Often the craziest things don’t happen in the music venue, but in the bar itself.
These stories all happened on different nights, but they kind of go together in their surreal weirdness.
One night I was making my way through the crowded bar and encountered a very distinctive smell. One of the sound engineers on break walked towards me and asked, “Do you smell that? What is that smell?”
I replied instantly, “Oh that’s burning hair.”
We both made a face and realized how not normal that was. We looked around us and didn’t see anything unusual. I honestly just assumed that some drunken pyro was putting a single hair into the candle to watch it burn or something. Then I saw a blonde woman laughing loudly with her girlfriend standing at the bar. She was about 5 foot 3 in heels and probably had a few drinks on an empty stomach. Each time she laughed heartily at her friend’s joke, she flipped her head back and then drooped it forward as she giggled.
I figured out what was happening. When she hung her head down in laughter, the tips of her hairs were dipping into the glass jar candle on the bar. Her hair was getting singed each time she laughed but not catching on fire. She and her friend were so tipsy that somehow they weren’t noticing and weren’t responding to the smell of burning hair.
And then her hair actually did catch on fire. And nobody noticed it. I walked over to her as fast as I could in shock and said, “Sweetheart, your hair is on fire!” I raised my hand like I would swat a fly and kind of slapped her head. This extinguished her burning hair instantly. I seriously expected her to turn around and punch me. But luckily she figured out what I did and why. Everybody in the bar was now watching. Seconds ago, her hair was literally burning and smoking like a firework sputtering to life until I swatted her head with my open hand. I apologized and asked if she was ok. She was so embarrassed that she didn’t really even respond to me verbally. Not even a thank you for smothering her cranial wildfire. She and her friend just kind of resumed their conversation. Almost like having a complete stranger come up and thump your burning dome like Smokey the Bear was a commonplace occurrence. Hell, maybe it is. Her hair was kind of short and choppy.
I started to walk away, but then I reached over and grabbed the candles off of the bar. Nearby patrons smiled at me and nodded in support. Let’s just remove any further fire danger from those ladies. I could be imagining this, but I swear there was a small cloud of smoke above her head after I put her out.
I returned to talking with the sound engineer and quietly laughing about what just happened.
I asked her, “Have you ever seen a person light their hair on fire in a bar and not notice?”
She said, “I love that you just instantly knew that smell was burning hair, and were all nonchalant about it.”
I replied, “Nothing else in the world smells like that.” Which was also me quoting Robert Duvall talking about napalm in Apocalypse Now. However, I really do not love the smell of burning hair in the morning, evening, or ever.
I truly wish that I could watch the security camera footage of me slapping that woman’s burning head. I would keep it running on an endless loop with Ministry’s song “Burning Inside” playing behind it.
A bartender contacted me and asked me to help deal with two people who were apparently sleeping in an isolate booth. Anytime a patron falls asleep in the bar we ask them to leave. We just can’t have people sleeping or passing out here, for a myriad of reasons.
I get back to the booth and am confronted with Jeff Lebowski and a woman who may be Bunny Lebowski. I am going to assume that you have seen the 1998 Coen Brothers comedy classic, THE BIG LEBOWSKI. If you haven’t, then you haven’t lived and need to fix that problem immediately. But essentially this would be like finding Jeff Bridges and Tara Reid in costume from the movie in your bar. The dude was wearing a tan Terry cloth robe and sunglasses at night. Both people were indeed asleep. They should have been drinking White Russians, but this bar doesn’t serve Caucasians. I turned my tactical flashlight on the most gentle color, green, and gently touched Mister Lebowski on the shoulder to wake him up.
“Hello my friends. You cannot sleep here. It’s time for you both to head home.”
Lebowski, or The Dude, or Duder, or El Duderino if you’re not into that whole brevity thing, mumbled something in response but did not get up. Since he had sunglasses on I wasn’t even sure if his eyes were open. I touched his arm more firmly and said again, “Hey you guys have got to head home. I can call you a cab if you want, but you need to head out.”
Now he made my night by playing into his character. He got up from the booth unsteadily and said, “This aggression…will not stand, man.” I grinned from ear to ear and said back to him, “You’re being very undude.” This guy is my most favorite patron this week, but I can’t quite figure out if this is going to go poorly or not. I said, “I’ll walk out with you guys.” He and his special lady friend shuffled through the bar to the front door and I followed them out because it was just too perfect. I would have given anything if the bartender started playing The Eagles right now. I really couldn’t tell if they were acting, or just really drunk and half asleep. But they exited without incident. The Dude abides. For a cinephile like me, this was the greatest thing ever. I could have quoted that movie all damned night.
Its wasn’t Halloween, but there could have been a screening of the movie somewhere nearby at an independent movie theater. Or there actually might have been a Lebowski Festival happening. That’s where a bowling alley screens the movie and serves White Russians and everybody dresses up as characters from the film. But honestly, I don’t think that anything like that was going on. There didn’t need to be, it’s Portland. People might just dress up as Lebowski characters just for fun.
In any case, I get to tell my friends that I kicked The Dude and Bunny Lebowski out of my bar.
