Rock and roll, partial nudity, and a street fight. What else can you ask for?
It started out weird. I was wearing a pair of pants that had a hole in the back pocket. Khaki pants with black boxers. A young, polite, all-American family was sitting in a booth near the “stage.” As Spenser and I set up, I found myself wondering why they kept looking over at my crotch whenever I bent over or crouched down to run cables. And then it hit me. Before the family left, the wife tipped me one dollar. No lie.
The crowd was great, though. We met some new friends and caught up with some familiar faces.
Best part of the night: I had an opportunity to break up a fight. And by “break up a fight,” I mean I witnessed first-hand the epic demise of a drunken fool who picked a fight with a wrestler. (Don’t ever do that) During a break, I was outside minding my open business when all of the sudden, two dudes burst out of the front doors and started swinging at each other. A few hip-tosses later and the drunker of the two found himself bleeding profusely. I tried my best to break it up, to no avail.
Oh well, rock and roll. We expect nothing less in a biker bar. We’ll be back there in a matter of weeks. Cheers!