A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Bar...

I'd like to relate to you a story about my adventures last Sunday night while I was attending a professional conference for admissions counselors in Columbus, Ohio. I know that it is not a true blue reflection of or reaction to pop culture, but nevertheless, I feel as though the world should hear this story.

First off, I was supposed to fly up to Columbus on Sunday morning. Friday evening, while I was enjoying the final season premiere of Battlestar Galactica, I received an email from Skybus saying that I could check in 24-36 hours before my flight. Five minutes later, I received an email from Skybus saying that at midnight, all operations were canceled.

That must have been a really disastrous five minutes.

Anyway, because of the short notice, I was forced to drive the 7ish hours from High Point to Columbus. I get there around 4:30pm and meet up with all of the counselors that I've hung out with over the year. We're a rowdy bunch, so we get right to the business of alcohol and good times. There's a social that night, a "Favorite Band" themed social. You were supposed to wear your favorite concert t-shirt. Mine was a green Weezer shirt, proclaming "I have a Weezer in my pocket, and I'm happy to see you."

Anyway, we're all getting drunk and dancing and having a grand old time. A group of people I've just met say they're going out to another bar. I'm having too much fun at the hotel, so I tell them that maybe I'll meet up later. I keep dancing and drinking and I go to different room parties. Eventually, the night at the hotel stalls and people go to bed. It's around 1am, and I'm still jazzed and in Party Mode. I don't want to go to bed. I want to meet up with the Bar People.

The problem is that I can't remember the name of the bar that they said they were going to. But I THINK I can remember the bar they went to.

Here's where the night takes a turn for the worse.

I go down to the front desk and ask everyone there where "Havana" is located, not the one in Cuba, but the club in Columbus. They look around at each other, and say it's in Short North. This means nothing to me, but then they say it's about a 20 minute walk or a 5 dollar cab ride. I slur a thank you and stumble out to a cab.

Habeeb the cab driver doesn't speak a lick of the King's English. It's about a 15 dollar cab ride because of the wrong turns and misunderstandings. But whatever, you can't put a price on fun. We finally get to Havana, and I leap from the cab and head into the bar. Success, I think, time for round 2!

The first thing that I notice is that the inside of Havana looks like Miami Vice. The walls are slippery tiles, there's a weird blue light illuminating the bar, and throbbing techno-music blares from the speakers. The second thing I notice is that there are a LOT of guys in this place. Almost totally guys. Total sausage fest. And a lot of them are in just their underwear. And a lot of them are making out with each other...

...And thats when I realize that I've accidentally gone to a gay bar.

I must stress that I have no problem with the GLBT community. I support their rights and their cause and I think they are wonderful people. I would also like to say that I've been to gay bars before...but with a group of people. I didn't intend to go by myself...wasted...wearing a t-shirt that says "I have a Weezer in my pocket and I'm happy to see you."

Maybe they're in the back, I think to myself about the people I want to meet up with. Right Lars, sure. Keep a hold of that dream. I begin to wander through the bar trying to find my new friends. I have to stop myself from asking a guy balls deep in another guy if they can help me find the back. That, I think, would not be a great question to ask at this juncture.

I also decide that buying a drink would be bad too. Because after awhile I know that my friends aren't there. I also think that maybe this bar is a seedy place, not a nice gay bar but one where drug deals go down and the cops are just minutes from busting it. And what if I'm there when they busted. I will be arrested at a gay bar, and that will be my life. Nothing I've said or done up until this point will matter. I stumble out of the bar.

And thats when I realize that I wasn't just in a gay bar. I was in a gay district. There are fanny-pack displays in shop windows. Drag queens are getting off of their shifts and out of their make-up, so they look blasted out and undead. Men are strutting up the street wearing fishnets and tank tops. I feel a bit out of place.

I don't want to pay another 15 bucks for a taxi to get back, so I decide to walk. They said it was only 20 minutes, right? If anyone reading this knows of my directional abilities, they will know that this is very, very wrong.

It takes me over an hour to get back to my hotel. The main cause of this is that I get lost on one particular street. The name of the street, I'm not kidding, is Gay Street.

...

I found out later that Gay Street used to be a one way, but now it runs both ways.

...

Not kidding.

I stumble into the hotel finally, and everyone is still at the front desk. "Did you enjoy the bar?" they ask. Furious, I say "Yes," to cover the "WHATTHEFUCKDOYOUTHINKTHANKSFORTHEHEADSUP?!" that wanted to erupt from my mouth. I go to bed and pass out.

The next morning, I see the group that I had wanted to meet up with and I go over to them.

"Where did y'all go last night?!" I ask.

They're all hungover, and say, "We don't know man, we drove around, we don't know where we went."

One of the guys asks, "Did you go out last night?"

Pause.

"Yeah man, I came out last night."