Other times the outlandish events happen just outside the bar on the sidewalk.
The venue I worked at tonight has a bar, a music venue, and a hotel all commingled together. I started driving home after closing the bar and setting the alarm around 3am. After driving a few blocks I realized that I forgot to clock out, so I turned around and returned to the building. I walked back up to the building and saw a big blue pick up truck parked outside with its engine running. I didn’t think much of it and went inside to clock out of the computer system. I said hello to the overnight cleaners there and headed back out to my truck. That big blue truck was still there but I noticed some movement. Always noticing what people are doing around me, especially late at night, is key. Situational awareness is a most needed trait working in the service industry at night.
The truck was bouncing rhythmically with the engine still on but no passengers visible. Knowing full well what was happening, I sat in my truck for a moment just to see if I was right. Sure enough, a female head with big tousled hair was bobbing up and down on someone’s lap. She rose up from the front seat and pulled her hair out of her face, and a man’s head appeared as well. He had the driver’s seat reclined and this woman was giving him one hell of a blowjob. The truck was moving so noticeably that I thought they were having sex. This wasn’t some delicate loving romantic blowjob. This woman was going for it like a cocaine-powered porn star with the utmost dedication and absolutely zero restraint. She must have been doing push ups with her arms on the front seat as she pleasured this guy to completion. She then got out of the truck and said goodnight to the man and kissed him. He drove off and she skipped back up the stairs giggling to her hotel room.
I didnt’ see any money exchanged, but I wondered if she was a prostitute working out of the hotel. Or was she just a woman having an affair with the man at a late-night rendezvous. Were they both married to other people and cheating in secret? Were their partners at home panicked and worried that their spouse was in the hospital, dead, or cheating on them? Since he did not return to the hotel room with her I think something a bit sordid was happening. Or maybe I’m too pessimistic. Maybe they just meet at the concert tonight and just couldn’t help themselves? But I have seen prostitutes show up at the bar after overhearing a patron make a phone call requesting his preferences in a woman. Sugar Daddies with their stripper ‘girlfriends’, pimps, hookers, and drug dealers probably frequent our establishment under the radar more than we know.
Humans are such interesting, primordial creatures. Especially in the wee hours.
I shook my head, mentally flung any ick out of my thoughts, and drove home.
After the concert ended and the bar announced last call, dozens of people congregate outside the doors and discuss the concert and either say goodnight or make plans for further adventures. There’s a lot of people looking at their phones tracking the progress of their Uber driver coming to pick them up. And a lot of smoking since there is no smoking anywhere inside our establishment.
I stand outside and assist people with directions and suggestions for other places to go. I make sure no alcohol leaves the front doors. And I remind people not to smoke within 15 feet of the door, and to not smoke pot at all. Often I have to remind people to not be so loud since there are hotel rooms nearby, and oh yes they do make noise complaints. As silly as that is.
Tonight I looked up and saw some people standing by their huge hotel room window which faces out to our entrance and the busy street. I recognized them as patrons who attended our concert tonight. It was a man in his 40’s and two super cute women in their early 20’s. I remember them well because I thought that it was an odd matchup. At first I assumed it was a father with his two daughters taking in a show. But their flirty nature and their physicality with each other confirmed otherwise. The two hippie-styled young women were quite effervescent and attractive, and were all over this guy.
I looked away for a minute or two to help a patron figure out directions to their next destination. When I looked back up at the hotel window I saw that the man was standing there in just his boxers with his arms around the two nubile young ladies. The young ladies both were completely naked and dancing on either side of him. Their naked asses were almost pushed against the window glass. Everybody was smiling huge and perhaps unaware that we could see them, or just didn’t give a shit about it. Or they knew full well that they were putting on a naked show for us. Picture three bouncers standing outside the front door all looking up at what could be a debaucherous scene from a movie. For once, none of us were talking. Just silently taking this scene in with a bit of shock and envy. This could be a cocaine party, a threesome among friends, or a guy who hired two girls to make his night like something out of Studio 54 in the late 70’s. In any case, he’s living the dream up there. And we’re down here watching it uncomfortably. I believe one of us went back inside and told a couple of male bartenders what was happening, so they came out and we all gawked like teenagers looking at their first Playboy. When the hotel partiers finally closed the curtains I was relieved. Relieved that I didn’t have to act like I wasn’t watching their performance anymore.
This week I feel like I am in a Joe Coleman painting. Quaint little Portland, Oregon is really a lurid and obscene carnival of the strange and decadent. Random debauchery, prostitution, hotel orgies, truck blowjobs, drugs, Jeff Lebowski, and burning hair.
So I got in my truck and turned up the album ‘Night Drive’ by Chromatics. Appropriate music for my post-shift journey to my house. This band is also from Portland. Sexy music for a sexy night’s soundtrack. And the lyrics to ‘Accelerator’ are perfect for all of this.
God I’m feeling I got a hunger
I love my soul I’m satisfied
Come on, come on
Hit the accelerator, the accelerator
Come on, come on
Hit the accelerator, the accelerator
Living on to be a sinner
Lord it’s hard to be a saint