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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Friday, May 17, 2024

State Street Portraits

Pay $10 for Freakfest? When I only want to visit my bartending friend who works at ______? Sorry you good boys and girls, I'm bordering on ""Savers only"" and ""raid parents' house for things I can use"" broke. Plus, I have principles and ""attempt to get in sans being forced to lay down cold, hard cash"" ranks in the top five. Look, I was only on State Street's horse-shit-and-puke-plastered pavement for all of two blocks in transit to a party después de drinks at the aforementioned bar, so at least give me the chance to tell you about my adventure.

As I walk down Johnson Street, I run into some friends. They are all outfitted in ""flapper"" duds and one of them tells me she is a ""1920s prostitute."" I tell her she reminds me of the DVD jacket art for a movie at Four Star—a ""documentary"" on antiquated erotica from around that era. Someday I will rent it.

We part ways, me slinking off to a parking garage where it's easy access to several back door entrances. First try, I miss my target bar, but wind up crashing some concert after slipping through a propped open door with ""Don't prop door open"" printed on its inside face. I subsequently walked past the ""Performers Only"" sign, entering a small and lackluster mosh pit.

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Attempting to find a way into the adjoining building, I ended up giving myself a tour of the attics and byways, all of which were clearly marked with ""Danger! Under Renovation."" Using my cell phone light against the darkness I found several deserted rooms with rickety folding chairs, old billboard letters, abandoned popcorn makers, empty cigarette packages and large concrete fragments (from the walls?).

Luckily, I didn't get caught and was able to exit through the front doors on my way to try another back door entrance. More successful this time, I entered the correct building and was greeted by a large costumed dance party/grind fest, in which $6 Jagerbombs were consumed with such fervency that the establishment ran out of that particular liquor long before night's end. I happily spent the next few hours watching those bottles drain before my eyes in the company of good friends, including the one behind the bar handling the flood-tide of Red Bull.

Watching over-exposed people take a dive in their high heels and ghoul masks while sipping whatever mystery drink he had mixed me proved extremely gratifying. Out of my own costume ensemble I grabbed a $5 bill or two and handed them over to the bar keep. Yeah, I said I'm close to broke, but another principle of mine is ""don't be a scrooge toward your friends."" Besides, you've all seen ""Reservoir Dogs,"" right?





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