Friday, October 16, 2009

Twit-a-woo

So at work Daniel, my co-worker, told me that he was meeting up with one of his buddies after work and asked me if I wanted to come. Sounds good to me (although I’m sure my tick of the clock and hum of the fridge in my empty apartment will mad that I’m not home at the usual time)! A block away there is a place called Jillian’s. This is a kind of warehouse building right in the centre of Indianapolis that has 3 floors of entertainment. A bar/restaurant on the ground floor, an arcade/amusements on the 1st floor and a pool hall on the top floor.

Quick fact: In America, they call the ground floor the first floor, the first floor the second floor and so on, until you get to the 12th floor. It then goes to the 14th floor as it is bad luck to have a 13th floor. If someone says I need to go 14 floors up, I swear I will kill myself… but not from jumping off the top of a building!

Anyway, we meet up with Dan’s buddy Rob (a very nice bloke) and played a few games of pool. It wasn’t pool how I knew it but rather a game with 3 players that have to pot the balls with numbers 1-6, 7-12 and 13-18. The pool tables are bigger than the pool tables in the UK, but smaller than say a billiard table. This, of course, was my excuse for playing so badly. (Or maybe that’s what I am telling you to hustle you later).

After taking a little wonder Indianapolis at night, we came to the conclusion that we needed to eat. In the centre of Indy, there are no shortages of places to eat. I mean it’s no Hemsby but it still pretty well stocked! I said, in jest, let go to Hooters (not knowing there was one just around the block). Now, I always thought Hooters was a kind of bar where the waitresses wore low cut tops, had big boobs and has very short shorts. I WAS WRONG! It’s a restaurant not a bar! Me’h. Not only is it a restaurant but I was kind of shocked to find out that it was a family restaurant, and very tacky family restaurant at that.


The waitress came to our table and went round one by one taking their orders. I was last to order. As the details of the order came from my mouth I soon realized she wasn’t writing anything down. “What is with you r voice?” she says. “er, that the way I talk. I just moved here, I’m straight off the boat” “you’re kidding me, talk normally” “Look, here is my passport. That’s me (with hair), that’s me on my work visa (without hair, looking like a convict), I’m British” says I. She then continues to take my order but even after seeing my passport I get the feeling she really believe me. Good job she wasn’t an immigration officer on the way in.


Above: Dan, Sheri & Rob


The thing about Hooters is the views are great, but I thought the food was crap. I had hot dog and I am not kidding when I say that after every bite I could see the fat running out of it. There was a paper napkin on the table that started off catching the drips of fat that then got relegated to me dabbing the end of the hot dog on it to soak up some of the fat. Ew!

All the places we had been so far were quite dead in terms of the atmosphere. We found a bar (that you had to pay $5 to get in) that had live music and entertainment. It was loud in there but really good. There were 2 pianos playing where they were getting people in the audience up on stage to join in, beers that were on draft. You can buy pitchers rather than just bottles. This was my kind of place.

Dan and Rob had plans to meet up with some friend in Broadripple. I promised myself I would repeat the events of last Friday in Broadripple and took it easy. We went to bars that were very close the ones I went to the week before but not exactly the same ones. As we met some of their other friends we spotted two girls (23ish) dancing on a raised platform. This was just the beginning of the entertainment (but not put on by the owners of the bar). An older gent (say 55yrs) got up the platform and started dancing with them. Kind of dirty dancing, in a “just thrown up in my mouth a little bit” type of way. I very quickly realized the general crowd were laughing in their sleeves as it also dawned on me that I was probably one of the oldest there. (Note to self, DON’T DANCE). Although Dan was including me in the conversation, I kind of felt I was the old guy cramping their style a little. This might have been all in my head, but I was probably the next youngest after the guy on stage.

As we moved to the next place further down the strip, I felt a little more of a loose end. There it was, the dance floor. “come on Ben, we are gonna have a little dance, you coming” says Dan. “Naa I’ll sit this one out, you go for it though” says I. I thought if I got up there, no matter how loud the music is I will still be hearing ‘Granddad we love you’ in my head. The truth of the matter is I like having a little dance, just not in that kind of environment. Weddings are a great excuse to dance and make a fool of yourself, especially if you have little kids who are happy just to stand on your feet while you rock them.

After a little while we called it a night. On the way back Dan mentioned getting some furniture in the morning from Auntie Leslie and (I guess Uncle) Gene, who go to Dan’s church.

I was back in bed at 2am. Shocking!

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