Blurg. Except for the crunch around finals, I try to post something every week. But here it is, a full fortnight since my last post. Last weekend my parents were here, so I guess my official excuse was that I was running around with them. It was a good weekend. We went to two Broadway shows: La Cage Aux Folles and Wicked which were both delightful (Kelsey Grammar can't sing btw). Of course there were also the requisite museum visits and nice meals at restaurants. It was quite lovely.
Anyway, I can’t think of some kind of theme for this week, so I’m just going to tell you a story.
About two weeks ago I went out with two of my housemates to a bar. I was loving it because we had walked there, and walking with friends to a neighborhood bar was one of the things I missed when living in Park Slope. The place was crowded and noisy. At one point the lights turned off for a minute but then came back on. Then they went off again. Then we heard someone saying “Everybody OUT.” The way they said it, it registered more as angry “Party is over, guys” shouts than anything being wrong. We shuffled toward the door, moving slowly because there were so many people in front of us. Behind us was a woman screaming “GET OUT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!” She kept screaming and pushing, which was obnoxious because we couldn’t go any faster than the person in front of us. She seemed like the pedestrian version of a driver than leans on his horn in gridlock traffic.
When we finally got out we heard someone say something about a fire. Then a fire truck pulled up. Then another. Then another. Eventually there were five. A few guys suited up and went in to the bar, but there didn’t seem to be much urgency. We saw no flames or smoke. Just for kicks, one fireman opened up the hydrant and let it run into the street for a while. We stuck around because one of my friends had left her sweater and the other had opened a bar tab. Eventually the one with the lost sweater was able to talk the bouncer into retrieving it (confirming the fact that the bar was not consumed with fire) but he refused to return any credit cards. Eventually they told us that the bar would be closed for the rest of the night so we went home.
It was all very strange. While I don’t think that I was ever in any real danger, it was weird that there had been some sort of legitimate fire in the bar and that we weren’t told until we had exited. Of course yelling “fire” in a crowded space could cause panic, but since we didn’t know what was going on, everyone just ambled toward the door. Is there a medium between panic and annoyed indifference?
Anyway, the friend with the open bar tab went back the next day (at the time they had told her to return) and found the place still closed. She cancelled the card and so all our drinks that night ended up being free.
The end.
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