Thursday, February 2, 2012

Yeah, Well, I've Been Kicked Out Of Nicer Places Than This!

I’m not often mistaken for other people – oh, sure, there’s the occasional “hey, check out Bozo The Clown there …” comment, but in general, I’m not one that’s confused with someone else.  Last Saturday night, however, proved to be an exception, and one with most unfortunate consequences, as it turned out … I was apparently mistaken for someone who had over-imbibed.

A couple of friends and I had ventured downtown to take in a musical concert, one in which several bands were to play, the third being a group called Cash’d Out (who performed faithful renditions of Johnny Cash songs) and of whom I had heard very positive reviews.  I’d like to be able to confirm that the entire show was a magical re-creation of a true legend; unfortunately, I can only authoritatively say that about the first four songs, as we were inexplicably asked to leave the venue around that time.

I’m still not quite certain what events led to our ouster; normally, such things happen when one, oh, say, stumbles into a large table of state-level politicians, spilling their cocktails every which way (umm … hypothetically speaking, of course).  And while two of us were enjoying many a tasty beverage that evening (and, admittedly, after something of a lengthy “pre-funk” that day), our fellow concert-goer maintains that we held to acceptable public behavior, and even now remains somewhat baffled at the night's goings-on.

Disirregardless of the lack of grounds for ejection, ejected we were, after a somewhat comical series of events.  One of my friends and I had gone to the bathrooms, and upon exiting, I found her in a discussion with one of the employees.  “Well, good evening, sir!” I said as I approached them.  “A fine show it is, don’t you agree?”  It was at this point I was informed that alcoholic beverages would no longer be available to us (though he could provide no rational basis for that decision), and he proceeded to try to shame us by drawing large Xs on our hands.  As my friend and I were there primarily for the music, we weren’t overly distraught at this, and we returned to where our other friend was waiting, after finishing what drinks we had left (the gentleman was kind enough to grant that request).

In retrospect, we really should have known that they just might keep an eye on us, because when my friend picked up the spare beer she had strategically placed under our table (she’s deservedly regarded as something of a professional in social drinking circles), several seemingly displeased gentlemen quickly descended upon us and escorted us toward the exit.  We had a brief conversation with the manager, received another hand stamp (apparently being disallowed from drinking and being asked to leave are coded differently), and found ourselves out in the cold evening, marked and musicless, but giggling nonetheless.

Above:  It’s like living in a Nathaniel Hawthorne novel.

We decided to make our way over to the Neurolux, a bar where they don’t have such puritanical standards – this is the conversation I had with the bartender when we got there:
Bartender (noticing my hands): “What’s with the X?”
Dead Acorn:“Cut off.”
Bartender: “What’s with the Idaho stamp?”
Dead Acorn: “Kicked out.”
Bartender:  “Nice. Well, what can I get you?”
So that was the evening – plans derailed by a tragic case of mistaken identity, but enjoyable anyway, and good for a chuckle.  One never knows what will happen when one ventures downtown.

[UPDATE]:  It occurred to me that I was wearing my cowboy boots that night, which I haven’t worn in years, and that my choice of footwear may have been a triggering factor in being flagged as a potential rabble-rouser.  I’ve included a side-by-side comparison below – I don’t think either really says “here comes trouble,” but I’ve been wrong before.

Above:  She really can wear anything and make it look good!


WxB said...

I was wondering when this post would appear. And seriously, that is EXACTLY what happened at the Neurolux. Whatever. You guys were totally fine.

Also, was I the voice of reason that night? 'Cause if so, sasathat may have been our problem.

WxB said...

What's "sasathat"? That's supposed to say "that". I'm about to get cut off.

The Dead Acorn said...

I haven't had fried sasathat in YEARS! Maybe I'll pick up some onions and peppers and do a little sauteing tonight!

I don't think there was an abundance of reason floating around that night. This is why I usually stay north of State Street.

Sarah said...

HA! WxB as the voice of reason? Again I say, HA!
Although I trust her when she says you were totally fine. Do you know why? We (WxB and I) happened to witness a cutting off incident (that you may or may not have been involved in) at a local pizza joint and that time?! You were totally not fine!

Are those Sugar Daddy jammies that I spy there?

WxB said...

Oh yes! "The PieHole Incident". Totally NOT fine that time.

WxB said...


The Dead Acorn said...

Piehole? I know not of which you speak. Do I even know you?

And yep, my favorite jammies ... Shakira who now?

Anonymous said...

I happen to know that she IS a professional. You stick to what you're good gets you where you want to be in life. Which is apparently on the street, outside of the Knitting Factory.

Inge said...

Dead Acorn--I found your blog and it made me laugh but after reading some posts it seems you use humor to hide something deeper going on. Maybe you are only out for attention or laughs but I don't think so. It kind of makes me sad.

The Dead Acorn said...

Aww, Inge ... don't be sad! I'm glad it makes you laugh; that's pretty much the goal, I think. There's not any dark sad persona underneath (well, not much of one, anyway).

Inge said...

Ok. I was surprised when I saw your picture because you look grown up but your life doesn't sound grown up. I do not say that to be mean but because that is why I felt sad for you.