I have just surfaced from my holiday pit and need time to reflect on what I saw last night. You will remember that Diane & I had been horse riding with Joe in the Catskills yesterday but had to cut short our apres drinks & conversation because we were meeting Frank & his work colleagues in a local bar near Carmel. By the time we arrived it had gone dark and the car park for the bar was reasonably full, people were milling around outside smoking, chatting & drinking and generally doing what the western world does on a Friday night; they were enjoying themselves. ... and I could have been in the Exchange Bar & Grill on Salford Quays and I had to remind myself I was in Molly Darcy's Irish Bar, Danbury, Connecticut.
The decor was one of a headache inducing infusion of a UK American theme bar & a US Irish theme bar. Wooden panelling everywhere, solid (faux) oak bar, open fronted cubicles for eating in, stained or brushed glass panels, sports memorabilia behind the bar and flat screen televisions showing an array of sports programmes including Na scar. The bar area itself sat in the centre of the building and the rectangle bar (including brass footrests and coat hooks) was accessible from both the eating or lounge area to the snug or entertainment area. The bar was also 4 deep around the "front" where we came in. The air smelled of greasy food, spilt beer, overly sweet perfume, unwashed clothes and hair spray... lots of hairspray... enough to punch a hole in the ozone layer the size of France. I could have been in a bar in Manchester, London, Dublin or New York, it was that generic; except for the clientele.There was a cross section of society represented from the young to the old. Everyone mingling with each other quite unlike anything you would see in the UK. It was as if this was the only bar for miles or that the drinking population of the USA doesn't care where they are or who they are seen with because they only want a good time. I was surrounded by a myriad of people from the hot Asian girl of about 21 in a lime green dress that was sprayed on to the oldest swinger in town with his slicked back grey hair and plaid shirt open to the nipples; there was the skeletal middle aged women in unfashionable 80's stonewashed jeans and bleach blond hair to the fat bloke who puffed and panted as he carried a bowl of fried chicken wings around with him; there the goatee wearing mid-thirties wannabe love machine to the mid-twenties stylish (for Manchester in about 1995) woman who thought she could dance; there was the surgically enhanced brunette standing at the bar surveying the male patrons looking for a potential date like a vulture surveying the savanna plains looking for a rotting corpse to the young preppy kid living a life of frat-parties and beer chugging checking out her arse out and knowing full well he didn't stand a chance; there were small groups of married men on the prowl with their wedding rings removed (but still showing the telltale marks on their fingers) to the divorcee women who were just looking for attention and flattery for the night; there were the work colleagues oblivious to their surroundings and deep in discussion about whatever piece of office politics had surfaced that week to the married couples whose only conversational exchange was to ask what they wanted from the bar.
After a complete circuit of the bar we managed to spot Frank, sat on a stool & nursing a Budweiser. Most of his work colleagues had long since gone and the few remaining were introduced to me, although I am ashamed to say I have forgotten their names. I duly ordered my pint - Harp lager or Bass bitter, hmm not quite the selection of beers I had come to expect. With a pint of lager in hand I leaned back on the bar, made myself comfortable and began to review my surroundings. It was now that my previous comment regarding Country & Western music jumped up and slapped me in the face. There was a live band, rednecks and they were playing C&W music... Oh. My. God. I am in Hell. People were dancing to it as well, not just the redneck crowd but also, what I would class as if they were in the UK, the young kids too. People who should be in a club listening to thumping bass, old skool house, garage or cool grooves and generally throwing shapes in the Church of Dance were dancing like your dad at a wedding to old Garth Brooks, Jonny Cash and Lynyrd Skynyrd covers played very badly. I was in an Irish Bar in New York drinking weak beer and listening to a honky-tonk band...
... where was the film crew? This had to be a film set? I am going to appear on World's Greatest Cliches?
Once I had decided it wasn't a set-up - actually after I had recovered from a fit of hysterics that had Frank's work colleagues looking at me as if I was a deranged & dangerous lunatic, no amount of explanation would ease their fears either - I settled back to drink beer and people watch. I had already noticed that my accent was standing out like a sore thumb; shouting to people in an English accent is usually a way of attracting attention. I watched the dancers and tried to gauge the etiquette of dancing to a honky-tonk band, it seems that the "may I cut in..." approached worked for men, as well as the old favourite of standing at right angles to your potential dance partner and then ease your way round to face them by the end of the song. For women it looked as if the classic walk up to a man and grab him by the arm technique worked wonders, however when the scary looking skeletal blond woman tried that on me I almost poured a pint over Diane and if it wasn't for the fact that I have good upper body strength which effectively means I can tense the muscles in my shoulders and arms effectively to increase my mass to that of a blackhole and I am therefore immovable, I would have been pulled of the bar stool and landed face first into scary skeletal woman's torso... not the best idea in the world. I quickly shouted an excuse that I would dance later to her to ensure she let go of me and repositioned myself on the bar stool whilst scary skeletal woman selected a new target of the old, slicked back, grey haired gentleman next to me.
