One of my favorite bars for reasons that I cannot totally explain is 7B, a dive bar in the East Village. Notably, a scene from the Godfather II (which I happen to love) was filmed there.
I've been countless of times. And after many years, the bouncers, Tony and Victor, have developed very strange stand-in roles for my friends and I. Fathers... policemen... mob-like uncles we never knew we wanted or needed.
When one friend left the bar with a suspect looking character - Tony once threatened to (and I quote) "fuck him up" if he hurt her. It was priceless. Warm. And clearly saved lives as she is still with us.
But I love 7B. We have met countless characters of the East Village there. The man who sells the glowing light necklaces walks around. The guy who looks like Steve Erkel if Erkel from Family Matters stopped getting his hair cut sits at the bar.
Once we met some guy named Frank who for months would hang out there and talk to us. Over the months, he explained to us that he had no friends (he soon became known as No Friends Frank) and then literally - months later we found out it was all a SHAM. NO FRIENDS FRANK ACTUALLY HAD FRIENDS?! So insane. Why would you want to hang out at 7B with a bunch of idiot girls drinking Miller Lite out of scuzzy pitchers?
Ah yes, 7B is, in my mind, a wonderful divey stomping ground for all the characters of the East Village and I can't help but love it so. I also feel that my popped collar really classes up the place as soon as I walk in.
But. One Saturday about two months ago I ventured into 7B after a few friendly cocktails with my girlfriends. Together, my friend and I ponied up to the bar, ordered ourselves our pitcher of Nick Lachey and soon enough, two gentlemen came over to chat.
One of the supposed "gentlemen" was named Scott. And, after a few moments, I learned that Scott in some distant way was connected to where I work. He worked in research and oddly began to mention names that I didn't necessarily work with but certainly knew. It seemed nice, I suppose, to be able to have a work conversation that wasn't filled with me explaining exactly what I do.
But then.
Then Scott YELLS, not asks, not requests, YELLS .... I NEED 2 RUMPLEDUMPS!
I, with an appalled look on my face ask, "Ummmm, what? Why are you yelling?"
Scott, summoning his inner child in a highchair yells again, RUMPLEDUMPS! RUMPLEDUMPS!
Watching the bartender, who is totally unfazed, I realize that Scott has chanted an order for two shots of Rumplemints. After the bartender pours them, he hands one to me.
"No thank you" I reply... as the last time I had Rumplemints it was before a sorority theme party on a riverboat. The Rumplemints were served by my friend who dubbed herself the "shot fairy." And let me tell you... that fairy fucked me up.
So, Scott shoots his rumplemints and then IT begins. Approximate script below.
Scott: Hey. Do you. Want to. Get naked.
Ashley: Cough. Sputter. Drool Beer. (Cue immediate feeling of loss. About the beer, that is.) Um, no.. no thank you.
Scott: What? Why? You are totally coming home with me.
Ashley: No, I think I'll pass. Thanks though. I like it here.
Scott: RUMPLEDUMPS! RUMPLEDUMPS!
Ashley recovers her hearing from the screaming. And grimaces. As Scott takes his dumps.
Scott: I just don't understand. I'm like, really good at IT.
Ashley: What? I don't get....
Scott wiggles his eyebrows. And possibly his pelvis. All at once. Ashley looks down. Notes wiggling. Looks up. Feels queasy. And unimpressed.
Ashley: People have actually told you that? Seriously? How old are you?
Scott: Told you. You are going home with me.
Ashley: Look dude, err, Scott. I'm not. My friend has seriously been sequestered by your creepy friend over there behind us so I'm just trying to wait that out.
Scott: You don't find me attractive?
Ashley: Sorry... no....
Scott: Stumped. RUMPLEDUMPS!
Scott: Looking as if he is gearing up for something... medium...
You know... I have like a.... medium sized dick.
Ashley: Silence. Still silence that only a real feeling of horror can bring. Looks around for her friend. Friend is "otherwise engaged"
Ashley: Well, congratulations. That seems moderately special.
Scott: Shrugs. Laughs. Exhales. Begins again.
You know... I have like a GINORMO sized dick!
Ashley: Well you certainly seem to be on the up and up there, huh Scott.
Scott: Look, we don't need to go and do anything, we just can take our clothes off.
Ashley: Yeah... I don't think so. But thanks.
Scott: This has really never happened to me before.
Ashley: It sounds like you've met um, some nice girls.
Scott: Yeah.
Ashley: How many girls exactly have you met?
Scott: ONE BILLION!
Scott: RUMPLEDUMPS! RUMPLEDUMPS! RUMPLEDUMPS!
Ashley sees that her friend is not leaving anytime soon
Ashley: Okay, so... I am going to go. You and err, Ginormo take care.
Scott: What? What? You can't leave. I'm coming.
Ashley: You can walk on the street but you seriously can't follow me home.
Regarding locations: Pre-dump chanting, there was talk of where residences were. We live 2 blocks away from one another.
Scott and Ashley walk. And, eventually, about to part ways... Scott goes in for one more romantic kill...
Scott: Do you want to rage?
Ashley: Huh?
Scott: Do you want to raaaaage?
Ashley: Face squished up in confusion
I'm sorry, but I really don't know what that means.
Scott: There is a place around here we can do whippits!
Ashley: Absolutely not.
I turn on my heel and continue down the street. Scott is yelling behind me.
I couldn't make out exactly what he was saying but I'm sure it had to do either with raging or ginormous male genitalia.
And this here friends, is what I call the curse of the rumpledumps. Don't let them catch you off guard and at the bar. That is, if you can help it.
No comments:
Post a Comment