I look out of place in most places I am, but to be entirely honest I love this adverse reaction as I pride myself on my distinctness from the populace. These thoughts occupied most of my time over the course of two or three tall PBRs. Suddenly the signature drink of Stumps arrived on our table; the bucket. The bucket is basically a huge pale filled with a mixed drink and a dozen or so straws. At 25.50 its hardly a bargain, but its an entertaining conversation piece. The ritual of the bucket usually involves everyone taking photos sucking on the straws at one time for the coveted myspace photo. Kasey and Ben ordered one bucket of “sex on the beach” and another “margarita.” At this point the combination of pre gaming, PBRs, and the buckets have taken our soberity.
For a long time on the patio of Stumps I sat and stared at all of my friends and thier friends. An odd array of characters; med students, doctors, soccer players, marketing students, smokers, drinkers, christians, etc etc. All laughing and exchanging banter. I had no idea what any one person was talking about, I wasn’t listening to the conversations rather I was watching the scene. I believe someone asked me if something was wrong. I admired the concern, although nothing was wrong so I answered with a ridiculous statement that is so cliche of my ego; assuring the worrier that I am fine. For some reason Ben and Trever got into a scrap, catching the bouncers attention. This broke my train of thought and I assured him that there was no problem, they were kidding (in the show biz, we call this foreshadowing.)
Ben had a restlessness in his eyes, I could see it from across the bar. I think he knew I noticed it so he asked me if I wanted to go margaritaville; I obliged. Once we left the bar we settled on Wet Willies instead. Wet Willies is a smorgarsbord of frozen beverages. Ben ordered a Pina Colada, I ordered a “Call-a-Cab” and Leigha and Trever ordered god knows what. The inside of Wet Willies was actually kind of dull so we decided to go back to Stumps. After sitting at our table the bouncer told us we couldn’t have the frozen drinks inside. I assured him that our group had spent a lot of money here tonight and two frozen drinks wouldn’t be a problem but he wouldn’t budge on his stance. So we took the drinks outside. The four of us sat in the courtyard and talked about various issues. We talked about fighting someone for fun, Trever confided he needed a break from Tampa, I texted people in my phone book. Eventually Ben got bored and took a PBR can, filled it with his Pina Coloda and took it into stumps incognito. His last words to me; “If you get in a fight, yell for me and I’ll be there”
Somehow I ended up at the table by myself, for an undetermined amount of time. Kasey broke my third daydreaming stint of the evening. She looked upset so I asked her what is wrong. Ben, whom I love like a brother, is known for short tempered outbursts and apparantly told her he was gonna kick her out of our apartment. She was on the verge of tears and it honestly broke my heart, I felt a great degree of empathy. I asked her to sit down and reassured her he didn’t actually mean it. Out of nowhere a loud commotion came from the front of Stumps. I turned around and saw Ben being forceably removed from the bar by a bouncer and several men. It carried itself to the table I was at, well outside of the bar. This bouncer was older, maybe late thirties and twice the weight of Ben with atleast 6 inches on him. He pushed him down to the ground and I interjected. I stepped between the two and pushed the bouncer and told him not to touch Ben. The bouncer pushed me and Ben jumped up and swung at the bouncer. The punch connected, a sweeping right, to the bridge and orbit of the bouncer knocking him back. The chaos ensued after that throw and the bouncer and another man came at me while a group of atleast five took Ben to the ground. The cops swept in immediately and pulled the men off of Ben and stopped the bouncer and his presumed pal from coming at me. The bouncer scoffed at me and wiped his blood on my face claiming I was involved and should be arrested. Ben was carried off by police officers and I was told to sit where I had been previously. I gave the officer my ID and waited. The two officers who questioned me were reasonable men and I told them what happened verbatim. They took my name and number and let me go. I followed my flustered group of friends whom coupled with alcohol were obviously upset at the events. We walked to the cop car ben was being held at and questioned the officers about what was happening. They said he was being charged with a misdemeanor and was not being taken to jail. The older ones of the group argued with the officers, oscillating between respect and hostility. I knew that the arguements were pointless but I tried to present our case anyways. After they let him go we got to get a good look at Ben. He was coated in other peoples blood, his only wound a split open knuckle. After more exchange with the LEO’s (including an amusing anecdote involving Trever yelling sarcastically to the officers “<i>You</i> go get breakfast!”) we flagged down a cab and piled seven of us into the van. We were haggard, bloody, and drunk but he didn’t seem to mind. The whole way home we talked about what happened, exchanged perspectives of the story and laughed about much of it. Once we got home we payed the cabby a sum of fifty-five dollars and drove the cars back from the entrance of Camden. I rode alone with Ben. The gravity of the situation came down on him on the short drive.
After we got home, we lit up a joint and offered are marijuana induced opinions. It was almost five am and I decided to wrap the night up. I stumbled into my room, fell face first on my air mattress and went to sleep.
(1) Barros: Argentinian Slang for a gang of young boys