People where dancing and enjoying themselves. The bonhomie extended to the smoking area, when I went outside for a smoko and chat with one of Frank's employees and discussed the American car industry and why they produce such rubbish. Again, I was approached. Again, I was chatted to. Again, I failed miserably to get telephone numbers, email addresses or facebook names. My looks and persona were compared to that of Eddie Izzard and for some unknown reason everytime I swore (and by now I was getting a little drunk so it was more frequent) it got barrels of laughs. Back in the bar and more people watching, listening to Frank explain office politics and what was wrong with the world I began to wonder if I should make an approach to anyone, what would Diane think if I went over to flirt and chat-up a strange woman? With this on my mind I ordered another drink and settled back to decide who I was going to approach...
How about the hot Asian chick in the green mini-dress? Would my confidence survive that long to have a full conversation? How about someone around my own age, one of the lonely divorcees? They will be easy targets and given that only 5% of the citizens of the United States owns a passport will I be able to get by on the oddity factor? The vulture was definitely out, she had already locked on to her target and drowning him in the scent of her disgustingly sweet perfume. Shall I just make eye contact with a few hopefuls, smile and she if they approach me? No, I did that to scary skeletal woman to be polite and she took it as an invitation to the mating dance. So many women and so little time... about 2 minutes as it turned out because Frank announced he was hungry and time to leave.
So, reluctantly for the second time in a day Diane & I made our way back to the car and headed back into Carmel. This time to an all night diner where I enjoyed a cheeseburger, fries and a diet coke at 1:00am in the centre of Carmel. I listened to some extremely xenophobic conversation from Frank's work colleague that reflected the worst in America's foreign policy and was a damning indictment of the American media feeding jingoistic, chest slapping rhetoric to the masses. With a sour taste in my mouth brought on by eating greasy food and listening to a racist diatribe I fell into bed...
... Which leaves me here, now and ready to face the day. So... more later.
And later it is... It has been a complete waste of a day and I have had time to recharge my batteries. We drove to Port Chester in the afternoon to check out the nearest Lotus Car franchise, however by the time we got there it was closing for the Saturday - poor form as far as I am concerned because in the UK they would stay open until late into the evening. Needing nourishment we opted to look for a restaurant in the Port Chester area and Diane wanted to try Brazilian meal - luckily we found one locally called Copacabana that offered a meal deal... and what a meal deal it was!
For $34.50 you got two courses; the starter was a trip to the salad bar for all you can eat; the main course was a selection of meats... and that was it. Once you were ready for your main course the waiting brought round cuts of meat that had been spit roasted and offered you slices; prime rib; spare rib; sirloin; rump; topside; leg. There was also chicken wings, turkey wrapped in bacon & Brazilian sausage. The perfect meal for a carnivore like myself. With a beer accompaniment and the juices from the succulent meat pooling on the plates I was - literally - in hog heaven. However, the turkey wrapped in bacon tasted like dry bacon and the sausage wasn't particularly nice. All three of us called back the prime rib & I requested more of the sirloin (my favourite steak). It would have been possible to sit there all evening just requesting your favourite cuts of meat - the most enjoyable way I have found to do the Atkins Diet.
It was during the meal that Frank elaborated on his text from yesterday. Apparently Diane & Frank are having work completed on the septic tank for the house which is being funded by the local council/county government body. Whilst working on their house the council employee noticed a noxious smell - as one would when working on a septic tank. Believing the smell to be emanating from the house and akin to a rotting corpse the workman then telephoned the local police to report the suspicious smell. The police attended the house accompanied by cadaver dogs and searched outside the premises and then - when no-one came to the door - broke into the house. An APB (All Points Bulletin) was issued on Frank and a credit card check was made and Frank was found to have fled the state; now a matter for the FBI. All of this occurred whilst we were visiting Washington DC and contemplating a tour of the FBI Buildings, which would have made the tour interesting when Frank was escorted away as we entered. From what we can gather no cadaver was found - as Diane was with us at the time - and the police went away empty handed, but not before some officer decided to flick a cigarette into the mulch on the front of the house in 90 degree heat and allow it to smoulder away until the fire department had to be called.
All in all an eventful day by the sound of things and such a shame we weren't there to enjoy it. Unfortunately for Frank his indignation at the whole fiasco was overruled by Diane & I laughing so much we got funny looks from the other patrons and continually making jokes. Much to Frank annoyance we continued making jokes until we arrived at the cinema. We watched 88 Minutes with Al Pacino which was rubbish. We left, went home and I got to bed early... for a change.
Tomorrow is Manhattan again, I need all the rest I can get.
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