Wet JessSome parts of my Book of Blues come from experience. And some parts of the blues book come from research. And there’s a little “other roads traveled” fantasies and truths cut-in for flavor.

And sometimes, my blues book ideas come from mischievous curiosity.

Take last weekend in Indy.

I went down to watch a reunion concert for an Indianapolis Metal band named Dent. The drummer, Jason Carr, is the co-owner of The Bean Cup – the place where I had my life-changing experience on Halloween.

One of my hometown friends who lives in Indy went with me.

We got to the theater to find there was no alcohol. The band didn’t start for another hour. Not that I need it, but especially for my friend – who isn’t the biggest metal head – he was gonna need something to get him a little high (in the “I get high with a little help from my friends” using-alcohol sense [Lennon/McCartney]). The Carrs and Karrs told us that the bar around the corner had, low and behold, GUMBALLHEAD.

We got to the bar, my buddy saw some goth, and instantly he wanted to drive back east five blocks to pre-drink at his buddy’s.

His buddy didn’t have Gumballhead but my buddy had the car keys. GRRRRR.

Pre-drink and the concert came and went. Whoops, hollars, weak attempts at mosh pits, pleasant “hello’s” and delightful “goodbye’s” flew by as scripted.

I had the car keys. It was time to go.

Typically this would scream “Broad Ripple,” but one buddy was having issues with his girlfriend and my ex from the area was having a birthday that night and would probably be there. Instincts said to follow the road elsewhere.

And the road lead us to a nice little place near my buddy’s condo on the north side. The place was quiet, had pool tables, and though they’d never heard of Gumballhead, they had a suitable substitute: hot waitresses.

I saw her. My buddy gazed at her. The two guys at the other pool table had already started to try and work her.

And the fun began.

Come to find out, if you spend an obscene amount of money at this place, they take your picture and hang it on the wall. It was worth it.

The guys at the other table ended up being Good people. A couple rounds of shots, a couple more pitchers, and all three of their bellys got so full that when they tried their best pickup line, they fumbled over themselves.

And that guy left over was the gentlemen who was willing to drive for a friend and only drank when the waitress “questioned” his constitution.

I admit, it’s fun when waitresses question my constitution. They’re the fun ones.

And I call that, “the advantage of the designated driver.”

That’s for keeping Finn away from Gumballhead!

Typically, hitting on the help is pretty classless. You won’t be their first and you won’t be their last.You won’t even be either on that work shift. But if you really want to pick up a waitress who isn’t a slut, you don’t try for it all in one night. That leads to disaster more often than not. You space it out over a few days. Let her realize you don’t suck as a person (unless you suck as a person, then study up on “The Prince”). And, make sure she’s a Good person too or you’re waisting your time.

So we went back the next day. My excuse to my buddy was the truth: the weather sucked last night, we were the reason she didn’t get cut early, and she had to be back at the place early the next morning. Besides, he was buying and I got to pick the place.

Apparently karma was watching.

We got to the place and, GASP, they didn’t have the Bears game on. I had no more bullets left in the chamber. If you’re from The Region and have ever cheered for Walter Payton, you have to abide by a couple rules. Rule #1: if the Bears are playing, the bar you attend must have it on on at least one screen. This place did not.

So we had to leave.

We’ll see if the road takes me back there next month.

And, for those interested, the above picture is NOT her. Images changed to protect the Good people. 🙂

(photo credit: Sublime via Flickr)

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