Well – I’m currently out of stories. I really am not interested in the stupid crap I’ve been putting down over the past few months. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it and may pick up on some of it at a later time, but right now, I’m really not in the mood.
You know who’s not out of stories though? My dad. Well actually, he’s pretty much out of stories. No problem though. He’ll just tell them over again. And then he will tell them over again. Then you know what he will do?
When I started thinking about this, I realized there’s a lot of ground to cover on my dad so I’d better get cracking. These stories of his aren’t going to write themselves. And since they are meant to be told over and over and over and over and over again before they are brought out and told a few dozen more times, I’ll just repost them from time to time to time when, like tonight, I have little to nothing to say.
When I was making up the character Jack Hughes to be the rent-a-pig that harasses Boomer and me at “The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” I said Officer Hughes loved to tell stories. Actually, all of that was about my dad.
If you’ve never heard my dad tell you about the time he was down at the Trocadero Bar, and some guy started messing with him; Or the time he was at the Broken Rail and there was a bunch of UP guys down there who started some shit; Or the time he was over at the Garden Bar and his buddy Larrick pissed these bikers off; well then You sir, have never met my dad.
Dad does however, have the courtesy to verify that you haven’t heard the story before. “Did I ever tell you about the time …” He always begins. Then no matter what you say or do, he tells you the story. The best thing to do is to roll with it. If he thinks he has a captive audience, and there’s enough humor in the story, you may get him laughing hard enough to send himself into a coughing fit. Always my personal goal. So while others are rolling their eyes, clicking their tongues, gouging their eardrums with scratch awls, saying things like “Oh god pleeease no. Not again. Make it stop, please. Et c.” I make sure to have a slightly puzzled look on my face, trying so hard to recall if somehow perchance I’ve heard this gallant tale. Of course none of that shit matters in the least. Once Dad says, “Did I ever tell you about the time …” you are going to hear that fucking story. Go ahead. Get in your car and drive away. That will be your cell phone ringing. Ignore the call. He’ll call back. You are hearing that story is what I’m trying to say.
But don’t think that all you have to do is listen to the story. You also have responsibility here. For instance, you are required to believe the story, as told, is exactly as it happened. Dad does everything in his power to provide you with the tools you need to verify some of the more fantastic bits of the yarn, including where to go for eyewitness accounts. People who will no doubt corroborate every last detail. Mostly because they’ve heard the story more than you have, so.
So a sample of the middle of one of dad’s stories might go something like this, “We was sitting there eating our Bronco burgers when this big, I mean he was big,” Then shouting into the kitchen, “Carol, wasn’t that guy at Bronco’s big?”, to no response, “Well ask your mom if you don’t believe me.” Of course at no time had I expressed any doubt that the guy was big. I wasn’t even sure why that wouldn’t be believable. I was picturing a big guy back when dad was setting the scene with, “Did I ever to you about the time I got into that fight with that big guy at the Bronco’s?”
Anyway, I’m just going to try to tell my favorite of my dad’s stories. I haven’t heard this one more than 4 or 5 times, so ironically enough, some of the details are a bit fuzzy. I seriously doubt I have the talent to get it across, but I’ll give it a go. I will say that I have no idea where any of the bars he talks about are except that they’re probably in North Omaha, where he was raised (like a wolf). I’m placing this story in a bar called “The 4 Seas,” but it could be “The 4 C’s” or “The Four Seasons” which would make more sense. The story might have happened elsewhere. Ok, so I’m not actually telling it very well at all.
“Did I ever tell you about the time we was all down at the 4 Seas. Me and my uncles Bob and Jack and a bunch of other guys was down there. I was just 18, so I could drink legally, and these guys wanted to get me drunk. We’d all been going in there for years, but we was celebrating now that I was old enough, you understand. CAROL!! Didn’t those guys wanna get me drunk that time at the 4 Seas? Anyway we’s all down there and this old fuckin nasty hag comes up, drunk as a skunk. Smelt like one to. Then she leans on our table right next to me and she shouts, ‘Hey. Any of you big men wanna buy a lady a drink? I mean to tell you, this bitch was old. She had to be at least 80, and I’m 18 at the time. And I’m not really drinking too much, see because I know these guys want to get me drunk and pull some shit like this. So then Bob jumps up and grabs a chair and pushes it into her so she’s forced to flop down into it right next to me. And boy, this old hag stinks, I’m telling you. CAROL!! Remember how bad I told you that old bitch at the 4 Seas stunk? Anyway, she sits down and now she can barely keep her head up, she’s so stoned (that’s what my dad sometimes calls drunk). And these guys I’m with. They’re just cracking up, because this old lady’s all over me. Then she looks at me and she says, ‘Hey you’re a handsome boy, Aren’t you? How about a little kiss,’ Well now I’m about ready to puke my guts out at the thought of it, because I can’t even stand the smell of this old bitty. But the guys, they're falling out of their chairs bustin’ up laughing. And I’m just sitting there getting mad about it. I should have been laughing, but this old woman’s making me sick. Then my uncle Bob, that prick, he says, “Yeah Freddy wants a hell of a lot more than a kiss, don’t ya loverboy!”, Then I tell him, “You better shut the fuck up, Bob, or you're next,” But then they’re laughing cause that old hag is grabbing my arm trying to feel my muscle. Then she’s saying, “Oh sweetie, you’re so strong,” and she’s got her cigarette hanging out of her mouth and almost the whole thing is stained from her lipstick. I pull my arm away and just start shaking my head. That's when the old lady starts hollering something fierce. OH SHIT!! She’s saying all of the sudden. Then everybody stops laughing because it sounds serious. Then she stands up and she’s yelling “SHIT, SHIT, SHIT!” Then I see what’s wrong. The chair she’s sitting in and her pants are all shit stained. “I JUST SHIT MYSELF!!” she yells. Well that did it. Now I’m finally laughing with everybody else as she runs to the bathroom. I kick the shitty chair away from our table and Jack’s just shaking his head looking at Bob. Then he says to Bob, “You gotta be the luckiest cocksucker on the planet,” and he hands Bob a dollar. So we all says, “What? Why?” Then Jack says, “When that old bitch sat down, this mother fucker bet me a dollar she’d shit herself.” So I said, “Bob. Why would you even …” Then Bob just kind of shrugs. He didn’t really understand it himself. All he could say was, “She looked like a shitter.” True Story. Ain't that right, Carol.