BKLOG

There are just some things you can’t prepare for.  They happen and you must react.  The luxury of examining options and consequences comes only after the dust has settled and it’s times like these that really show people for who they are and how their mind works.  This is a story of one such event.  Some names have been changed and the details embellished with the intent to protect the innocent while aggravating the guilty into action.

I woke up to scratchy couch fabric, moist with drool, on my face.  It was important that I get across town immediately and showered so that I would be able to drag myself to work on time.  The day plodded by and was only interrupted by an awful haircut and no chance for food.  Since I was hungover and hadn’t eaten anything, my leadership in the discussion sessions stumbled and the Koreans didn’t care much to learn.  It is easy to know when you’ve lost your audience.  After work, I hit the gym for the first time.  It’s funny… in western gyms, everybody is always staring at themselves… over here, way different.  I was the main attraction.  It didn’t help that I kept bumping my head into the ceiling tiles while I ran on the treadmill.  I walked home by myself feeling melancholy and eager for sleep.  My phone rang… it was K-Tank.  “We’re coming to KSU and you’re meeting us out.”  OK.  I was in no mood to argue.

They had been bowling… and as I arrived at HQ, members of the crew were strung along the street and up the stairs in small groups drinking or talking.  I first said hi to Logan IV and his charming girlfriend, Gabby.  They, along with William Wallace, were sucking down a pitcher of piss so they could get into the bar as soon as possible.  Once inside, the owner, Johnny, treated us to a bottle of Jager in exchange for entertaining his fresh lady friend from LawnGuyLand.  Fuck… she was obnoxious.  Luckily, she was gone quicker than the Jager.

Wallace was bouncing off the walls.  He had drunk so much that his bowling score ended up a 54.  I found a cozy seat and, still sober, had a discussion with Carlos and some others about the  ol’ peanutbutter/dog trick versus a one night stand.  No final judgment was agreed upon. 

On a weekday in KSU, the bars are busy at first but clear out by 1:00 or 2:00.  When the bottom drops out on you, you get desperate.  After hitting 3 places, one after another, and finding no other revelers, the foreign group - twelve or fifteen strong - decided on the Korean dance club: Ghetto. 

The DJ was hot, there were Korean girls and boys doing their spastic gyrations, and I had free reign to spit and yell out from a balcony overlooking the street below.  Carlos, bored with the dancing, began to gag himself and puke at a distant car for fun.  Bacchus certainly had hold of us by the balls.  We made the locals nervous for a few hours until it was decided that we needed to noraebang.  This was when things went wrong…

Many of the details are fuzzy.  I was putting on my jacket when I noticed a large group of people by the door.  Wallace was jumping around like a curly haired care bear and shouting things.  From across the room, I could see he was livid about something.  Then I saw Logan IV was bleeding from his face.  I ran over and found fifteen people scuffling on a staircase landing built for just as many.  Whenever there is a fight in the bar, I rely on this clever mnemonic to remember what to do: GTFO.  Wallace seemed to be the instigator so I yanked him by the collar and started pulling him down the stairs.  He was out of his head, refused to go and continued to wag his mouth.  As I held him, some brute got in our face and took a swing.  I blocked the blow but Wallace jumped on his opportunity to swing back.  ‘Somebody do something with that maniac!’  K-Tank observed the melee from the stairs above and, oddly, was complaining about a stolen wallet.  It was a clash of hostile humanity and we needed to leave.  Only once the police arrived did Wallace allow me to yank him outside.

Out on the street, things weren’t any better.  It seemed that when the cops entered Ghetto, the party spilled onto the sidewalk.  At this point, a portly Korean fellow who I didn’t remember seeing before had joined.  He screamed a lot and wore a bloody white dress shirt.  I can still remember, in the finest detail, his gaping mouth.  Blood everywhere and, where his front teeth had been, two hideous and fleshy nubs.  Sweet Jesus… the carnage had failed to abate. The cops goosestepped around looking for an excuse to baton the shit out of any one of us. 

At this point, Carlos was sitting in the back seat of the police cruiser looking sad.  On any other night, I wouldn’t have been surprised.  But he had actually managed to behave himself all evening long.  This set off Wallace again and he began to yank on the door handle and slap the window.  He screamed out, ‘Guys!  Let’s make a barricade!’ and he stood defiantly in front of the cruiser; his arms outstretched above his head like he was the star of some deranged Broadway musical, hitting the last note of the night.  It took three of us to drag him away and the cops drove off.

To be continued…